studying these fucking insane things. | don't know how much of this 
is true, but some of the senior lab rats have told me that we've 
leaked tech to tons of industries, and that we're probably fifty years 
ahead of where we'd be without the skips. It's nice knowing that 
we've improved the world in so many ways, you know? Makes it a 
little easier to get through a day of D-Class testing, and makes you 
feel a bit like the skips are just parts of something larger, part of the 
magic (Heh, the docs would kill me if they heard me use that word) 
that makes the world go 'round. 


But these things, whatever they are, they're the opposite of that. 
They're the end of the magic, the dying of the soul or whatever really 
makes us human. You want to know what they look like? Just look in 
the eyes of an Auschwitz survivor, or a kid that watched his parents 
hacked to death in the Rwandan genocide. Those are eyes with 
something just ...gone... from them. 


And now that's what the world is. We're all still here, and the world's 
still spinning, but something's missing. We are, for one. Most of the 
Foundation has just up and disappeared, day by day, rooms and 
sites and people just not here anymore. | saw Dr. at the bar the 
other day in , but he's apparently a mid-level university professor 
now, and he had no idea who | was. Looked dead inside, too, like 
the only thing he was worried about was tenure and bills, not like the 
man I'd known and looked up to, and occasionally stole my 
sandwiches from the breakroom fridge. 


So here we are. Only a few pieces of Site are left, and only a 
couple of the skips. Oh, and -__is here, but he's different, too. He's 
dying, and | think when he's gone, the rest of the site will be, too. | 
think he's protecting us, but it's killing him. That's something | was 
thinking about, that the reality benders are like... Not exactly the 
opposite of the Destroyers, but like the shadows cast from their light, 
| guess? But anyway, I'm in the room here with him, watching him 
sleep. His breathing doesn't sound good, and | don't think I've got 
long to finish this. 


So let me just say this, before | do something crazy to try and 
preserve this letter. The Destroyers don't care about us, about 
humanity. They care about what we could become. They don't kill 
us, but they take away what it means to be alive. The stories are 


gone now; you know all the hollow shit on the radio, on TV, in the 
movies? That's all we've got left. Dead stories. | tried to remember 
what music sounded like before they came, what it was like to go to 
a show on Saturday night on the silver screen. It's like only seeing in 
black and white when you remember color. It's like going tone-deaf 
after hearing Beethoven. All the life and the soul are gone, all the 
magic is washed out, and | don't think they're done yet. They came 
to a world full of amazing, thriving humanity, and they're going to 
leave behind a bunch of scared, over-evolved monkeys. It's going to 
be the Dark Ages all over again, and after | seal this thing up with 
-00 , I'm going to finish my bottle of whiskey and put a bullet in my 
head. | can't live like this, living in the Shadow of what we used to 
be. Goodbye. 


-Agent 


After that / Until then 


7 June 2029 


Today, | watched a giant jellyfish give birth to a full-grown woman 
dressed in an owl costume. It was strange to think that | knew it 
would happen today. 


The jellyfish floated in the humidified air, carefully lowering the 
woman to rest on the ground. The medical team with me was 
hesitant, not sure whether it was safe to go to her. | walked forward 
with tears in my eyes, calling out her name. 


Sun-hee looked up at me, smiling, and | knelt down and embraced 
her. | kissed the foam mask covering her head, nothing in my 
thoughts except how lucky | was to have her back. 


| finally noticed the nurses around us. They offered Sun-hee a 
wheelchair, but she was adamant that she didn't need it. She had 
forgotten how long it was since she had to stand on her own. As she 
stood up, her weakened legs buckled, and | caught her in my arms. 
But a second before it happened, | could swear | saw the jellyfish 
reach its own arms out towards her. Sun-hee leaned on my shoulder 
for support, and together we walked out of the containment cell. 


In six months, the Foundation will find a way to counteract Sun- 
hee's condition, releasing her identity from the cruel mockery of her 
costume, giving her true self back to her. In two years, they will 
declare her non-anomalous, give her an amnestic and release her to 
the world outside, to a normal life. 


In three years, | will retire, and leave my life in the Foundation 
behind. 


And the jellyfish? Before my retirement | will come to see it; 
sometimes, when they let me. The jellyfish will spend the next three 
years quietly in its containment. After that, | don't know. 


it cannot be removed except as noted below. Within ten (10) 
minutes, a shoot will be seen growing from within the hole at the 
center of SCP-780; this will mature to a fully-grown specimen of the 
host plant within twenty-four (24) hours. This new plant is 
designated SCP-780-1. Even if the host plant was not a living, 
physical plant, SCP-780-1 will be, though in all other traits (color, 
height, general form) it will match the depiction of the host plant. 


SCP-780-1 has the same requirements for sun and atmosphere as 
the host plant, but does not have a root system, and therefore does 
not require water or any particular soil conditions. Despite lacking 
roots, SCP-780-1 will not fall over regardless of imbalance or 
pressure applied; attempts to dig up the ground SCP-780-1 sits on 
result in [DATA EXPUNGED]. SCP-780-1 is equally susceptible to 
damage as the host plant; anything which would kill the host plant 
will also kill SCP-780-1. Upon its death, it will rot unusually quickly, 
and SCP-780 may be retrieved. 


At maturity, each instance of SCP-780-1 produces new copies of 
SCP-780. In flowering plants, the copies are found at the base of 
each flower, usually replacing the ovary. In non-flowering plants, the 
copy replaces seeds, spores, or other such propagules. Each 
reproductive structure (flower, cone, spore capsule) produces 
exactly one copy of SCP-780. When SCP-780-1 portrays a plant 
species that does not undergo sexual reproduction, a single new 
copy of SCP-780 forms at the base of SCP-780-1. These new 
copies of SCP-780 will break out of SCP-780-1 and affix to the 
nearest plant not generated by SCP-780, or remain inert if no such 
plant exists within their radius. Flowers or seeds removed from 
SCP-780-1 before maturation contain smaller, misshapen copies of 
SCP-780, which do not react to plants in any way. 


Addendum 780a: SCP-780 was recovered when flyovers of the 
Atacama desert reported an odd stand of mangrove trees where 
existing water should have been insufficient for their survival. Initial 
response from the Chilean government included a botanist carrying 
‘ ," which included a picture of a rose bush on the cover. 
Upon approaching the site, multiple copies of SCP-780 flew toward 
the book, and the researchers fled; when they returned a day later, 
many more rose bushes were growing at the site. Communication 


14 August 2023 


Interview Excerpt: 2338-293/J/4 
Date: 14/8/2023 

Interviewer: Ms. Ryoko Sato 
Interviewed: SCP-2338-B 


Foreword: Ms. Sato conducts scheduled daily interactions with the 
anomaly, for the purposes of emotional management of SCP-2338- 
B. Interviews have also obtained information about SCP-2338-A, 
with which SCP-2338-B has become able to communicate. Interview 
was conducted in ASL, and transcribed from video recordings in the 
containment cell. This is an excerpt from a longer log spanning 
several hours. 


Ms. Sato: | think that's all we need to do for your 
classes, Sun-hee. Have you been able to do your 
exercise? 


SCP-2338-B: Yes, thanks. It's sometimes a little difficult - 
there's not much room in here! 


Ms. Sato: <laughing> That's true. 


SCP-2338-B: But | enjoy the pilates. | think Eomi likes it 
too. 


Ms. Sato: Really? Why does Eomi like pilates? 


SCP-2338-B: | don't know - she just does. It's like | said - 
she doesn't talk like you or me, or like speaking out loud. 


Ms. Sato: It's just images, feelings, right? 


SCP-2338-B: Yes. A bright, happy feeling when I'm 
stretching, or an image of tentacles stretching out too. Or 
sometimes she signs to me. 


Ms. Sato: She signs? How? 


SCP-2338-B: Well, it's just an image of hands making 


the sign, really. She doesn't do it very often - sometimes 
she gets the signs back-to-front. 


Ms. Sato: It's very impressive that she can sign at all. 
Did you teach her? 


SCP-2338-B: Um, maybe? She showed me a memory of 
me teaching her, but | was much older. Oh! 


Ms. Sato: Are you okay, Sun-hee? 
SCP-2338-B: Yes. Um. 
Ms. Sato: Did you say that Eomi remembers the future? 


SCP-2338-B: Oh dear. | didn't mean to say it, although 
she knew | would. Yes, Eomi remembers the future. 
Time goes the other way for her, from the future into the 
past. 


Ms. Sato: But how does - 


SCP-2338-B: It's a bit confusing, but | think everything is 
the same, just happening in the opposite order. That's 
how she knows when I'll be able to leave her - for her, it's 
already happened. 


Ms. Sato: | see. You do seem very confident about 
getting out - | hope that you're right. We haven't seen 
anything that suggests that Eomi will let you go. 


SCP-2338-B: She will. There's lots that you don't know 
about Eomi. Like | don't think the glass would stop her 
getting out, if she really wanted to. 


Ms. Sato: Are you sure? Then | certainly hope she never 
really wants to. 


SCP-2338-B: Oh | don't think so - she likes it when I'm 
happy, and I'm happy staying here because then you can 
visit. You'll keep visiting, right? 


Ms. Sato: Of course, Sun-hee. And perhaps you can tell 
me more about Eomi some time. Like where she comes 
from. 


SCP-2338-B: Which bit of her? 
Ms. Sato: What do you mean? 


SCP-2338-B: Well, there's kind of separate parts. Eomi 
tried to explain once. The images didn't really make 
sense, but | think that this is like - well, it's like... 


Ms. Sato: Yes? 


SCP-2338-B: Oh! It's like a costume, like my costume! 
Something that you can put on - although | don't know 
about taking it off... 


Ms. Sato: Hey, Sun-hee - it's okay. They'll work 
something out. So you mean you're wearing a jellyfish 
costume over your owl costume? 


SCP-2338-B: No, that's not it. | know I'm inside Eomi, 
but I'm not really inside her. My mind isn't inside her, | 
mean. She sometimes gets frustrated by that, | think - it 
would be easier to communicate if my mind was 
travelling in the jellyfish costume too. 


Ms. Sato: So you could put your mind inside the 
jellyfish? 


SCP-2338-B: | guess - Eomi showed me how, but she 
made me promise not to do it. It would mean | go 
backwards through time as well, and Eomi says I've got 
to keep travelling forwards - to the day | get out! 


Ms. Sato: It's definitely good to have something to look 
forward to. 


SCP-2338-B: You don't believe me, do you? That's 
okay. Eomi said that you wouldn't right now, but you will. 


Ms. Sato: Eomi seems to know a lot of things. 


SCP-2338-B: She does, Ms. Sato. She really does. Hey, 
would you turn the TV on for me when you leave today? 


<end of excerpt> 


19 October 2013 


Incident 2013101904 
Logs compiled from multiple camera feeds 


SITE 19 CONTAINMENT CELL 


1310: Foundation medical staff enter with stretchers, 
bearing the bodies of 22 children and one unconscious, 
heavily injured woman. Personnel lay the bodies on the 
floor of the cell before leaving. SCP- is floating in the 
centre point of the room. 


1235: SCP- descends to the floor of the cell, gathering 
the bodies and lifting them up. It places the body of the 
woman on top of its bell, and cradles the children in its 
tentacles. 


1234: Several personnel enter the chamber in a state of 
panic. They see SCP- and become calmer, watching 
as SCP- floats up towards the ceiling of the cell. The 
personnel soon cease to pay attention to SCP-__, which 
remains still, holding the children, for almost an hour. 


1205: Foundation staff leave the chamber. Shortly 
thereafter, water bubbles up from drains in the floor, 
flooding the cell. 


1140: SCP- floats further upward, carrying the bodies 
through the ceiling of the cell. 


SITE 19 E-BLOCK LOW SECURITY DORM 


1137: SCP- enters the common room. The bodies of 


two men are lying on the ground. SCP- lifts the 
unconscious woman from its bell and carefully deposits 
her in the entrance to the room. 


1136: SCP- remains hovering over the woman. Its 
tentacles reach out in several directions, bearing the 
children's bodies through doorways and into nearby 
bedrooms. The tentacles lay the children in their beds, 
resting for a second on their faces or shoulders before 
retreating to SCP- . Two of the children are placed on 
the floor of the common room. 


1135: SCP- retreats behind the wall of the room. A 
single tentacle reaches out to the body of one of the 
men, stroking his head. The man rises from the ground, 
alive. 


1134: Several dozen tentacles embrace the body of the 
other man, lifting him to his feet near the body of the 
woman. He calls out, alive, and the tentacles release 
him. 


1133: The woman appears to be regaining 
consciousness. The man near her points an implement 
at her, healing a wound on her neck. He walks over to 
the other man, and they turn to the children on the floor, 
bringing them back to life. The children run into one of 
the bedrooms. 


1131: The men walk from bedroom to bedroom, healing 
the children within. After a short time, they leave the 
common room. 


4 February 2012 


It is mid-afternoon. The classroom is full of bright colours: pastel 
drawings on the walls, festooned with strings of paper stars. The 
young teacher is sitting in front of her class, a large picture book 
propped on her knees. The book is called "Creatures of the Deep", 
and the teacher is pointing at vivid images of fantastical underwater 


beasts. Spider crabs, sunfish, blue whales. The teacher signs to the 
class, explaining where they come from and how they live. 


The children are sitting on the floor, a little menagerie in cheerful 
costumes. They stare at the pictures, spellbound. Occasionally one 
will sign a question, then the teacher calls on them, and they raise 
their hand. The teacher flips slowly backwards through the pages of 
the book. Once, she is momentarily distracted - was that a shadow 
in the room? The moment passes; she resumes signing. 


The signing is backwards too, but | can follow it. I've had twenty 
years to learn. The first three were the hardest, before Sun-hee 
came back to me. But | kept myself company, when they let me. 


Now the teacher turns back to a page showing a giant squid. A little 
boy in an octopus costume jumps up and dances around, showing 
off. He is ridiculous, and he doesn't care - the teacher is grinning, 
and half the children are signing at once, the other half rolling with 
silent laughter. 


In a little over a year, the children will be gone - delivered by the 
Foundation to men who will remove their costumes and return them 
to their families. Until then, | come to see them; sometimes, 
whenever | can. 


In fifteen years, the Foundation will take my tank from its cell, 
transport me thousands of miles and release me on a remote beach 
in Australia. | will hurt people - | think that being abandoned by the 
Foundation must make me angry. But where the heart breaks, time 
can mend it. And the Foundation will bring to life other jellyfish - 
perhaps companions? Perhaps children? 


After that, | don't know. 


After The End