The dust didn't bother with degree. If you had even the slightest 
trace of ability, that made you first a target and then a victim. 


There are maybe a few thousand left. Those of us who managed to 
isolate our air and water supplies from the dust. But we can't leave, 
can't resupply and won't survive. Civilization, gone in an eye- 


-blink. Must have dozed off. Understandable, we've all been going 
for 2 days or more to finish this. 


It's a small change. Nothing serious, nothing wildly risky. Just some 
- alright, several million with the current breeding programme - pet 
kittens to get people in key positions a little more relaxed. Hopefully, 
after everyone's spent a few days d'awwing over the nearest 
SCP-2558-J things will be...calmer. Quieter. Friendlier. And then, 
behold: a better world. 


Well... that's what they thought. See, here's the thing about those 
deadly little balls of fluff: they don't like sudden noises. We 
introduced them into the world, and of course, what do parents do? 
They give them to their children. Children are alright, | guess. Except 
that they can be loud. 


| remember when it started. Two of the things had been brought to a 
home, and the children got so excited. But then they started to fight, 

and the little puffballs... puffed up. The resulting puffage caused the 

children (and their parents) to shriek and scream, which caused their 
neighbors (also proud owners of the things) to slam open their doors 
and ask, "What?!" This, of course, caused MORE puffsplosions, and 
before you knew it, with a shriek or a telephone ringing or anything 


floor. A young Asian woman, dressed in attire suitable for a 
prostitute of the time enters, [DATA EXPUNGED]. Victim expires 
due to asphyxiation. During the third cycle, the aggressor usually 
stops at the mirror to reapply the lipstick and places a 'kiss mark’ on 
the glass while looking directly at the viewer. 


SCP-987-k 
, male, 34 years old, hallway of a home in , Maine, / 

/20 . Subject is standing on a ladder installing a chandelier. 
Subject loses balance and becomes entangled in the light fixture, 
pulling a length of electrical wiring from the ceiling. Subject is 
simultaneously electrocuted and strangled. During the third cycle, 
the subject shows various levels of apprehension when starting the 
task, the incident is more gruesome in nature, and usually includes 
the discovery of the dying subject by his wife. 


Note: In this case, the mirror was observed to be missing from the 
home when the death was discovered. It appeared at Research 
Site-14 at approximately the time of subject's demise. SCP-987-1 
had dissipated at least 15 minutes before the onset of the events 
depicted in SCP-987-k. 


SCP-987-m 
, female, 20 years old, bathroom of Room __ in the Hotel 

in New York City, / /1978. Victim reacts in fear from 
aggressor out of view and attempts to run out of room. Unidentified 
male in denim jacket stabs victim once in abdomen and flees. Victim 
falls to the floor and quickly expires. During the third cycle, victim is 
clearly inebriated and attempts to communicate with viewer before 
aggressor enters. After the stabbing, aggressor proceeds to [DATA 
EXPUNGED]. 


Note: It is very probable but not certain that the presence of 
SCP-987-a through m is a primary factor in the containment of 
SCP-987-1. In light of this, any testing that may be disruptive to 
SCP-987-1's behavior patterns must be approved by the site 
director. 


Note: As the Faraday shielding seems ineffective, and the role 
played by SCP-987-1 in these incidents is uncertain, Dr. has 
requested use of technology to attempt to contain SCP-987-1. 


like that, the world was FILLED with puffballs. 


The worst part had to be that no one cared. The world was being 
drowned in puffballs. No one could breathe, or see, or anything. 
They just sat there and said 'Dawwwww...' They cooed over these 
things as they wiped out about half of humanity. The rest of us, 
though? We're down here, away from those things. Every now and 
then, when we run the tap, we get a puffball. It's simply 
unimaginable... and it feels like any second now we'll just... 


239. It's perfect. She can change reality, right? Make things better? 
And we can control her. So, that's what we'll do, control her. Feed 
her a carefully crafted story, about how all the worlds governments 
decided to get together, and make the world a better place. And, 
fucked me if it didn't work! A world with no pollution, no war, and, 
even better, everyone can do magic! 


Unfortunately, the one crippling flaw of this system, like so many 
others, was that it was dependent on a simple human being, who 
was susceptible to so many human flaws like emotion, temptation, 
greed, fear, and outright neglect. Putting 239 in power was like 
handing the world to every crackpot power hungry dictator that ever 
existed. The world and reality itself bent and warped to the whims of 
a prepubescent girl with no preconceptions of how the world has or 
should work. Her handlers foolishly thought that they had her under 
control, carefully feeding her the information only they wanted her to 
know. Little did they know that they were already under her spell, 
trapped within their own delusions. 


The world soon became 239's sandbox, and like any child ina 
sandbox, she experimented. Continents were torn asunder, plagues 
of stuffed (and in some cases real) animals fell from the sky, and the 
planet kept shuffling from having one moon to six. 239 cared not for 
the suffering and deaths of countless people during these 
upheavals. She was never taught to comprehend the plight of 
people she knew nothing about. But like all humans, 239 eventually 
became bored with meddling with Earth's affairs. There had to be 
something better to do. 


Then she looked up at the sky. She had done that many times 


before, but this time was different. Something deep and primeval 
stirred within her mind, another aspect of humanity that made her 
the most dangerous being of all. Curiosity. 


And the stars themselves shall tremble... 


War. War was everywhere and inevitable. From wars between 
countries right down to arguments in the street, conflict was simply 
considered a part of human nature, as natural to the species as 
eating and sleeping. But what if there was a way to change that? To 
eliminate war and conflict from the equation altogether? 


Through aggressive breeding and cloning programs, huge flocks of 
SCP-514 were manufactured. Enough flocks to cover the world in 
their miraculous aura. Things started off slow at first. After all, the 
birds needed time to properly disperse and cover ground. But slowly 
and surely, reports of their activity began trickling, and then flooding, 
in. Overnight, entire military bases and armies would disappear in a 
matter of seconds. Armories and weapon caches would suddenly be 
stocked with broken weaponry, and people who were once mortal 
enemies embraced each other with open arms. 


With no weapons and no aggression, the world finally knew true 
peace. At least for a time. 


Too bad it didn't work on the things which needed it most. The old 
man, the Lizard, Able, the red pool... nothing could stop them. The 
pool was still angry. It knew it was free to attack. It soawned 
countless creations of fire, claws, poisons... They broke out within 
seconds. The Americas were turned into hellholes in a week. Then 
Able got free. Countless Keter objects made it out. After three days 
from his escape, nothing was left. SCP-514 turned the world to dust. 


Those of us who survived used less than friendly SCP's and objects. 
Many of our staff are lacking in something from begging the desk for 
help, and others are mutated and altered to the point where death 
looks like a better option in hindsight. At least humanity has a 
remote chance of survival, even if it's all for naught. 


Clockwork. Simple? Check. Compatible? Check. Perfect? No. We 
realized that the hard way. It was just months after we released the 
Clockwork Virus upon the world in order to rid the less than useful 
problems of transplants and the complexities of biology. Nothing 
would be more simple for humanity if everyone could understand 
brain surgery, and a tree could be remade to be a leg, right? 


And it was simple. So simple. So mind-numbingly simple and 
perfect. But that's the point, it was mind-numbing. There were no 
emotions, no ingenuity, no curiosity. And as one machine we 
decided life had no point, there was nothing to strive for. And we 
died. 


Or that was what the test group wrote to us before they killed 
themselves. Poor fellows. 


But there was something that did have a successful test group. We 
were on the brink of war, and it seems the human race would 
destroy itself. That was when administration made a decision to 
release SCP-444 upon the world. 


... lt worked beautifully at first. Entire armies slowly transformed into 
peaceful communities, first led by pacifists, then by carefully 
selected Foundation agents. We steered the world towards a perfect 
state, without conflict of any kind. We learned to adapt to a purely 
vegetarian lifestyle, as farmhands grew steadily unable to summon 
the aggression to kill livestock. We grew used to the restriction of 
medical procedures, as physicians became unable to cut or suture 
and pharmaceutical animal testing ended. We grew used to the 
unceasing baby boom of 5 and 7 and 10 and 15 children per family. 
But then things came to a head as finally, there were no more 
leaders, no more uninfected agents, no more unconcerned O5s. 
And then we grew used to the televised images of mass starvations 
not just in undeveloped, forgotten countries, but in Japan and 
France and Norway and America. And then we grew used to 
ourselves searching for that last bag of sugar, that last pot of rice, 
that last can of peas. And then we grew used to chewing grass and 
twigs into a paste for the silent children. And then we died, weak and 
hungry. And then the babies wept, still silent, as their limbs shriveled 
and their bellies swelled. And then the babies died, with no one to 


care for them or mourn them. 


The decision was made. Foundation researchers finally received 
permission to conduct a large-scale system of exposure to 
SCP-028. Dozens of people would be sent through the empty 
storage yard every day and thoroughly interviewed and, if need be, 
interrogated to determine what they had learned. Every scrap of 
information would be recorded, analyzed and, if deemed sufficiently 
valuable, released to the general public. 


The first month alone resulted in designs for a cold-fusion plant that 
could power a city the size of London indefinitely, the composition of 
a fertilizer that would break down harmlessly in seawater and the 
name of the designer of SCP-914. The Foundation, through its 
numerous fronts, was rapidly able to improve the quality of life of 
almost every human on Earth, providing the world with the 
technologies and knowledge it needed to become a better place. 


Then James Harrison Reuben walked through the yard. 


James Harrison Reuben was a cable repairman from Topeka, 
Kansas. A blue-collar worker in a simple, menial job. A perfect 
receptacle for knowledge. We sent him in with visions of new 
advancements and beautiful new technologies dancing through our 
heads. 


He came out with the knowledge of how to conquer the world. 


It's been seven years since then. His armies and death squads 
march through the streets of every city in the world. Every battle is a 
devastating victory: how can it be otherwise, when he has perfect 
knowledge of all our battle plans before they even happen? It is only 
a matter of time before he overruns our final stronghold. 


I'm sending this message out through our wide-band radio 
transmitter on the off chance that someone will get this message. 
I'm doing this because the last transmission of our intelligence 
operatives, before they went dark, shows that Reuben is building 
space ships. Hundreds of them, lined up in ranks stretching across 
the Florida coastline. 


But | can't shake the feeling that maybe this is all part of his plan as 
well... 


"Why didn't anyone think of it before!?" they said. "It's the perfect 
solution!" they exclaimed. "We'll just shoot SCP-231 into SPACE!" 


So we did! Loaded her up onto a booster rocket for a 
"communications" satellite and shot her straight towards the sun, 
wiped off our hands, and congratulated each other on a job well 
done. Now we don't need to live with the knowledge that brutal and 
horrible things are being done to a little girl every day! 


Um... yeah. 


All it took was a single incorrectly fixed plate on the rocket. The 
whole thing blew up in the atmosphere, releasing a monstrosity 
outside the foundation's range of control. The damn thing survived 
the fall, ravaging its way across the planet, killing everything in its 
path. We weaponized everything we could, sent everything at it, but 
we couldn't stop it. Now we have no choice but to try and evacuate 
everything in its path, to hope we can stop it before it wipes out what 
remains of humanity. 


SCP-343- he's perfect right? The one true god, worshiped by all 
religions. All we had to do was ask Him to appear to the world. Grant 
a few miracles, talk to the religious leaders of the planet. Before you 
know it, all religious war, gone. People have no reason to kill each 
other over differences, now that everyone believes in the same faith. 
And He can provide scarce resources, like food and oil. All war 
gone, all of civilization is now free to focus on advancement, to work 
towards a golden age of humanity. 


But then He started coming for us. He promoted himself very quickly 
to O7, a position that He invented. And He had no idea how most of 
the SCP items worked. He wasn't familiar with the SCP items, He 
didn't create them, and He couldn't comprehend them. He gave up 
on trying to contain them, and instead decided to exert His control 
over the humans, who He did create. He cancelled containment 
procedures on any SCP item that required moral ambiguity to keep 


locked up - and, because of the interlocked structure of the 
Foundation, that amounted to everything. Everything's loose now 
and we might as well already be dead. 


So we decided to use SCP-184 to increase our storage space. We 
wouldn't keep it in any given room for too long, so we wouldn't wind 
up with the labyrinthine nightmares that were initially its signature. 
We'd just leave it there long enough that each room was somewhat 
larger on the inside than on the outside, so we could fit more 
supplies in the same area. It worked great. The Foundation was 
running more smoothly than ever, and the effort we'd previously 
spent on securing more land to build Sites at could now be put into 
more important tasks, like neutralizing SCP-682, or trying to find a 
cure for SCP-217. The world seemed closer to safety than ever 
before, but we hadn't quite thought things through with 184... 


We're not sure exactly what happened. We heard various stories; a 
containment breach at a bad time, an attack by the Insurgency, or 
just some poor fool dropping the damn thing. All we know is, 184 got 
damaged. 


Turns out, 184 has to be in one piece for its effect to work. With it 
damaged, everything it had modified began to 'shift’, trying to revert 
to their original state. Rooms grew and shrank, hallways twisted and 
turned, and chaos erupted. We tried to fix it, to put it back together, 
but that just made things worse. 


Within a week, every single modified building had suffered total 
structural failure.