"What matters here is whether you did or not. To the best of your 
recollection, did you honor the letter and its contents, or did you not, 
Talloran? Please remember that you took an oath under penalty of 
perjury. I'll repeat the questions. Have you gone on to, or did you in 
any way, honor this letter written by Benjamin Kondraki and 


Addendum 668-a: Following further testing, it has been determined 
that test subjects wielding SCP-668 can be terminated through 
passive response, so long as the terminating agent is introduced 
before the subject takes possession of SCP-668. The Running Man 
protocol (see Appendix 668-B: Approved Terminating Agents) is 
hereby approved for use with SCP-668, and the item in question is 
hereby reclassified as a Euclid-type object. 


Addendum 668-b: Use of Omega-7 personnel for retrieval of 
SCP-668 during future Containment Failure Incidents is to be hereby 
forbidden due to the danger of SCP-076-2 coming into contact with 
the item. Addendum 668-b is revoked as of [DATA EXPUNGED] 
due to SCP-076-2's expressed distaste at using an item that, in its 
own words "takes all the fun out." Possibility of using SCP-076-2 as 
a solo agent for any future Containment Failure Incidents under 
review. With the ending of the Omega-7 project, no further attempts 
to weaponize SCP-076-2 or SCP-668 are to be attempted. 


Addendum 668-c: Do not, under any circumstances, allow 
SCP-668 to come in contact with SCP-682. Note that although 
average human beings have a Psionic Resistance Index of 24, 
SCP-682 has been tested with a PsiRI of [REDACTED] placing it 
above SCP-668's threshold of effect. The possibilities of a creature 
inimical to all life gaining possession of something like this should be 
obvious. With the ending of the Omega-7 project, no further 
attempts to weaponize SCP-682 or SCP-668 are to be attempted. 


Addendum 668-d: Request to reclassify SCP-668 under its original 
designation as a Keter-class object under review. 


Addendum 668-e: Request to reclassify SCP-668 under its original 
designation as a Keter-class object denied. SCP-668 will remain at 
Euclid classification. 


« SCP-667 | SCP-668 | SCP-669 » 


addressed to you and the contents therein?" All eyes on them. 


"Not to my recollection." Talloran, Esq. nods, jotting down the 
statement. 


"Thank you." 


For the Charge of "Mental 
Illness in General" 


"Now, if the court will look to this table here, we can see the medical 
records of one Dr. Manwell Cutler of the Ethics Committee, who for 
the months of March 2017 to July 2017, had biweekly appointments 
with Talloran for assessing their mental health and ability to work on 
various Keter-class projects, both standard and those handled under 
different moral codes." Talloran, Esq. flipped through the pages. 


"Here, we can see Talloran's records. These will be important later. 
However, going back to the page before it, we can see that —" The 
prosecutor struggled to flip the page back. "Shit, excuse me, sorry, 
uh, crap. Here we go. This is a record of how often Talloran showed 
up to appointments. You can see that starting in May, attendance 
started to slip, with —" 


The defendant zoned out, unable to hone in on the proceedings. All 


this reminded them about was the nightmares, night in, night out. 
This turned into full-on dissociation. Everyone was mannequins. 


For the Charge of 
[REDACTED] 


[DATA EXPUNGED]! 


"| rest my case, Your Honor," Talloran, Esq. said with smug 
satisfaction. 


"I've heard enough. I've reached my verdict," the Judge proclaimed, 
and with a bang of the Gavel, the defendant was back to their bench 
and they immediately snapped back into their body. It was the same 
scene as the start, but this time with only cameras, the Judge, the 
defendant and their lawyer (who had not once helped in any 
capacity). D.E.C.|. v23 nudged its client for the singular moment it 
did anything but stand still since the trial's beginning. So much for it 
coming in handy. The defendant looked over. 


"If everything goes according to plan, Tall-lor-ran, you shall be found 
Not Guilty by the court and free to go. However, if you are found 
Guilty and you do not believe such a verdict to apply to you,” 
D.E.C.1. v23 droned on (what fucking nerve on this shitty robot, 
programmed in such a stupid way to talk like this to its clients, even 
if this is all still somehow just a bad dream it was a joke of a dream), 
"then please take this Complimentary Apple, pull the stem, throw it 
on the ground nearby, and run forward." The defendant was then 
handed a Red Delicious. 


"Uh, oh geez, | guess thank y —" 


"| find the defendant guilty of all charges. Sentencing shall begin." 
Bang, and the scene shifted again. 


This time, Talloran was alone in the room, surrounded only by 
cameras. 


"| sentence you to more continued self-assessment and prolonged 
imprisonment. Court is adjourned." Bang, and Talloran was dragged 
away by sheriffs to leave the court room. The paparazzi swarmed 
upon them. 


"Talloran, is it true that you've committed unthinkable 
crimes against —" 

"Talloran, did you really —" 

"What went through your head as you pursued 
psychotherapy —" 

"Are your plans for the future compromised by this ruling 


in any —" 
"Did you really think this was winnable?" 


"Will the next million years be any different for you?" 
"What do you think Draven thinks about this?" 


"Talloran, do you believe you're innocent?" 

"Is this going to affect your projects from Site-118 any 
more than usual?" 

"When will we find out about the destructive biases of the 
court system that handled your case?" 


"Do you believe in free will, Talloran?" 


"And there always will be..." 


Talloran took the apple, pulled the pin and threw it at the ground. As 
the crowd backed away, they managed to break free of the sheriffs 
and run. Someone screamed. 


Then Talloran's vision went white, and they could no longer hear. 


It took a minute for it to wear off before they realized it was a stun 
grenade, and they realized where they were now; nowhere, 
surrounded by nothing. 


Talloran ran. 


Footnotes 

1.When Talloran was a kid (five years old), they remembered 
walking on the shores of a beach — some beach, the name isn't as 
important — when they stumbled across a crab. It was a peculiar 
sight. Crabs at the beach were normal; wounded, fragile crabs 


weren't. It was in trouble and only a kid with big hopes and 
aspirations as someone who wanted to help the world could save 
this crab. But it wouldn't hurt to observe it.For the better part of an 
hour, Talloran watched this crab limp along the shore of the beach, 
struggling to find shelter, to survive. It didn't attempt to head back 
into the water even once. After a while, the crab spotted them and 
made its way to them when a seagull came and picked it up. This 
didn't distress them, nor was it even too memorable. It was just their 
first experience with death. All they remembered from the incident 
was thinking something along the lines of (if they were to use adult 
vocabulary in place of a five-year-old's)"| guess so".Between the 
ages of 17 to 24, they tried to find stable housing. For the first few 
years, they just wantedanything, and once a cramped studio 
apartment wasn't working, it was onto more cramped studio 
apartments, but with less mold, more air, less pollution, less 
claustrophobia. Even once (relatively) stable, every day felt like an 
ordeal. At least when they were briefly homeless as a kid, their mom 
could protect them. It was harder when you were on your own. The 
day Talloran turned 25, they got a call from an old high-school 
friend. According to her, someone in their graduating class killed 
himself the week before. He loaded up his car with smoke bombs, 
drove the car into the ocean, and detonated the bombs. Despite 
eyewitness testimony, it took a full day to find the vehicle and its 
passenger, who had passed out before his unconscious body was 
carried down the current. She figured that everyone who knew him 
even a bit should know. Talloran thanked her, said his condolences, 
and hung up. All they could think was"! guess so".Hikari Yamada 
later pointed out to them, after the transfer to Site-118 and hearing 
this story, that this wasn't a particularly normal reaction to death. Not 
unusual, she surmised, but certainly not normal. Talloran asked 
why."After all, we have to at least pretend to care about other 
people, right? At the very least, it's our so-cial con-tract!""But | did." 
They then told the crab story."Well... you were a kid. Kids react in 
uncertain ways. That's not that unusual!""! still have nightmares 
about it. It's the exact situation, but it always feels worse and worse 
each time | dream it.""Hmm.| guess so."The two then went back to 
working on containment procedures for a humanoid SCP that later 
had to be neutralized with great force.That's all that Talloran could 
really think about death as. Something that just is. Even for loved 
ones, even for friends, even for the self (but not by the hands of 


others).| guess so. 


The Vampyre of Time and Memory 


« Only Once Away My Son| Does anybody ever get this right? | I'll Try Living 
Like This » 
Hub 


This is an incomplete excerpt from the life of the author of this tale 
series. All of the following has been pulled from her diary, and edited 
and kept to relevant excerpts for readability and entertainment 
purposes. We'll call her Sunset. 


Hello! 


By all accounts, writing this story was nothing less than a miracle. 


November 23, 2017 


American Thanksgiving. At least no one is talking politics. The 
nieces are loud and bubbly, the food is pretty good (her oldest niece, 
12, ended up making the best dish anyway), and because it was at 
her Vovol's apartment, it was a good way to get away from home. 
The less loneliness, the better. 


"All done." Sunset clapped her hands together. "Can | go to the 
bathroom?" Although Vovo was busy talking with her daughter and 
other granddaughters, she smiled and nodded at Sunset. 


The bathroom in the community dining hall was locked for minor 
renovations, so a trip had to be made to Vov6's place. It wouldn't be 
long anyway; about a minute to and back, with about 30 seconds to 
wash her hands. Still, even a 20-second delay was enough to get 
consumed in her own thoughts and worries. 


As she continued walking into the atmosphere, thoughts came to a 
head. A decision had to be made sooner or later. Whether to 
continue forcing on at Thanksgiving, or run away, or lie down and 
accept fate, or try and pretend those shapes are more than just 
aggravating squares and circles and rectangles, or retreat in the 
corner and poke away at the phone, or... 


Or... 
Hmm. 


Sunset washed her hands, recognizing the lady in the mirror as 
someone else from this time, a being unfortunate enough to have to 
return to her family. Not her though. She is well-off, able to make 
choices, while her choices are... hmm. Train of thought? 


As she dragged herself towards somewhere, she passed by her 
grandparents' room, where she saw it. An axe murderer standing on 
the other side of the bed, no face visible. She tilted her head to the 
side. No response. 


She waved. 

It waved back. 

She shrugged and left. And before she knew it — 
"EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEFEEEFFEEEEFFEEEEEFEEK"" 


Down Sunset came immediately. Her hand was on the exit of the 
complex. This was no time for whatever she was doing right then 
and there, she had to check on her nieces because it sounded like 


them, like they were in trouble. Off she ran and went back to the 
dining hall. 


They were just chasing each other. Ah, youth. 


Later that night, she called her grandparents to see if they were 
okay. They were. 


November 24, 2017 


psul had gotten back to Sunset about critique for the first tale. Now 
she could be able to use it for a future one. At least everything was 
going smoothly as far as the series was concerned. 


! still felt weird about it though. "Hey, how can | 
specifically tailor my work to best suit your specific tastes 
and needs?" was a thing | almost literally sent. | had to 
couch it instead. As if it was no biggie. 


"i post new tales in the series every monday 
and thursday, hopefully the others are more 
suited to your personal inclinations!" 


It didn't even occur to me otherwise; why write if no one 
likes it? |! mean, so what if this was my saving grace and 
my own personal Hail Mary; watering it down isn't that 
big of a deal right? So | waited, anxious to hear back. 
What else is self-worth but based on the esteem of 
others? 


| remember at some point passing out at the computer 


and waking up to a new Wikidot message from him. 


"No need to hope for that! Much better to have 
them suited to *your* inclinations and your 
purpose, rather than worrying about what one 
person on the internet thinks." 


Admittedly pretty simple advice, but simple advice is 
enough in this kind of time. 


November 25, 2017 


Sunset went outside to smoke cigarettes and contemplate her next 
moves in the windy, nighttime weather of New England. It was pretty 
recent that she finally ran out of the weed she had been saving, and 
with no real date to get some next2, she felt like she had to smoke 
something. It's been years since she had a cigarette, it couldn't have 
been as gross and garbage as she remembered, right? 


After frustration and no cooperation from the wind, she finally got 
light up the cig and take a drag on — 


cough cough 


"FUCK, this sucks." It was exactly as bad as she remembered. So 
much for that plan. "Whatever. Let's see." She took out a notepad 
she had with her, listing the details of all the money she had 
recently, and locations with which to move to. There wasn't any real 
hope; lots of guessing and Maybes, plenty of chances for 'No, sorry’. 
Oh, how that story and song always went. 


Every day, the list of places shrank hopelessly shorter and shorter, 


and the number of people that can be reached out to feels like it 
slips away even faster. She started biting 


November 26, 2017 


into her fingernails, then her fingers, and there she went. 


The next thing she remembered was lying on her bed. Well, it was 
her, but she saw herself do so. Oh, how she wished she could reach 
out and touch her arm, tell her "It'll be okay, please persevere." 


"It'll be fine. Please calm down!" The stuffed animal to the right of 
her, the pink-and-white dog, laid a paw on her and nodded. "Just get 
yourself through the night. It's okay." 


"isitreally" she mumbled into her chewed nails. 


"You can only do so much. Why try to take on more than you can 
handle, you silly thing?" 


"| guess" 

She curled inwards and closed her eyes. 
“Do you want anything to eat? Any water?” 
“no imgood” 

Sleep arrived surprisingly easy. 


Afternoon came. It was at the moment where Sunset stumbled out 
of bed, trawling the refrigerator for lunch leftovers, that she came to 


Incident 668 A 


Incident: Retrieval of SCP-668, 
"13 inch chef's knife" 


SCP involved: SCP-668 

Personnel involved: [DATA EXPUNGED] 
Date: [REDACTED] 

Location: [REDACTED]