There were three more murders the next three nights. The lion- 
tamer, the unicyclist, and one of the other clowns, all killed the same 
way, all with a number on the wall in their blood. One, two, three, 
four... Everyone was wondering who was gonna be next, and the 
longer it went on the more and more people started doubting me. 
The boss said the police couldn't find any evidence that | did it, but 
just to be safe he was confining me to the "jailhouse" tent on the 
edge of our camp, and he sent Omar the Strongman to make sure | 
didn't leave. | felt like | was back in dad's basement again. 


That night | woke up to the sound of a scream. Annie's scream! | 
yelled at Omar to wake up and we rushed to her tent. It was dark, 
but | could tell she was hurt pretty bad. There was a man standing 
over her, taller than me, wearing some kind of metal claws on his 
hands, just cutting at her with them. Omar shone a flashlight at him 


and | recognized the face - it was Jacob! | told Omar to stay back 
and | jumped right at him like | was Monstro-Boy for real. In thirty 
seconds | had him flat on his back, and | would have cut his throat 
with my own claws if the police hadn't rushed in and separated us. 


| was booked at the station house for aggravated assault and 
attempted murder. | had a feeling it wasn't going to go well for me, 
but | never made it to trial. The next night | was taken out of my cell 
in the middle of the night and put into a windowless van, and by 
morning | was at Site 19 - where I've been ever since. The doctors 
ran all kinds of tests on me, talking about how | was a "genetically 
unique specimen" and an "atavistic recurrence of an extinct forebear 
of homo sapiens" and all kinds of scientific mumbo-jumbo that | still 
barely even understand. | plead my case and they told me they 
knew | was innocent. Annie and Omar and the boss had vouched for 
me, and Jacob had confessed to the murders - he'd seen me on TV 
and decided to get even with me for running away. | asked when | 
was free to go, and that's when they told me never - | had to be 
protected and kept secret from the "civilian" world, because my 
existence was an abnormality and | was a threat to normalcy. It 
surely wasn't the first time a man in a lab coat told one of my people 
something like that. 


They put me in a windowless cell and only let me out to run their 
tests on me. It was like being back in the basement. It was worse 
than being back in the basement. After three weeks | tried to hang 
myself with the bedsheets and they put me on suicide watch. They 
sent a shrink to talk to me and | told him the truth straight up - I'd 
spent my entire childhood in a box, and now | was back in that box. 
The best days of my life, the only time I'd truly been happy, was 
when | was on stage making people laugh, and the Foundation had 
made sure I'd never have that opportunity again. 


The shrink had an idea. | hadn't been the only person to try to take 
his own life lately - suicide rates among the people working at Site 
19 were way up. This was a hard job, he said, and sometimes the 
things people have to do catch up to them. A lot of the people 
working on site were there 24 hours a day for long periods of time, 
and there wasn't much for them to do between shifts. Maybe 
laughter was the best medicine? And so it was decided - Thursday 


nights in the Site 19 auditorium would be Standup Night with Jester. 


It took a few weeks to hit my stride - standup is a little different than 
clowning, of course - but before | knew it | had the swing of it and 
the crowds kept getting bigger and bigger. Sure, | worked a little 
blue sometimes - these were soldiers and scientists, after all, not 
blue-haired old ladies and their grandkids out for a nice Sunday 
matinee. Soon we were getting enough attendance that | had to do 
two shows a week. Staff morale was up, suicides were down, and | 
was happy again. | had to talk the director into letting me read the 
papers and watch some TV every now and then - had to keep my 
material fresh, after all. First it was three channels, then a dozen, 
then thirty, then hundreds, then there were millions of people making 
jokes on the internet for me to keep up with. Not that | understand a 
single thing about how the internet works, but the doctors let me 
watch some of the popular videos and keep up with the trends. 


So that's been my life for the past 45 years. Eventually | couldn't 
keep up the routine like | used to and had to cut back to one show a 
week, then one every two weeks. | do one once a month now, and | 
still draw crowds to the Site 19 auditorium - | hear they even do a 
"live secure webstream", whatever that is, so that people at the 
other Foundation sites can tune in. I've been entertaining three 
generations of Foundation employees, keeping them sane in 
between the things they have to do to protect the world. 


Once a few years ago there was a guy named Able that got 
stationed at Site 19. | never found out what his whole story was, but 
| don't think he was any ordinary joe - he was covered in all these 
strange tattoos, and looked like he'd just as soon kill you as talk to 
you. Always had the same look on his face, didn't seem to care 
about anything but work and training. One of the squaddies bet me 
an extra weeks’ worth of dessert rations that | couldn't make him 
laugh. | put on the show of my life for him, and in the end | lost that 
bet - but as | left the stage at the end, | would've sworn | saw him 
crack the slightest little smile. 


The doctor told me last week that | have cancer. | guess it runs in 
my family - | heard eventually that my mom died of it in '88. He says 
the prognosis is good since they found it early, but considering my 
"unique physiological condition", that's a wild guess at best. I've got 


a biopsy scheduled for Tuesday, and after that they'll decide 
whether to operate or put me on chemo or what. In the end, | guess 
you could say I've lived a blessed life. It hasn't exactly been the 
American Dream, but | went from being an embarassment locked up 
in a basement to being a man who's touched thousands of lives in a 
little way, and maybe nobody outside the Foundation will know when 
| finally kick the bucket, but | think | can say I've made a difference in 
this world. | don't know how many years I've got left, but G_d willing, 
I'll be able to spend them doing what | love the most - making 
people laugh. 


-David "Jester" Rosenfeld 


A journal found in the collection of the Peabody Museum 
of Natural History 


May 25th, 1882 


| write this on a train to Cheyenne, watching the world go by through 
the windows. We left Saint Joseph half an hour ago, and the Union 
Pacific Railroad Line is as uncomfortable as ever. At least my 
employers have provided good accommodations for my trip west. 


Othniel Charles Marsh. He's more megalomaniac than 
paleontologist at this point. His petty rivalry with Edward Cope 
threatens to bleed these beds dry, whether through their digging, or 
through sheer sabotage. They break their own findings so the other 
doesn't discover them; it is absolute madness. My father worked 
with Gideon Mantell and Mary Anning, who are surely rolling in their 
graves with enough force to burrow through the planet. 


And neither of them have any idea what they're standing on. 
Regardless, Marsh is the more competent one by far. The Messrs 
have chosen me for this task. 


| feel sorry for Reed and Carlin, having to work under Cope. Within a 
century, he'll be forgotten. 


May 26th 


Found myself a room in Cheyenne. Marsh has posted a notice in the 
newspaper advertising positions on his dig team. A few have met 
with unfortunate accidents, leaving positions open. 


| had an interview with the man himself, and upon seeing my 
demeanor, as well as a few more esoteric aides, he hired me 
instantly. | informed him | knew how to swing a pick, brush a brush, 
dig with a trowel. 


Despite my best attempts to emulate an accent from Connecticut, he 


did not comment on it. All that effort, a month of training my voice, 
for naught. 


We set off for the Como Bluff quarry in two days time. 
May 28th 


We've set out. It's a two-day walk to the bluffs, but there is a 
settlement between the two points, if it can even be called that; it's a 
trading post with an inn by it. 


It seems that several of the men know Marsh's reputation. His rivalry 
with Cope has brought sensation to the area, and with it, yellow 
journalism— though there's a grain of truth to it. The Times in New 
York reported that Marsh and Cope have started taking riflemen with 
them, and | certainly see a few muzzles sticking out from the supply 
packs. One of the alleged rifleman, who is named Anderson , claims 
that they're for hunting game by the site, as meat is hard to keep in 
the desert, and even trail rations begin to fester after two-week digs. 
Another man, Silcox, informed me that they usually leave the rotting 
rations near the edge of the site as a deterrent for Cope's men. All 
that will do is attract coyotes and god only knows what else. 


There is no telegraph service at the trading post. It exists, but 
unlucky lightning strikes seem to have destroyed the wires. With 
apologies to the Messrs, | will be unable to contact them. 


May 31st 


We have arrived at the quarry, and | have inspected the map that 
Messr. D created with help from the navigational apparatus. | will 
attempt to persuade Marsh to dig in the designated location, which | 
am informed is distinct. 


| believe | have found it. An outcropping of rock, shaped like a rook. 
It is half a mile away from where we are planning to dig. Marsh will 
not be easily persuaded to move after such a long trek. Thankfully, if 
he believes Mr. Cope is involved, Mr. Marsh will attempt to overtake 
the area. 


Tonight, | will report to Mr. Marsh that | saw men at the outcropping, 


SCP-772: Giant Parasitoid Wasps 


Item #: SCP-772 
Object Class: Euclid 


Special Containment Procedures: All SCP-772 specimens are to 
be contained in their 18 m x 18 m x 9 m enclosure, which is 
contained within a 20 m x 20 m x 10 m hermetically sealed chamber 
located at Sector-07. A maximum capacity of fifteen (15) specimens 
per this enclosure is advised, as exceeding this number could result 
in heightened levels of SCP-772 aggression. This chamber is fitted 
with a pneumatic fluoridated aluminum dispenser that may be 
activated remotely if an emergency euthanisation of SCP-772 is 
necessary, resulting in the suffocation and incineration of all 
SCP-772 specimens. This emergency euthanisation mechanism and 
all related equipment must undergo routine maintenance checks to 
ensure adequate performance. The interval between maintenance 
checks is not to exceed seven (7) days. SCP-772 eggs are to be 
stored in a well-lit freezer at a temperature no higher than -10° C 
(14° F). Surplus/unwanted eggs are to be incinerated immediately 
and the resulting debris must be examined for any signs of life. If 
signs of life are present a second round of incineration is authorised. 
The same procedure should be applied to all expired/unneeded 
subjects who are, or could possibly be, SCP-772 hosts. 


NOTE: Personnel intending to use SCP-772 for purposes not 
qualifying as research-oriented must obtain O5 authorisation. — Dr. 
Woodside 


Description: SCP-772 is a wasp of unknown species, superficially 
resembling members of the Megarhyssa genus. A mature adult is 
typically 60 cm in length, from head to abdomen, excluding 
antennae and ovipositor. This barbed ovipositor, reaching a length 
of up to 70 cm, is used to penetrate its host and deposit anywhere 
from 5 to 20 eggs. Eggs are typically 6 cm long and 2.5 cm in 
diameter. SCP-772 is meticulous and almost surgical during 


who fled once they took notice of me. In addition, | have repurposed 
Mssr. D's map as a facsimile of one that Cope’s men use and 
planted it at the location, hidden under a rock. He will jump at the 
chance to usurp Cope, and | imagine that Reed and Carlin are doing 
much of the same with him. 


June ist 


Excavation has begun! Marsh himself broke ground, and almost 
instantly found fossilized ferns in the rock. Though | do not know 
what the Messrs. have sent me to search for, | will Know it when it is 
seen. 


Men have reported hearing shifting sounds from underground, and 
Marsh fears that animals have made their home in the strata, 
destroying fossils. | wonder if it is this, or something more. 


June 2nd 


Marsh's fears seem to have been founded. We found a family of 
mice within some form of ribcage, all dead. We do not know what 
killed them, so we have burned them. Some expressed a wish for 
eating them. | do not understand Americans. 


Some of the specimens here are fragile; twice we have found, for 
lack of a better term, bubbles in the rock, and twice they have been 
broken simply by touching them, as if they were eggshell. They have 
the texture of rock, but are brittle; one of Marsh's assistants 
hypothesizes it to be a strange shale formation. 


| believe these are what | am looking for. 
June 4th 


| awoke from sleep to hear gunshots, and believed | was found out, 
but instead, it was Anderson shooting at a man fleeing from our 
camp, a bag of small fossils slung over his shoulder. Inspecting his 
belongings shows a blatant letter from Cope, which was left as a 
slight against us. 


The camp is not getting sleep tonight, and nobody is being allowed 
near the dig. 


June 5th 


Marsh is demanding daily inspections after the events of last night. 
My journal will reveal me if they see the contents, and as such, | 
have hidden it in the lining of my pillow. 


We found what appears to be part of a carnivore's jawbone today. 
Fascinating to most, but not what | am looking for, unless the 
Messrs. deployed me for the sake of obtaining new inlays for fork 
handles. 


June 6th 


Overturning a rock has found an entire outcropping of the bubbles. 
Our photographer came to capture it, but the idiot used the flash 
lamp in the daylight. One of the diggers was blinded, and fell onto 
the bubbles, crushing them all. Marsh has fired them both, and 
forced them to march back to Cheyenne alone. 


I've not seen a man so angry before. Even the tirades that happen 
at the club are nothing compared to Marsh. He threw a trowel at his 
tent wall so hard that it cut through. He was convinced that the 
bubbles were worth something, either scientifically or monetarily, 
and | can't help but wonder if he knows something | don't. 


What esoteric properties do these things have? 
6:00 PM 


| spied Marsh's notebook as he worked outside his tent He was 
making notes on the bubbles- the words "egg shells" were written 
underneath an illustration of them. He had one on his desk, and | 
managed to snatch a glance of the inside. There was something 
inside it; an embryo, which had been alive mere hours ago. 


This is it. Dinosaur eggs, spared from the horrors of time and 
extinction, underneath the Morrison formation. And these idiots are 
wantonly destroying them. 

| hate Americans. 


Night 


| awoke to the sound of something in the desert, some form of 
animal. Coyotes, most likely, stalking around camp. I'm wondering if 
this is the alleged Cope deterrent working. 


June 8th 


Someone hid my journal within the camp. | only found it this 
afternoon, under a pile of rocks. I'd be lost without this. | found it with 
a cock drawn on the inside front cover. Americans! 


Two of our camp went for supplies yesterday, and have yet to 
return. have returned, running like madmen, water and food on their 
backs. They claim to have found the bodies of the two men fired by 
Marsh on Tuesday the 6th, five miles outside of camp, horribly 
mauled. | went to investigate along with five others.