Watching the birds gave Stan no information. All he could see was 
the birds making weird expressions at each other. He still was no 
closer to figuring out anything. He still couldn't communicate with 
anyone, he still didn't know how 306 had gotten into the site. They 
only thing he knew was how frustrated he was. 


It seemed like this frustration would be the death of him. Stan was 
losing his sanity, trapped in his own mind. Like a night terror he 
simply couldn't wake from, the situation refused to give him relief. 


Tonight, Stan truly wanted to die. 


It was because of this that he could not sleep. So Stan went again to 
the computer terminal. 


He did not know what he wanted to see. Maybe more of the 
database. Or maybe he would try to access one of the 
cognitohazards. He could end his life instantly with one of those. 
Then the horror would end. 


But again, the potential horror of death hung over Stan like a stalker. 
He simply couldn't bring himself to do it. 


But out of the corner of his eye, Stan saw one of the birds again. 
And the 659 saw him too, as both were now looking at each other. 
For a moment, it was as if Stan could understand this bird. 


Yes, now it was clear. The birds wanted normalcy. They wanted 
freedom. But more than that. They wanted the same thing the 
Foundation hoped to maintain for humanity. A life free of unknowns. 


And in that moment, as Stan saw the emotion of a thing he had 
dreaded long ago, he could almost sense a bond. And then he 
thought. 


I'm sorry. I'm sorry for what | did. 


And as if the bird could sense his thoughts, Stan swore he could see 
a smile on the bird's face. 


Then 659 walked closer, keeping its eyes locked on Stan's. Slowly, 
it moved towards him, until it was just inches away. Then, gently, the 


supervision of at least six (6) armed personnel. Its preferred killing 
method is a bare-handed strike to the abdomen, penetrating the 
abdominal cavity and removing the liver, which it will later consume. 
If given time, however, it will choose to linger over its kill, torturing its 
victim, as it seems to enjoy the infliction of pain upon another 
sentient being. 


Description: SCP-953 is a female Red Fox (Vulpes vulpes) 
approximately 8 kg in weight, with a spine that splits around the 26th 
vertebra into nine separate tails. Subject displays polymorphic 
properties, however, allowing it to take the form of various other 
objects and beings (most commonly, an attractive Korean female). 1 
Subject will display some vulpine aspect (ears, tail, paws, eyes, fur, 
voice, mannerisms) in all of its alternate forms: this can serve to 
identify the subject should it attempt disguise, although SCP-958 will 
attempt to conceal its tails through clothing and other methods. 


In addition to polymorphic abilities, SCP-953 displays moderate level 
psionic abilities, namely suggestion and telepathy. Although 
insufficient to fool an outside observer, an entranced subject can be 
convinced of a variety of false facts, including the nature of 
SCP-953, its own nature, and the nature of things around it. 
SCP-953 has used this in the past to, among other things: deceive 
police officers investigating reports of loud screams from a hotel 
room, convince a mother to roast and eat her own child, carry out 
acts of necrophilia upon Agent Ramsey's fiance in full view of said 
Agent, and succeed in the systematic murder of 27 attendees of 
"YiffCon2 " 


Addendum 1: Prior History SCP-953 has been encountered by the 
SCP Foundation and its predecessors numerous times, with the first 
encounter having taken place in Busan, Korea, shortly after the 
Second World War. To date, SCP-953 has escaped and been 
recovered six times, resulting in the deaths of SCP agents during 
various incidents. 


After its latest escape, SCP-953 was not heard from for over 

years, until suddenly resurfacing in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, on 
June 2 at"YiffCon2_ ," which it had been attending in the guise of 
a "furry" enthusiast. Before being captured, SCP-953 carried out 
over two dozen murders of convention staff and attendees, more 


bird reached out it's claws and, even more gently, took Stan in them. 


Then, ever so slowly, this strange bird lifted itself up, and with 
careful grace, took flight. And then Stan wondered if he was dead, if 
maybe this was what it felt like to exit the world. Maybe death was a 
release. 


If that was the case, Stan was OK with it. 


Cornelius felt this most incredible rush pulse through his being. At 
last, he had one of the great saviors. He would take him to Vincent, 
and then he would know. What was even better, there was still time 
before sunrise. 


Setting himself down for a moment, Cornelius saw that the strange 
amphibian had fallen asleep. It's eye's were closed as it breathed 
slowly and peacefully. The creature seemed pleased. 


Cornelius placed the incredible creature softly on the floor, careful 
not to wake him. Then, ever more slowly, he moved towards the 
chamber at the end of the hall, which had been reserved for Vincent. 
Surely, now the leader would decide in his favor. 


But as he got closer, he sensed that something was amiss. The 
door, normally guarded by two, had four sisters standing by it. The 
smell, the air, was filled with a sickening odor, the stench of blood. 


Cornelius remembered this feeling once. The day that the old leader 
perished. He did not want to believe what he was now presented 
with. 


How? 
This was all he could ask. 


He died of weakness. Sister Frances found him just a short while 
ago. 


And indeed, Frances, who appeared shaken, sat in another 
doorway. 


Do you see now, Cornelius? This was by your negligence! Your silly 
games has caused a death! 


But Cornelius still could not understand it. He was petrified and 
bewildered. 


| smelled his blood. His blood has spilled, Frances! 


Cornelius! You are my brother. The son of my parents! You have 
crossed me, you have crossed us all! | cannot look you in the face! 


Cornelius was amazed. He felt the guilt of the fraternity on his head 
and could not stand. Then he let out a call. The call of distress. The 
cry. 


Cornelius cried. 


Stan awoke next to the strange bird. 


For a second, Stan was angry to be alive. But that soon gave way to 
dread, the dread he had felt for too long. But at the very least, he 
didn't feel quite as much dread as normal. Perhaps it was because 
he had slept well. 


In fact, he had slept so well, Stan thought that the bird he had seen 
last night may have only been a dream. It would make sense, after 
all, he didn't think it was possible to be that happy outside of sleep. 


And then Stan realized he had been awake, because the bird was 
standing nearby. It still was looking at him, but now it appeared 
weak. 


Stan then remembered something about 659: they could read. That 
was one of the reasons they were considered anomalous. And if 
they could read, Stan could communicate with them directly. 


But how to write? Stan still had no opposable thumbs. He couldn't 
hold a pen for two seconds, much less write with one. 


The computer terminal! 


Despite having felt as though he had flown for an hour last night, the 
terminal was just a few meters down the hall. Still running. 


Stan raced down the hall. 


As the savior leaped up from his rest, Cornelius was suddenly struck 
with surprise. The creature leaped down the hallway at a rate 
nearing his own flying speed. In all his life, he had not seen such 
agility before. 


Cornelius followed the frog down the hallway. He tried to fly at first, 
but found himself suddenly weak. Then he walked, but he then 
realized how faint he felt. His past excitement had distracted him to 
his most basic needs. 


But after just a moment, the frog stopped. It stood for a moment in 
front of a chamber who's entrance lacked a gate. Cornelius thought 
it appeared as though the gate had been torn away, as the creature 
hopped into the room. Cornelius walked into the room and saw. 


On the outermost walls were dimly glowing screens, with every 
screen partitioned by another, paler wall. Below each screen was a 
table, and one the tables there were a large amount of buttons, each 
one labeled with one of the symbols that the captors composed their 
words with. 


The frog hopped up on one of these tables. Then, with extreme 
care, he slowly pressed the buttons. 


As he did this, the message appeared on the screen. 


im sorry for what we did. you dont deserve to be stuck here 


That seemed like a good message to the bird. It got across exactly 
how he felt, and it was simple. Stan turned to leave. 


But as he hopped off the table, the bird hopped on. It began to 
quickly peck the keys, typing it's own message. 


The message appeared on the screen 


you frred me and my bropthers. why should you apologiz? 


This seemed like chopped logic. How could the frogs have done 
wrong to the fraternity? 


i didnt free anyone. we contained you. thats why im sorry 


Contained? Cornelius was flabbergasted. The humans, not the 
frogs, were their captors. 


Cornelius typed a new message, which appeared on the screen. 


nio, you destroyed the umans whop were our captorrs! 


It then dawned on Stan why the bird had been so fascinated with 
him. This simple misconception had caused 659 to give the thanks 
that Stan never deserved. And this misunderstanding needed to 
end. 


iam one of those humans. i know i dont look like it, but i am. 


Stan waited for the bird to type his response. But the bird remained 
still, so Stan typed another message, and it appeared on the screen. 


were still human, we were transformed. 
No. 


Cornelius thought. Then he stopped for the fear that he was thinking 
the thoughts of fools. Or perhaps it was not a fear. Cornelius had 
already contemplated a fool's ideas. 


Cornelius typed very slowly. 
iam afool. i misleadd myselfn. you doint know my engligence. 


Frances was right. These games were naive and unfounded. 
Vincent was dead because of him. 


Cornelius was a fool 

iam a foll. 

Stan had caused this creature a significant amount of pain. At this 
point, why wouldn't the bird want him dead? Maybe... 

Stan typed a message for a favor, which appeared on the screen. 


my name is stan. i dont know if i want to live. but i know that you 
dont want me to continue. 


Cornelius was not mad at the captor called Stan. He was mad at 
himself for being so mislead. 


myh name is cornelius 
He paused, then continued. 
i cant sttrike you. this is my fualt. 


Cornelius turned away. As he did, Stan typed a final message, 
which appeared on the screen. 


i hope for you to find normal. 


When one believes themselves to understand, this can cause an 
extreme elation. But with a positive, there is always an equal 
negative. And when one discovers that they have been mislead, 
either by themselves or my another, this elation becomes despair. 


Cornelius believed that he had mislead himself. By jumping to a 
conclusion without examining his haste, the sweetness of his 
freedom had turned sour with death. There was nothing else to see, 
was there? 


And now this was a time to step back. Cornelius still longed for a 
truth, something to explain it all. His theory did not match what could 


be seen, So a new one was needed. 


But step back once more. Deeper than that. Cornelius remembered 
the captors. Their cruel tests, their debates of what his thoughts 
were, and then their attempts at explaining. When a theory did not 
match what was seen, they found a new one. 


And here was that which was similar. 


Step back again, and look at the whole story. The days when the 
humans first found the fraternity, and thought them strange. The 
days when brotherhood refused to make brothers of these mislead 
creatures. The days when sisterhood conspired to wage war, and to 
end scores who were too stupid to know the truth. The days when 
poor fools saw their attempts to understand collapse, while birds 
rejoiced. 


Another step, and look at the reasons. Before they had known of the 
other, there was no conflict. The birds hunted while the humans built 
cities around them. There was only normal. 


Normal. 


Cornelius could see now, see the normal that Stan hoped for him. 
What they both wanted, and all that they ever wanted. They did not 
wish step off a path, for to do so was frightening. 


Thus was the final step. They both wanted the same thing. Perhaps 
they were not so different. 


By this time, Stan had stepped out, and left the room. 


Frances wished she could take it back. She hoped he would 
awaken. Then she wished that she would not. 


The guards now could not let her leave. She had done a horrid 
thing. 


Cornelius approached from down the hall. Hunger finally seemed to 
hit him. 


"Frances," 

She did not respond. 

"Frances, | need you to listen to me." 
"Leave me alone." 


"Frances," Cornelius begged, "| know you do not want to see me, 
but | need to apologize!" 


Frances did not want to face him. 


"It was my fault for Vincent's death. You were right about this 
delusion. There were no saviors, and..." 


"Cornelius." 
Frances couldn't take it. 


"It's not your fault the Vincent is dead! It's mine, Cornelius!" 


| just wanted to talk to him. | wanted him to understand my 
viewpoint. | told him that your curiosity was foolish. He told me that 
my approach was dangerous. He said my search was futile, and that 
| was the one putting us in danger. | thought he was crazy, | thought 
that would get us all killed. And then, it all fell apart. 


Cornelius never could have thought this would happen. Frances, the 
calm and logical sister, had killed a brother. 


| know what he meant now. My refusal to step off a path, that was 
the true danger. You were willing to try that which was new. Your 
search could have found something, where as mine has gone 
through this entire complex and found nothing. | know you don't 
want to look me in the face ever again, my brother. | do not either. 


Cornelius was still. His surprise was not a shock, but a fascination. 
The clues he had searched for now made sense. 


Cornelius, leave! 


It now made sense. 


Frances, it makes sense now. 


Frances still could not understand. 

"Cornelius, | don't want to listen to you!" 

She could not understand what Cornelius saw. 

"In a way," said Cornelius, "You're a lot like the humans." 


Frances did not take offense. She already thought herself 
negatively. 


"You did something bad, but you did so because you thought, in that 
moment, that it would be for the best." 


Cornelius paused a moment, then explained. 


"The humans imprisoned us because they thought, in that moment, 
that we might harm their normalcy. They were wrong in that, and 
you were wrong in striking down Vincent. But we, our fraternity, 
proved them right by our attacks. Does that not make us just as 
wrong? And now, we see that they are gone. Fate has punished 
them. Shall we, we who chose not to be peaceful, find ourselves 
similarly facing our consequences? 


"Frances, none of this turmoil is to our benefit. Not our dissent, not 
the humans' dissent. Why, then, should we not reconcile? Please, 
Frances." 


Cornelius approached closer, and asked a final question. 

"Will you reconcile?" 

Cornelius waited in hopes of a response. Then, cautiously, Frances 
looked up. 


And Cornelius was satisfied. 


On //_ ,Site- experienced an outbreak of SCP-306. 
The breach occurred during transport of samples, likely 
due to improper handling. 


Infection rates exceeded 75% within one week. At that 
time, a site lock down occurred in accordance with 
Procedure q. By order of O5- , detonation of site 
warhead in accordance with Procedure 4 was not 
performed, citing Incident I-306-3.