Kensington looked him dead in the eye. "O5-2." He released his 
hand, casually peeling away the flesh tone polymer covering his 
palm, and forearm, dropping it in to Rex's trashcan where it turned 
into less than fifty grams of unidentifiable gray dust. He turned, 
leaving the office, and out to the main research wing, his face an 
inscrutable mask. 


Dimensional Site 4, April 20, 2017 


The small transparent case in front of O5-2 crackled with whorls of 
light, which she knew her brain interpreted as colored purple, for 
lack of a way to really interpret the sixth dimensional distortions. 


"When?" 
The technician beside her lifted a squarish device. "Soon." 


O5-2 glanced down at her watch. 11:59 PM. The plane had gone 
down less than 20 minutes ago, and he should be emerging any 
moment. 


The technician looked at the Overseer. "Hume readings increasing." 


The bones in front of her in the clear plastic case vibrated slightly, 
moving forward, a purplish after image emerging out from the case. 
A series of unpleasant flashes depicted the after image slowly 
coating in fibrous muscles, nerves, eventually skin, tissues, hair... 
even clothing. 


Dr. Michael Magnus fell to the ground in front of O5-2, the last of his 
screams fading into the chamber. 


O5-2 took a step forward. "Welcome back again, Michael." 


Dr. Magnus' bloodshot eyes lifted from the floor to hers, terror filling 
them, the pain slowly receding. 


05-2 smiled, and handed him a typewritten report. On it was more 
insanity and gibberish about sea turtles. "Why? Why do you keep 
making me do this?" 


She tilted her head slightly. "Simple, Michael. You were a liar when 
you were just a Foundation employee, and everyone thinks you're 
just a liar now. And, frankly, you were the only personnel at the right 
time, who was expendable enough to qualify. What do you say if 
anyone presses you for what happened, and won't take that for an 
answer?" 


Magnus skimmed the sheet a few more times, before rising to his 
feet. With a heavy sigh, he repeated the words that had been drilled 
in to his head death after death after death, "Legends never die. 
Where are you putting me back this time?" 


O5-2 nodded to the door. "Just outside of Site-27. A little over twelve 
hours from the current chronographic time. You know the routine, 
Michael. The evidence has already been back-filled in to reality." 


Magnus' head hung down. "Fine. What happened to the anomaly?" 


05-2 smiled slightly, "We're not sure. You've never died so close to 
a reality bending object before. We're still investigating what 
happened." 


Magnus took a shaky step towards the door on the far wall, opening 
it, to reveal a peaceful island scene. Hawaii, home of Site-27. 
"Answer me this. Is it worth it?" 


05-2 thought for a moment, then nodded. "Yes. Completely. You've 
seen the combat reports from the Senior Research staff, yourself." 


Magnus grimaced. "So be it." Then he stepped through the door, out 
of his own personal hell, and into the salt air of paradise. 


« When All You Have is a Hammer | HUB | SCP-3621 » 


Directive Legends 


My best friend bled out in my arms. | wish | was a strong enough 
person to have let that just be the end of it. To just...let him die that 
one time. If wishes were horses, we'd all ride. -From the personal 
journal of Dr. Jacob Kensington 


Dimensional Site-04, September 27, 20 


The office was significantly more plain that Dr. Kensington had 
expected. He had figured an 05 would have all well appointed oak, 
felt desk covers, drinks cabinet, the whole shebang. O5-2's office 
was, at best, a spartan space. Six large filing cabinets. Several 
computers. A reality anchor localized to this room. It was a place of 
work. 05-2 lounged back in her chair. "So tell me again. What 
exactly are you proposing here?" 


Dr. Kensington shifted uncomfortably. He'd stolen the files in front of 
him, and all of the related materials from Michael's files. They hadn't 
been disturbed in months, but still, it irked him to steal from his 
friend, "| think we can use this to enact some kind of permanent 
change in reality. Something to give us an edge against the 
benders, and the anomalies. Lord knows they've been escalating." 


05-2 sat up, and steepeled her fingers, resting her chin on the 
intertwined digits. "And how, exactly, is this going to help us?" She 
reached across the desk, and rifled through the papers. Several 
mentions of 'reality anchorage’ and ‘Sumerian hex-cross-referencing' 
were scrawled across pages of graph paper. None of it made any 
sense according to the experts who'd read it. "This is all gibberish, 
and you know it." 


Dr. Kensington hesitated a moment then nodded, "That's correct. In 
our reality, Dr. Magnus' 'research' is nothing but bunk. But in another 
reality it doesn't have to be. The entire theory of reality transference, 


and ego-spacial deference matrices isn't bullshit. It's just bullshit 
here." He could see the look in her eye. The same look Magnus 
must have gotten every time he ever tried to explain this. 


Kens shifted the chair forward, and pointed to a diagram of a device, 
made of some black stone, which cradled a bismuth case. "Look, in 
our local space-time and hume levels, this is just a ludicrously 
expensive paperweight. But if we could...well, for lack of a better 
term, 'bend reality’, we could make it function for a few seconds. 
Enough to jumpstart the transference. Whoever or whatever we 
needed could be...enhanced." 


05-2 looked across the table with her unnerving stare, and smiled a 
very slight smile, "Enhanced how? We've tried to do this in the past, 
and all of our attempts were...temporary at best. Or better left as 
footnotes in a file." 


Dr. Kensington nodded, reaching down to his briefcase, and pulling 
out several level 4 clearance files. "Yes. The duke incident, I'm 
aware. While the damage was catastrophic the results where 
undeniable. If you could have all of your senior staff, every single 
one, as unkillable and, well, for lack of a better word ‘lucky’ as Dr. 
Kondraki all the time, would you?" 


Her reply came without hesitation, "Of course | would. So what do 
we do?" 


"We'll need some kind of object. Something to imprint this whole 
shebang on. Personally, I'd go with something living. It would have 
to be something relatively unimportant though, because there's no 
telling what this would do to the subject. Not something I'd like to 
think about honestly, reality takes exception with people screwing 
with it." Dr. Kensington adjusted his glasses, his fingers flexing 
nervously, several candidate files ready. 


O5-2 nodded, and pressed a button on her phone, "Sal, can you 
bring us some coffee? It's going to be a long one." She looked up 
with an eyebrow cocked, "You drink coffee, right Jacob?" 


Dr. Kensington swallowed. It was unnerving that an overseer knew 
his first name without having to look it up. "Of course." He reached 


down, checking his phone reflexively as he pulled out a few plans 
and designs. "We'll probably need the help of SCP-348, and a few 
others to begin the initial reaction..." 


05-2 nodded, "Not a problem. Let's talk about specifics, you let me 
worry about logistics." 


Site-19, July 17, 20 


The site was under attack, and there was little to nothing that 
Michael could do about it. He ran through the halls trying to find a 
safe zone, but all of the lock down points had already been, well, 
locked down. It was his own stupid fault for waiting so long. He had 
to make sure that Jacob was alright before looking for cover. 


An explosion rocked the corridor ahead of him and he fell to the 
ground, his glasses splaying out across the floor. Everything blurred, 
rocking back and forth as the tinny ringing in his ears slowly quieted 
to a roar. He scrambled for a moment before finding his glasses. In 
the distance he could see armed men in black uniforms rushing 
through the hole in the wall that had been created by the explosion. 


Oh god. It's really happening. They're here, and I'm going to die. 


He pulled himself to his feet, turning to run in the other direction. The 
loud report of gunfire filled the corridor behind him accompanied by 
raised voices. 


It wasn't supposed to be like this. It's supposed to just...oh god, the 
guns are so loud! 


He turned down a side corridor, and rushed past the medical wing. 
He tore through the door, and came to a halt in front of the reception 
desk, "Hello!? Is there anyone here?" 


His eyes swept across the area behind the desk, and met with the 
eyes of a junior medical officer he'd met last week. Her glassy orbs 
stared in to the blank distance of oblivion. Magnus stood frozen, his 
blood running cold. Kayley. Her name was Kayley, and she loved 
falafel and salsa music. Now she was dead, and he was transfixed. 


The neat bloody holes in her neck stood out in a mockery of the 
vibrant life she'd had just this morning. 


"N-no. Jesus christ no!" 


He spun on the ball of his foot, running out the door. A jog turned in 
to a dead sprint, looking around to find signs of any foundation 
personnel. He caught a flash of a pair of lab coats down a distant 
hallway, and tore off after them, retreating from the gunfire. He 
turned the corner, green light emanating from an adjacent corridor. 


An open shelter! Jesus Christ, I'm the luckiest son of a b— He 
turned the corner towards salvation, and came face to face with a 
tall man wearing black body armor, and a set of black fatigues. At 
his feet were two foundation scientists, and he was smacking some 
kind of gun in his hands. He caught a glimpse of Magnus, and 
stared hard at him. 


Magnus fumbled at his side, looking for the absurd revolver he 
carried for a while, to try and impress the combat agents. The 
ridiculous leather holster was empty. Of course. | left it in the 
dormitory wing. | haven't carried that thing in months. All he could 
find was his little folder pocket knife. He pulled it out of his pocket, 
and flipped it out with sure motions, his hand settling around it as he 
had done a million times. To open boxes. To pry open a soda. He 
didn't know the first thing about defending himself with it. 


The man in front of him cocked his head to the side, and smiled, 
reaching up to the shoulder of his body armor for the handle of what 
looked like the biggest knife Magnus had ever seen, dropping the 
gun in his hands to let it hang from its strap. The knife's blade had to 
be at least ten inches long. 


"S-security teams are on their way! You'll never get out in time, 
before they get here! You should just go!" He tried to look confident, 
changing his stance to something he thought was approaching 
threatening. His legs felt so awkward. His fingers gripped the G10 
handle of the little folding knife like a vice. He remembered buying 
the thing on Amazon, and bragging about how awesome it was. 
How it was basically razor sharp forever. It felt absolutely useless in 
his stiff fingers. 


"No they're not. Yes | will, and | don't think | should." The man in 
front of him said. He walked forward with casual motions, his knife 
held upright from his fist. It was so goddamned big. Magnus tried to 
shift his knife backwards, like he saw on TV. The little knife blade 
sticking out of the bottom of his fist. "Defensive grip" his brain told 
him, but he didn't have the first clue. 


At two paces away, the enemy agent flicked out his free hand, 
towards Magnus' face. Without even thinking about it, he sliced out 
with the knife, which maybe brushed the heavy gloves of the agent's 
hand. A sharp, and sudden pain hit his knee. A lashing boot had 
caught him in the knee cap, and he fell to the ground, supported 
only on his other knee. 


A hand closed around the wrist of the arm holding the little knife, and 
a quick hot sensation filled his senses as he heard the bones of his 
wrist crack. The agent reached forward with his other hand gripping 
Magnus' hair, his head forcibly tilted to look him in the eyes. The 
giant, black-bladed knife looming about ten miles long above his 
face. "Should have stuck to the lab, pencil neck." 


Magnus tried to say something in reply but the sudden bright flash of 
pain in his chest stopped him. The hand released his hair and fell 
away as several other hot sensations bloomed in his chest. The man 
turned and started walking away, as Magnus realized the truth. Oh 
fuck. He stabbed me. He stabbed me a lot. 


It all happened so fast. The whole confrontation couldn't have taken 
more than a pair of seconds. It wasn't like that in the movies. For 
some reason, all he could think about was, Why wasn't it more like 
in the movies? Magnus' body hit the floor, blood rapidly pooling 
under him, his eyes staring up at the ceiling. 


The last few moments of his life, he felt someone scooping his 
shoulders off the ground. Someone yelling in his face. But 
everything was so numb, so hard to make out. "K-Kens? | don't—" 


Kensington screamed his rage to the ceiling as his best friend died 
in his arms. The security team behind him swept the area as the 
impotent rage washed over him. 


SCP-672: Rock Coral 


Item #: SCP-672 
Object Class: Euclid 


Special Containment Procedures: The sample kept at Research 
Sector- is to be maintained in a biodome suitable for desert life with 
accompanying scrub plants. Samples may be taken at the discretion 
of Dr.H . [REDACTED] is to have relevant data for the location of 
SCP-672 colonies uploaded. Any wild colonies are to have an MTF 
dispatched to enact procedure Lambda-6. 


Description: SCP-672 is a species of coral that grows in desert 
environments. The rich green color of SCP-672, making it appear as 
a plant at first glance, comes from a previously undiscovered but 
unremarkable species of zooxanthellae. The colony is extremely 
efficient with resources. Dead individuals are broken down and any 
useful components redistributed, leaving behind limestone that can 
only be distinguished from deposits formed by normal coral by the 
presence of [REDACTED]. When not active, SCP-672 polyps 
completely seal themselves within their shells and become nearly 
impossible to distinguish from surrounding rock formations. It is 
recommended that MTFs carry a copy of Document 672-12 as an 
identification aid when performing fieldwork relating to SCP-672. 
Outside of expansion events SCP-672 will periodically become 
active for brief times to either consume prey or to allow its 
zooxanthellae to undergo photosynthesis. 


SCP-672 was initially discovered by a[REDACTED] in 19 :a 
sleeper agent planted in the team alerted the Foundation to a 
possible SCP species and attempted to direct attention away from 
SCP-672 as per standard procedure but was detained by his fellow 
researchers due to suspicious behavior. AgentD __ attributed his 
detention as the primary reason for surviving the subsequent 
expansion event that killed the rest of the expedition. 


Dimensional Site-04, July 18, 20 


05-2 sat at a desk with the open file in front of her. Across from her 
desk sat another member of the O5 council, and Dr. Kensington. He 
hadn't yet washed the blood off his hands from the attack on Site-19 
last night. "Gentlemen. We've accomplished the goal we set out to 
do last fall. Now all we needed was a willing subject to—" 


"| have one." Kensington looked up at O5-2, his eyes clear, and 
bright with the pain and anger of the past 24 hours. "| have a body 
you can use. And an event, too. Something strong, and clear to latch 
on to." 


05-2 steepled her fingers again, leaning forward, "Do tell, Jacob." 
O5-6 turned his head, the vague black haze around his head from 
the persona obscurer tracking the movement and compensating.