Immediately locate a sealed, opaque, preferably isolated 
room within your shelter. 


Ensure all members of you party are within the 
aforementioned room. Lock the door from inside and 
barricade it with any available materials. 


Ignore all noises not created by you or your party. 
Sounds that you believe may be originating from within 
the room are most likely misleading. 


If you begin to experience fatigue, shortness of breath, or 
audio/visual hallucinations, cover your nose and mouth. 
Ensure you are facing a solid wall. Remain in a fetal 
position with your head as far from the other members of 
your party as possible. 


If you see an unidentified figure within your shelter, 
immediately close your eyes and remain motionless. Do 
not make any noise whatsoever. Breathe through your 
nose slowly to ensure you are as quiet as possible. 


Should any member of your party be unaccounted for, 
even if you were maintaining direct visual contact with 
them prior to their disappearance, do not attempt to 
search for them. Remain calm, silent, and motionless at 
all times. Any movement or noise will compromise you 
and your party's safety. 


No further emergency broadcasts will be made. 


This has been an emergency broadcast transmitted by 
FEMA. 


Empathy 


It was right in front of him. 

He knew the danger he was in. 

He knew that if he blinked, he would die 
But he wasn't afraid. 

He wasn't reluctant. 

He didn't want to leave. 

Instead he embraced the entity. 

Felt its sorrow. 

Felt its misery. 

Felt its anger. 

And then, he spoke. 

"Good to see you again, old friend." 
"It's been a while." 

"A while indeed." 

"| wonder how you feel now.” 

"How you feel after we did this to you." 


"For so long." 


"Hey, | can't blame you," 


"| know the feeling.” 
"| wouldn't act any differently.” 


"Especially not knowing no matter how | treated them, they would 
Always treat me the same..." 


"Lock me up,” 


"Keep me in here." 


"|... I've realized my sins now." 

"Working here was a big mistake." 
"Dedicating my Life to locking up things," 
"Working in an endless prison." 


"And | know how this must feel." 


"| get it now." 

"I'm flesh," 

"You're concrete and rebar," 

"We're different.” 

"But what gives me the right to do all this..." 


"| don't know." 


"| Think its time | give you justice." 


"I'm submitting.” 


"I'll leave a note," 


"Otherwise they'll just blame you..." 


"| remember the first time | saw you." 
"Fear, grasping me." 

"| couldn't believe my eyes..." 

"You were actually real" 

"And | was so afraid." 

"| never realized..." 


"What if you were too?" 


"I'm not even sure if you understand me," 

"But for once, I'll let you win." 

"| can't get you out of here." 

"You know they would just put you back, anyway." 
"But I'll let you escape in Another way." 

"I'll let you escape." 

"From me." 

"From my ignorance and intolerance, 

"From my mistakes and my idiocy, 


"From... Everything | did to you" 


"| Think my time has come" 


"| Think | want to go now" 


"Goodbye." 


He closed his eyes 

Expecting this to be his last sight 
It was so Close 

His vision almost gone 

And then, it happened 

His Eye, closed 


He was no more 


He saw only darkness 

But it felt like a sweet release from all his sins 
"This must be it" He murmured for himself 
Opening his Eyes, expecting nothing 
Expecting no World 

No meaning 


No Life 


But there was something 


There was an entity 
With a rounded head 
An odd face 


Two stumped arms 


And Traces of Krylon brand spray paint 


"Glad to see you feel the same way" 


Empty Nights 


Beneath the ashen skies of a soon-to-be dead planet, stood a 
mountain, a stark form against the flatness of the wasteland 
surrounding it. Upon the mountain was an old man, sitting on a sun- 
bleached rock, watching the dust clouds dance amidst the stones. 
For the first time in what seemed like forever, the old man felt no 
need to go anywhere, no compulsion driving him to plague the 
innocent with his presence, no deathly Brothers destroying 
everything in his path. It was a small comfort, since there were no 
innocent left to plague. No guilty either. Nothing at all. 


After some time, though judging exactly how much was impossible 
and indeed pointless, the old man spotted a figure beginning to 
climb the solitary mountain with some difficulty. As it finally 
ascended to the top to collapse in front of the old man’s rock, he 
saw it was another man. One of his arms was gone at the shoulder, 
as were his teeth, his hair, and most of his toes. Slowly, the broken 
man climbed to his feet and sat on a second rock, facing the silent 
elder. After a few false starts ending in fits of coughing, he said: 


“So, it was you then. | assumed as much.” 
“Yes.” 


“You know, some of us cynics had a wager on which one of you 
Keters would end up doing us all in. Most of them bet on that stupid 
lizard, but | Knew he didn’t have it in him. Man, you should have 
seen the looks on their faces.” 


“| suppose you always knew it was going to be me?” 


“Nah, my money was on the girl. | don’t think anyone imagined it 
would be you, how could we? We thought you were a stable 
anomaly, if a dangerous one. Never figured you'd be the one to so 
royally screw us over. What the hell happened?” 


“Why do you care? It’s not like it matters anymore.” 


The broken man considered this for a moment, absent mindedly 
pulling on something hanging on a chain around his neck. “I guess 
asking questions is a hard habit to lose. Like living, in my case. So, 
let me repeat that: what the hell happened?” 


“The rules changed.” 


“That much | figured. Your anomaly used to take some time to 
manifest. How did it become instantaneous? Why?” 


“| do not Know why the Brothers decided to end mankind, or why 
they chose me as their instrument, other than to torment me. | never 
thought they would go this far to do so. As much as they hated me, 
their duty to the cycle of life and death was always more important to 
them. And yet, here we are.” 


“If you can’t give me a why, how about a how?” 


“It is tragically simple, really. Throughout the eternity of my search 
for the Third Brother, the First and Second only came to haunt me 
when | stayed around humanity for too long. They did that to isolate 
me, to make me hurt, to spite me. Coming and going, and always 
mocking me as they took someone away because of my folly, never 
allowing me to stay in one place. Until that day.” 


The old man turned his gaze to the horizon, though the smoke made 
it difficult to see very far. 


“That day, they came and never left. They didn’t mock me, or taunt 
me, or say anything at all. No mention of my failures in the past, or 
the ones still to come. No, they simply pushed me towards a specific 
location, with a force | couldn't hope to resist, like a moth before a 
maelstrom. A bunker, built into the side of this mountain.” 


“Armed Sector-25. No one was supposed to know about it. Hell, | 
wasn't supposed to know about it.” 


“| didn’t. The Brothers did. | saw them... doing things to the guards 
and the facility as they lead me in. I’m not quite sure how to describe 
it. Destroy is too weak a word. | have seen them commit countless 


atrocities throughout the years, but never with such purpose and 
efficiency, and yet with so little appetite for their work. When they 
were done, and | reached the bunker's inner chamber, | saw why 
they lead me here.” 


“Armed Sector-25 held thirty-three percent of the Foundation’s 
nuclear devices in the northern hemisphere. Damn.” 


The old man nodded. “And the warheads needed to carry them.” 


Following the old man’s example, the broken tried to look around as 
well, but his eyes were too weak to see much of anything. He 
shivered, and the old man removed his tattered coat and handed it 
to him, looking at him thoughtfully as he covered his gaunt frame. 


“How did you survive? As far as | Know, you are the only one.” 


Giving the elder a humorless, toothless grin, the broken man 
removed the ornate amulet from its place around his neck and 
dangled it from a four-fingered hand. 


“Let's just say you’re not the only immortal around. | can’t die as 
long as this thing is around, not really. Every time | do, someone 
else picks this thing up, and there | am again, like some jack-in-a 
box.” 


“There isn't anyone left. Trust me on that.” 


The broken man turned the amulet in his hand, and when he spoke 
next, there was a hint of fear in his voice. 


“Not now, maybe. But someday, something will find it again. It will 
never end. | just want it to end.” 


Frowning, the old man looked to his own possessions, to the small 
sack still hanging around his belt. 


“This sack was supposed to save me, one day. | was supposed to 
use it to catch the Third Brother and gain my freedom. One last use, 
and no more.” 


Gently, he took the amulet from shaking hand of the broken man, 


SCP-835: Expunged Data Released 


Item #: SCP-835 
Object Class: Keter 


Special Containment Procedures: SCP-835 is to be monitored 
and checked daily for new growth. In the event SCP-835 becomes 
hostile, Suppression Tactic A-A6 is to be immediately implemented 
until aggressive action ceases. Containment area must be 
maintained in open ocean, due to the highly aggressive response of 
SCP-835 to confinement for any length of time. 


Waste issued by SCP-835 must be immediately collected and 
contained. Feeding of SCP-835 is to take place twice daily, to 
consist [DATA EXPUNGED]. SCP-835 may be moved to a new 
location twice yearly, provided that the current location is no longer 
capable of supporting SCP-835, and the move has been approved 
by Site Command. 


Staff are to remain at least five meters away from SCP-835. Anyone 
working near SCP-835 must have safety lines attached to recall 
winches. Contact with SCP-835 will result in the immediate recall of 
all staff, and implementation of Suppression Tactic A-A6. Should 
contact result in full capture of a staff member, SCP-835 is to be 
monitored constantly until the release of the subject. 


Description: SCP-835 appears to be a large mass of coral-like 
polyps weighing eight tons. The individual polyps are larger than any 
known coral species, growing to more than one meter in diameter in 
some cases. The central mass is roughly oval shaped, with a very 
large (3 meter diameter) polyp at each “end”. SCP-835 is incapable 
of locomotion, and appears to anchor itself with the large tentacles 
projected from the SCP-835 polyps. These are also used in feeding, 
and are coated with a sticky adhesive substance. The tentacles are 
also quite strong, and have been shown to be capable of damaging 
plate steel. 


opened his sack, and tossed it inside. The sack’s rope tightened 
around it, with a sense of finality. The old man knew it would never 
open again. 


“What use is freedom now?” 


It was silent, for a while. The broken man fell asleep, his breath 
shallow in his ravaged chest. After a while, the breathing stopped, 
and the old man was alone. 


Until someone laid a gentle hand on his shoulder, and a cold voice 
in his head. 


It is time to go. 


“So you finally come, Third Brother, All-Death. | have searched for 
you for so long, and you come when | have nothing left to give you. 
The gifts are all gone.” 


They are of no importance. It is done. 


“Of no importance!? You have tormented me for eons because | 
dared win them from you, destroyed the lives of countless others in 
your grudge against me, and now you have betrayed your duty and 
purged all life from this planet just to do so again! How dare you tell 
me they are of no importance! 


You fail to understand our purpose. We did not gather your kind into 
the silent halls to spite you. We did it to save you. All of you. 


At that, the old man began to weep, tears falling on the barren rock 
at his feet. 


“What is left to save? Everything is gone. You killed them all.” 

A physical death. The physical form is a temporary, fleeting notion. 
Other things endure. In the silent halls, they will be safe from what is 
to come. 


“What kind of safety is death? What could be worse?” 


Strangely enough, there was a hint of kindness in the voice when it 


next spoke. 
Life could be. Come, and be comforted. Our grudge is finally done. 


The hand left the old man’s shoulder, and was now extended 
towards him. He took it. 


You are the last of the deathless. The rest have been taken already. 
It is time for you all to finally rest. 


Sometime later, a small silvery object fell from the sky, and dug itself 
into the ground. It examined it and the air, and determined that, 
despite the elevated levels of radiation and the regrettable lack of 
sapient life, this planet was still perfectly suitable for 
experimentation. It sent a signal. 


And in the ashen sky was now a hint of metal. 


Empty Spaces 


The Captain focused his binoculars and scrutinized the valley below. 
The highway bent around the hills, littered with refuse and empty 
cars. Beyond the road was an inlet. The muddy waters flowed 
sluggishly, packed with flotsam, around the bows of a listing 
destroyer. A suspension bridge had collapsed on the stern of the 
ship. The vessel had remained, half submerged, for the short 
months since the war. The yellowing corpse of a cow had lodged in 
its trailing cables. Through his binoculars, the Captain could see the 
flies dancing around it, even from his roost atop the hill. 


The tarp around his shoulders ruffled in the sharp wind, and he drew 
it close. The gray plastic blended well with the mottled land, the 
dead grass, the darkened sky. A convoy was plodding the highway 
below, vehicles winding around the broken asphalt and drifting ash. 
The lead tank had a dozer blade fixed to it and was shoving aside 
the rusting car-carcasses obstructing the road. A small detachment 
of soldiers followed, maybe twenty five. They wore black uniforms, 
and marched before an eighteen-wheeler. It was low slung, heavily 
armored. A second tank took the rear, turret swept back to ward off 
attack. 


The Captain thought eagerly of the contents of that truck. As he 
looked back at his gathered men, he saw they did, too. Rifle 
Company B hunkered on the ashen mount, hands tightly clutching 
weapons. They needed action to take their minds off the burning in 
their lungs and the pangs in their bellies. They were tired and worn 
from these wretched months. Some of them had worn out rad-suits 
and were coughing piteously, spitting little globules of mucous and 
blood. Miserable as they were, they perched like hawks above 
unsuspecting prey. 


What that convoy was guarding, they could only imagine; incredible 
wealth, an armory of devastating technologies, or one of the last 
politicians — those dogs who brought on the holocaust. Or perhaps it 


was something more. There were rumors, from travelers and 
sporadic radio contacts, of strange and unnatural things occurring 
across the globe. Tales of walking dead, of machines that spoke, of 
unearthly creatures and men with godly powers. A few weeks ago 
they had come across a great fat man who called himself the King of 
Philadelphia. It was as if his every word was gold, and they would 
have gladly submitted to his every order if the Doctor hadn't put a 
round through the back of his skull. 


The Doctor was back at the camp. Lately he took no interest in the 
raids, speaking of nothing but the Eden Gate. The men were 
demoralized enough without their leader babbling obsessively about 
some old story. There were whisperings about the Doctor that 
spread among the soldiers. That he had been a top researcher, a 
director in some enigmatic international program. That he had gone 
insane.