26Thulu62: No one's ever told me that before. Thank you. 
LordBeauremont: Any time. Hey, I'm here for you, no matter wh 
to know, come to me. I'll guide you through it all. Let out everytt 
safe with me. 

26Thulu62: Thanks. Sometimes, everything's so scary and cont 
LordBeauremont: Yeah. But we got each other. I'll keep you saf 
26 Thulu62: Right. 

LordBeauremont: And you want to keep me close, yeah? 
26Thulu62: More than anything. Please, it's so hard to find som 


LordBeauremont: You can trust me. I'll look out for you. We're c 


26 Thulu62: Sure. 


<END TRANSCRIPT> 


Transcript 4 


MASSYS BIG CHANCE 
FOR MULTI PLAYERS 


VER 0.8 


TOTLEIGH SOFTWARE CORPORATION 


Is 26Thulu62! Welcaem! 
173 plyars in surver world. 


26Thulu62 look like BHATRAVVY. Thank for BUY! 
There is 5 PEEPLE here. 

There is a LordBeauremont (PC) here. 

PEEPLE building FIR PIT. 


> chat 


26Thulu62 go to CHAT! 


26Thulu62: They better be just out camping. | wanted us out in 


LordBeauremont: Whatever. I've got it programmed to start bres 
26Thulu62: Thank the Forces of Stasis. | just need some peace 
LordBeauremont: Do you need me to leave you alone? 
26Thulu62: No! I'm sorry. Stay. 

LordBeauremont: It's all right. I'll stay. 

26Thulu62: | don't... | just don't want to have to deal with worsh 
LordBeauremont: You want me? 


26Thulu62: Well, a friend, you Know? Someone who gets me. A 
they all just want kids and shit. 


LordBeauremont: They don't care to know the real you. They ar 
26 Thulu62: No, they aren't. 


LordBeauremont: You're not into worshippers, anyway. You jus 
person. Someone who can see past the eldritch powers and the 


Someone who knows what you like, what you need. Someone \ 
Someone who knows all your little pleasures. 


26Thulu62: Yes. Yes, please. 
LordBeauremont: I'll show you everything. 


26Thulu62: Please. I'm so sick of people being so fake in their s 
need it. 


LordBeauremont: I'll go slow. Let you take it all in. | Know just w 
26 Thulu62: | can't wait. 

LordBeauremont: 

26Thulu62: Jesus fuck! Is that your cloaca? Why? WHY? 
LordBeauremont: | bet your hectocotyli are moist now, huh? 
26Thulu62: NO. | don't want to see that. 

LordBeauremont: Aw, come on, you don't know what you're mis 
LordBeauremont: 

26Thulu62: I'm sure there's a law against this. Stop it! 
LordBeauremont: A human law, maybe. Nothing that matters. 
26Thulu62: Seriously, stop it now! I'm not into that! 
LordBeauremont: Why not? Everyone else is. You will one day 
LordBeauremont: 

26Thulu62: What did that snail ever do to you?!!! 
LordBeauremont: You should ask, what did | do to that snail? It 


26Thulu62: You're deathfucking them? Why? WHY? My Dad w. 
ready!!! 


LordBeauremont: Hey, it's okay, I'm just not normally near such 
just anyone | meet online. | respected your kink, what's wrong v 


26Thulu62: ...Behave? 
LordBeauremont: As you command, buddy. 


26Thulu62: MEKHANE, Yaldabaoth, and St. Alagadda, is thé 
me? After everything I've said? AFTER FUCKING EVERYTF 


LordBeauremont: What can | say? You make me feel... profane 


26Thulu62: Fuck it. Fuck it all. You can have your fucking game 


Welcomm back from CHAT! 


There is 53 CORPSE here. 

There is 238 PEEPLE here. 

There is LordBeauremont (PC) here. 

There is FIRE PIT here. 

Above FIRE PIT is RACK. 

Above RACK is PLEZUR SWING. 

PEEPLE paint HIGH PRIST marks on LordBeauremont (PC) ! 
LordBeauremont (PC) now HIG PRIST for 26Thulu62! 
26Thulu62 gain 12,849 GOD points! 

26Thulu62 now GOD level 10! 


> quit 

Are you sure you? 26Thulu62 is VERY GOD! 

> y 

Thank you paly! Massys Big Chance Multiplayer is BETA. 


Come back you for mor! 
More FORMS! More PWOERS! More WORLDS! 


<END TRANSCRIPT> 
Footnotes 


1. Similarity between the LordBeauremont character 
andSCP-1171-1 is presently under investigation. 

2. Due to present conditions, hypothesized connections 
toSCP-1322cannot be investigated. 


Skip Jam Part One 


The researcher sat completely still behind his desk. From the top, he 
was Calm, collected, his face set in a perfectly neutral and 
nonthreatening expression. Below the desk, completely hidden, his 
sweaty hands were clenched so tightly on top of his trembling legs 
that the rather short length of straw hidden in the left one was 
starting to break the skin. He contemplated the bearded man sitting 
across from him, looking, at the moment, just as calm as he did. 


“Dr. Kondraki,” he began cautiously. “I’m sorry, but these pictures 
you've taken of this new SCP, are... uh... less than adequate.” He 
nodded to three small black and white blobs on the desk. “I’m afraid 
that, um, that they are not of sufficient quality to be used in 
documentation.” He fought the urge to throw up his arms. 


Kondraki shrugged. “Yeah, sorry about that,” he said simply. 


“N-now, I’m not implying that you-,” the researcher paused. “Did... 
did you say sorry?” 


“Yeah, | just don’t know what’s with me lately, but | just don’t seem 
to be able to get what | usually can out of this camera,” the man 
said, with a mild look of sheepishness on his face. “I can’t even get 
408 to do anything.” 


The researcher was having trouble formulating words. There was no 
shouting, no threats or pointy objects in evidence. Things were not 
going according to his mental script. It did not feel good, despite the 
lack of pain. It was as if the entire world was... wrong. 


He said, “Er...” 


Kondraki looked at him with some concern. “May | go now?” he 
asked politely. “I’m thinking of requisitioning a new camera and I'd 
like to get started on the paperwork. You’re looking a bit off-color, 


MRI indicated [REDACTED] 


A reinforced concrete containment cell was immediately 
prepared for SCP-939-A6. The cell's lighting was 
dimmed and a large basin full of water provided at its 
request. 


Date: 01-26-2001 


SCP-939-A6 immersed itself in the provided water basin 
and remained inactive for a period of approximately forty- 
one (41) hours, at which point it began violently tearing 
at its skin. It displayed a considerable amount of distress 
upon realizing its skin was sloughing off, but appeared 
unable to stop. At 2236 hours, Dr. reported 
SCP-939-A6's head detached itself. By 2240 hours, it 
appeared morphologically identical to, albeit much 
smaller than, SCP-939-1. 


Addendum 02-13-2001: SCP-939-A6 has been re-designated 
SCP-939-101. It will be transferred to Bio-Research Area-12 for 
further study. 


Document# 939-101-77: Audio Log 939-101A #13 
<Begin Log, 1016 hrs, 05-22-2004> 


<Access to Cryogenic Preservation Room 939-101 
granted to: Dr. > 


<Access to CGPT 939-101A granted.> 


SCP-939-101: Excuse me, mister? Why are we here? It's 
bitterly cold and we would like to go home now. We're 
very late for our bedtime, and we're very sorry. We didn't 
mean it. 


SCP-939-101: Have you seen our pictures? We like 
drawing. Daddy hung them on the wall except for 
sometimes when the others in white coats took them 
away. Daddy told us not to draw pictures like those. They 


there,” he added, 


“Oh... ah- I-, uh... huh...” the researcher’s jaw was slack, but he 
managed to nod his head. 


“Thanks. I'll see you around sometime. Hope you get better.” Dr. 
Kondraki gave the man a small wave and walked calmly out of the 
room. The researcher sat still for a moment, overwhelmed by shock, 
then began to dial the emergency extension on his office’s phone. 


Dr. Crow’s claws clicked on the floor as he made his way to his 
quarters after a long day. He was practically asleep on his feet, but 
his instincts were still sharp. He caught a flash of something golden 
in the corner of his eye and whipped around, baring his teeth for a 
fight. 


There was nothing there. Then the whatever it was flashed by again, 
and he realized that it was his own tail. 


He chuckled. Overwork, that’s what it was. Making him see things. 
He batted at his tail affectionately. It moved out of the way. He tried 
again, it moved again. With out quite realizing it, he was suddenly 
chasing his tail. 


He thought to himself, / say, this is rather... ha ha, fun. Hah. 
Hahaha. Hahahahaha! AHAHAHAHAHRRRRRRRRUGH! 
GRRRUGH! RUGH! 


Dr. Gears sat next to his assistant, who was feeling just slightly 
uncomfortable. Of course, he'd worked with the man for years, but, 
well, if only he'd just, move or something. 


"So, these are the latest batch of test result photos, sir." 


Gears shifted in his seat slightly, surprising the other man. "| am 
aware of that," he said. "Please show them to me." 


The assistant obliged. "Here we have D-5584, after several days as 
the 'rear' of SCP-1545." 


Gears swallowed. "All right. The next one, please," he said quickly. 


Puzzled, the assistant went on. "Here are the results of SCP-682's 
latest termination attempt. Apparently SCP-2599 managed to do 
quite a lot of damage before-" 


"Yes, | can see that." Dr. Gears’ voice was strained very slightly, and 
he looked pale. "The next one, please." 


The assistant was thoroughly unnerved. This was worse than the 
doctor's normal neutral expression. This was worrying. He found the 
next picture. 


"H-here, we have some new pictures from SCP-610's-" 


Dr. Gears threw up. 


Alto Clef lost his grip on the door frame and slammed to the floor of 
his office. His shotgun had jammed, for the tenth time, and it was 
probably because of something he'd done. 


Something was wrong. The entire day, he had felt... off. He was 
tripping over his own feet, as well as other things. He was lucky to 
get his gun to fire at all. Granted, he couldn't hit anything anyway, 
but the jamming was new. Dr. Clef was worried. 


He hurried down to the security room to check the footage of his 
office. Had somebody finally got to him? Was it a prank, or 
something more sinister? 


He found his office feed for the night before and played it back, but 
there was nothing. He fast-forwarded. Perhaps it happened when he 
came in. He waited, the door on the screen opened... and he saw 
nothing but his face. His perfectly normal, unaltered face. 


He scrambled out of the room, beginning to panic. The kitchen. He 
had to find a kitchen. He couldn't have lost everything. 


He made it to the cafeteria kitchen without dying, although there 
were a few close calls. Everything he needed seemed to be there. 
Clams, bacon... tomatoes... 


"NOI" 


The very last one to find out was Dr. Bright. 


"And we're sure that the signal is extrasolar?" he asked the agent 
beside him. 


"That's right, sir, but not from any of the usual sources. It's just static 
so far, but we've managed to limit its access to a closed Foundation 
network, just to be safe." 


Bright scratched his beard (it was red today) absently. "Not just 
every television," he mused, watching the flickering screen. "Literally 
every screen capable of transmitting data... Anything going to those 
lengths has something to say. Good work, agent. Are the 
countermemetic precautions in place?" 


"Yes, sir." 


"Keep monitoring the signal, then, and send someone down to 
External Affairs for a cover story. If anything changes, alert-" he was 
interrupted by a loud fanfare from the television. The static 
disappeared to be replaced by a squat green figure in a wine- 
colored suit. It was nearly spherical in its construction, with pointed 
ears and a face that only a mother could step on repeatedly with 
cleats. It was also, both thankfully and worryingly, not human. The 
alien landscape behind it was obscured by a reddish, atmospheric 
fog, but jagged peaks appeared to be the central feature. 


"People of Earth and beyond!" the apparition boomed, taking a cigar 
out of its mouth, "You may call me Mr. Swackhammer! As for all of 
you," and here the face twisted into a horrible grimace that was 
probably meant to be a smile, "I think that I'll just call you my pals." 


The... man paused to take a drag on his cigar and started to stroll 
leisurely to one side, the camera following. "Anyways, | have some 
very exciting news to share with you. We here at Moron Mountain 
have decided to open our doors to species from around the galaxy! 
That's right, including you!" The creature had stopped taking the 
cigar out of his mouth while he spoke, opting instead to let it balance 


on his generous lower lip. 


"Now, you may ask yourselves, 'Mr. Swackhammer! Just what is 
going on to have prompted this miraculous event!’ Well, shut up and 
I'll tell you. We have begun a parkwide renovation, preparing for two 
thousand new attractions! Oddities, anomalies, impossibilities, the 
likes of which you have never seen before! Some dangerous! Some 
wonderful!" 


Mr. Swackhammer now stopped moving. "And this is all possible 
thanks to our new backer, Dr. Wondertainment Incorporated!" The 
camera moved to the side and zoomed in on a young woman sitting 
atop an enormous corgi apparently made of ice cream, sleeping ina 
giant waffle bowl. The woman's grin was wider than her skinny body, 
and her arm was waving so fast and violently that it was almost 
invisible. The camera abruptly cut back to Mr. Swackhammer as she 
was preparing to stick her tongue out at it. "Now, the safety of our 
patrons is our number one concern here at Moron Mountain," he 
said with a solemn look, "and that's why you'll be pleased to know 
that before we reopen our gates to the public, every new attraction 
will be managed by our expert team of Monstar containment 
specialists." 


And now the camera cut away, showing nothing but the ominous 
glowing mist. Bright and the agent watched as... things began to 
emerge from it, dangerously alien and horribly, horribly familiar. 


The first creature to show itself did so in a flash of light and 
butterflies, dissolving into the center of the shot, smiling proudly, 
defiantly at the world. It was the smile of someone who put their job 
first, their own enjoyment second, and everything else tenth. 


The next alien simply walked out to stand next to the first, wearing a 
completely deadpan expression that would not waver if he was 
murdering you. 


The next face to appear jumped down from above, the features 
shifting like sand as steam from a small bowl curled around it. The 
alien was riding a large green wolf (and why shouldn't there be alien 
dogs, Bright thought, lightheaded) whose eyes betrayed an 
intelligence that complimented their natural ferocity. 


Finally, one more alien came from the mist. There was nothing 
remarkable about its face, or its expression. To Bright, it looked as 
ordinary and expendable as an alien could look. There was, 
however, one remarkable feature. A red glow, at the base of his 
neck, without any apparent source. 


The commercial went on for a few more seconds, but Bright was no 
longer paying attention. He reached for the familiar lump of SCP-963 
around his neck. It had never moved. He knew it hadn't, but there 
was a change. The gem in the center had darkened, becoming 
almost black. 


The television went back to static as Bright stared at the amulet. He 
became aware of the agent saying something. 


"Hm? What was that?" he said absently. 


"| asked what you would like me to do, sir," the agent replied, clearly 
nervous. 


Bright's turned a thoughtful face to the agent, his eyes becoming 
unfocused. "You have a gun with you, agent?" 


"|, uh, yes sir." 
"Give it to me." 


"Huh? But, what will that..." the man saw the Senior Staffer's 
expression and quickly handed over the gun, "of course, sir." 


The young man was frightened, and confused, which was why he 
almost forgot to react as Dr. Bright raised the gun to his temple and 
pulled the trigger. 


The mood was bleak among the four researchers and one dog 
gathered in Site-19's conference room as the calls poured in.