The figure stared at the stone wall for a moment, wearing 
sweatpants and a hoodie, as if waiting for the surroundings to 
acknowledge the gravity of the moment. Instead, the train tracks 
remained rusted and silent, and a plastic bottle continued rolling 
down a street in the wind. 


The figure carefully unfolded a diagram, and began painting with the 
spray can in their other hand, pausing to re-check the plan every few 
seconds. The lines were precisely calculated, an intricate 
arrangement of concentric rings and right angles, standing out from 
the fluid and free-form graffiti that occupied the rest of the wall. Once 
finished, they dropped the can in the grass, and returned to a car 
parked in a nearby lot, where they waited and watched the tracks. 


The next train to pass was filled with passengers occupied with 
reading, napping, or daydreaming, but enough of them caught a 
glimpse of the strange design as they passed under the bridge, on 
their way deep into the center of Manhattan. Satisfied that their work 
was done, the figure started the engine and began the drive home. 


Claire stared at the shapes and colors before her, trying to resolve 
them into identifiable objects. She wished she weren't so familiar 
with this sensation, but it was an unfortunate necessity of working in 
the memetic research department. 


Amnestics, she thought. Selective, judging from the nutty, metallic 
smell, assuming I'm not in an abandoned peanut butter factory. 
Class-B at the very least. 


She ran through her most recent memories, trying to recall where 


she was and why. There was a summons to meet O5-8, face-to-face 
- the long drive to a covert bunker - verifying her identity via 
passcode, retinal scan, and a dozen machines outside of her 
clearance - and finally, a doctor with a syringe of clear fluid. There 
was apprehension, which was strange, considering how often she'd 
taken amnestics before - but no anger, so whatever she'd forgotten, 
she had done so voluntarily. That much, at least, was a relief. 


The shapes before her gained definition; she was sitting across a 
desk from a squat, bald man, wearing a smile that suggested he 
was incapable of hate. 


"Ah, looks like you've come to,” said the bald man. "As you've 
probably guessed, | am O5-8, but you can call me Paul. Not my real 
name, of course.” He chuckled, extending a hand over the desk. 


She blinked off the last of the effects. "And I'm Claire. Claire Rudin." 
She grasped his hand, and received a hearty shake. 


The desk was clear except for a handful of knicknacks, only slightly 
unlike those found on office desks everywhere. A row of metal ball 
bearings, with no visible strings to hang from, hovered in midair to 
her right. To her left, a gyroscope spun on a small pedestal, showing 
no signs of slowing down. On a shelf at the back, a Rubik's cube 
appeared to be scrambling itself. 


The man noticed Claire's eyes wandering. "Yes, normally these 
wouldn't be allowed in here, but | managed to weasel out an 
exception. They're my way of staying sane - something we all need 
in this line of work." He pulled back one of the metal balls and 
released it. Rather than the expected clacking, the balls rang like 
bells as they knocked each other back and forth, playing the 
opening notes of "Ode To Joy". 


"Don't worry, they're all the safest of safe-class. Barely anomalous 
objects, really." 


"What was it you wanted to discuss, exactly? Your message said it 
had something to do with the Daevite meme." 


"Yes, that's right. We finally got the results back from the field 


and, according to surface sonar scans, at least 12 km long, moving 
at an estimated 30 meters a year. It is composed of what is 
theorized to be a mixture of water-ice, which is an opaque black and 
does not reflect any form of visible light or electromagnetic radiation. 
The leading edge of the glacier is fragile enough to take samples 
from; however, they have been shown to withstand ambient 
temperatures of over 1500°C without melting. Temperature probes 
indicate that the glacier is cooled to about -10°C, and any significant 
melting can only be achieved by a sustained exothermic reaction 
with the water molecules within the ice. When melted, SCP-630 
reverts to ordinary, slightly impure water and displays a normal 
reflection/absorption spectrum. Any sources of water exposed to 
SCP-630 crystallize, forming ice which behaves for all intents and 
purposes as part of the original glacier. When samples are placed in 
contact with naturally occurring ice, no change is recorded in either 
sample. Research is ongoing into an emergency cryogenic 
containment protocol in the event that any SCP-630 affected 
materials are ever introduced to an unsecured body of water. 


Personnel working around SCP-630 report frequent auditory 
hallucinations, most often the sound of someone pleading or calling 
for help from within the ice. Staff have reported that over a period of 
time these hallucinations can create a difficult to resist impulse to 
make physical contact with SCP-630. Recording equipment has yet 
to pick up any unexplained noises, but has detected low frequency 
sounds consistent with glacial movement. Acquisition reports also 
indicate that miners originally broke through a rock wall into the 
cavern thinking that they were following the cries of others trapped 
by a cave-in. 


When direct skin contact is made with SCP-630, the body ceases to 
reflect any incoming light, causing it to turn pitch black and rendered 
blind, deaf, and mute. Extensive testing indicates that SCP-630 
affects only warm-blooded animals: birds and mammals. Reptiles, 
amphibians, invertebrates, and fish remain unaffected aside from 
going into hypothermic shock. Once exposed, these specimens are 
classified as SCP-630-1. Affected subjects do not respond to any 
visual or auditory stimuli, instead feeling out their surroundings 
through touch and vibration, and will often follow walls and hide in 
corners. 


study." He pulled a thick folder from a drawer and handed it to her. 


Claire skimmed the figures on the first page, skipping quickly to the 
final statistical analysis. At least ten million dormant carriers, it said. 
She checked the figures, hoping to find some mathematical error, 
but found nothing. Flipping to the recorded civilian conversations, 
her trained eye quickly picked out the obscure word choices and 
memetic triggers that were the hallmarks of a particularly subtle and 
virulent meme. Yes, these people were definitely infected. And if the 
field teams' sampling methods were reliable - which she knew they 
were - the conclusion was inevitable. 


She put the folder down and looked him directly in the eye, 
wondering how he still had his cherubic smile. 


"This is uncontainable." 


"Uncontainable by conventional methods," he corrected. "But that's 
why | called you here. We need to discuss some unconventional 
methods." 


The quiet whirring of the gyroscope filled the air for a moment. Claire 
maintained eye contact, waiting for the man calling himself "Paul" to 
clarify what he would consider "unconventional". 


He leaned back and spoke in a near-monotone, as if he had 
rehearsed this beforehand. "At 8:00 this morning, the O5 council 
voted unanimously to engage a contingency plan codenamed ‘Stage 
Fright’. Part of this plan is that, once enacted, all details of its 
methods would be completely classified. Even I'm not allowed to 
know how it operates. All personnel who had any knowledge of the 
project have been administered selective amnestics." 


"| take it | was involved in this project?" Claire said, recalling her 
awakening minutes ago. 


"That's right. In fact, you were the head researcher. Congratulations 
on whatever you did, because at 9:14 the project reported success. 
All anomalous memetic effects have ceased completely. Not just for 
our personnel - everyone in the world is now effectively immune to 
memetic hazards." 


"Immune? That would require a fundamental breakthrough in 
memetic science. Why would we wipe our memories of a discovery 
like that?" 


The man shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine. It was at your 
personal insistence. Whatever your reasons were, they were good 
enough to convince the O5 council. And in any case, the details will 
be available once Stage Fright is deactivated. It's only meant as a 
temporary measure, to buy time for your new assignment. 


"Effective immediately, you are being transferred to Site-121. To 
maintain the secrecy of Stage Fright, all memetic SCP objects have 
been transferred there as well. The cover story is that it's our new 
headquarters for memetic research. In reality, you will only be 
researching two things. 


"Firstly, you are to monitor the continued effectiveness of Stage 
Fright. Any signs of memetic effects returning are to be reported 
directly to me. 


"Secondly, you are to continue developing a counter for the Daevite 
meme. Once the countermeme is ready, notify me and we can 
disable Stage Fright to deploy it. 


"Do you have any questions?" 


| know this test is unnecessary. 


| cannot let myself know. For previous-Claire, the test was important. 
Necessary. 


| know the eggplant cannot control me. | must block out what | know. 


| must do what previous-Claire would do, and see the eggplant 
without thinking of it. 


"How do you feel about vegetables?" 
| must think what previous-Claire would think. 


"They're good for your health." 


Claire sat alone in a windowless room, taking what she felt to be the 
world's strangest inkblot test. A bundle of cables connected to a 
helmet monitored her brain activity and carried it to the next room, 
where a team of researchers verified that she had, in fact, seen the 
photo of an eggplant, and had not, in fact, declared a holy war on 
edible plantlife. The next image was an abstract pattern of parallel 
lines. 


"Please state your name," asked the voice from the speakers. 
| know my name. Easy. Previous-Claire would struggle to know it. 
| must struggle to know it. 


She paused, and focused her mind. "Claire Rudin." Not Philip Gatt, 
the man who had painted it. 


She was one of the few people cleared to know that this test was 
now completely unnecessary. Unfortunately, the people 
administering it weren't, so she had to put on a show. It wasn't too 
hard; memetic resistance techniques were similar to acting. Both 
required replacing your thought processes with someone or 
something else; a sort of conscious delusion. Still, she was glad to 
have the easier test, particularly for the next image. 


"Dr. Rudin, are you prepared for the last slide?" 
She paused and inhaled for dramatic effect. "Yes, go ahead." 


The projector switched to the final image. Under normal 
circumstances, this would be a particularly dangerous 
cognitohazard, capable of putting unguarded minds into a temporary 
coma. She would need to struggle to view the image in front of her 
face, and allow it to pass through her mind without processing it. 
Today, however, she let her guard down just long enough to admire 
the flower. 


"All readings normal. Doctor Rudin, you are cleared to enter 
Site-121." 


Good. If they had caught on, it would be a security breach; there 
would be inquiries, amnestics, and worst of all, delays. Despite her 


efforts, it had happened a few times before. 


Claire put the helmet away and made her way to her office, eager to 
see if the counter-memetic search program running overnight had 
yielded results. To her surprise, she was not the first person to the 
lab today. 


"Mark, you're here early." 


The man looked up from his monitor, not having realized she was 
behind him. "Oh! Yes, | had a good feeling this time around. 
Thought we might have finally gotten the cognitive anchor points 
right." He had a manic grin, clearly waiting to be asked the obvious 
question. 


"So, did we?" 


He handed her a printout showing an abstract pattern of nested 
triangles. "It's the cleanest countermeme we've ever found. The 
software is predicting 100% effectiveness. If we got this thing into 
the mass media, the plague could be over in a matter of days." 


Claire furrowed her brow in confusion, and turned the page over, 
checking if there was anything on the back. 


"This is the countermeme? This exact pattern?" 


"Well, yeah, of course." He laughed, increasingly concerned that she 
wasn't sharing his mirth. "| wouldn't joke about that, Claire. We've 
finally done it." 


Claire stared at the pattern some more, wondering if she was 
imagining that she'd seen it before. 


"So... you're going to bring this to the Od5s, right? | mean, there isn't 
really much else for us to do here now. We've found the cure." 


"Right, yes. I'll let the O5s know. | suppose you can take the rest of 
the day off." 


Claire carefully slipped the paper into a manila folder, and started 
getting ready to leave. Before seeing O5-8, she decided to make 


one other stop. 


Claire stared at the painting on her living room wall. 
Then back at the paper in her hand. Then at the painting again. 


Yes, they were definitely identical. She tried to remember where, 
exactly, she had bought it. 


It was when some friends were coming over, | think... Who, exactly? 
Hmm, it doesn't matter, | guess | was embarassed about how 
minimalist my apartment is... So | found that art store on Google 
somewhere. Can't remember the name... it was a fairly nondescript 
place. And... if |remember correctly, it smelled distinctly of metal 
and peanuts. 


She stopped breathing for a moment. / do not remember correctly. 


Claire gripped the sides of the frame and carefully lifted the painting 
from the wall, placing it face-down on the dining table. On the back, 
a packet of papers had been stapled together and messily duct 
taped to the painting, along with a note unmistakeably in her own 
handwriting. 


Hi Claire. 


The amnestics they gave you for anything related to 
Stage Fright probably hit any memories of my test for the 
O5s as well. 


I'm hoping the information I've left here is enough to lead 
you to the same conclusion as me: The Ods aren't taking 
my cautions seriously enough. At least, not all of them. 
That's why | had to give them a test. Misuse of Stage 
Fright could lead to an EK-Class scenario - and we 
wouldn't be able to do a thing about it, because nobody 
would even realize it had occurred. So as horrible as the 
test may be, it's better than the alternative. 


- Claire 


P.S. Don't worry - the Daevite meme is actually 
completely harmless. Yes, the dormant stage is highly 
virulent, but the babbling about Daevite mythology during 
the active stage is just that: babbling. No actual 
connection. Just something to give the O5s a good 
scare. The infected won't even remember it. 


MEMETICS DEPARTMENT 
PROJECT SESHAT RESEARCH SUMMARY FOR O05 
COUNCIL 
MARCH 2011 


The microwormholes discovered by Dr. Malcolm in 
January have been confirmed to be present in the brains 
of all available test subjects. Microwormholes appear to 
be present in all regions of the brain, and typically have a 
diameter under 50 nanometers. 


Research into the destination of these wormholes 
remains at a standstill, due to their small size preventing 
access with measuring equipment. 


Incoming signals have been determined to correspond to 
both sensory and memory information. These signals 
appear to be comprehensive; all information consciously 
processed by the subject passes into at least one 
wormhole. 


Outgoing signals have thus far only been observed when 
the subject is exposed to anomalous memetic or 
cognitohazardous stimuli. Experiments run by Dr. Tarver 
have shown that these signals cause the anomalous 
effects of SCP- ,SCP- ,andSCP-_. Dr. Tarver 
hypothesizes that the microwormholes may be the cause 
of all anomalous memetic effects.