Date: / / 
Test Material: Secret of the Ninja (Choose Your Own Adventure 
#16), by Jay Leibold 


Results: The viewpoint character is initially accompanied by a 
character named Fred, who is another student at the Dojo. Several 
of the choice descriptions which lead to a negative ending for the 
protagonist and his companions are changed to contain a phrase 
indicating Fred does not accompany the protagonist. 


Notes:"423 does not seem significantly hindered by the book's 
branching narrative, nor by the presence of multiple endings.” - 
Researcher 


Date: / /2015 
Test Material: Printed copy of an ASCII art rendition of the Mona 
Lisa, by Leonardo da Vinci 


Articles 3300-3399 


SCP-3300: The Rain 


Item #: SCP-3300 
Object Class: Euclid 


Special Containment Procedures: Containment of SCP-3300 is 
focused on observation and ensuring it does not spread from the 
affected area. A mobile observation post has been set up five 
kilometers outside the town of Clear Water, Montana for this 
purpose. Attempts at manned exploration of SCP-3300 events are 
currently suspended. 


When the SCP-3300 event begins, the observation team will fall 
back to a point ten kilometers from the town border and continue 
observation. Any unusual activity is to be noted. Any attempts made 
by outsiders to enter or exit the area will be halted. Non-lethal force 
is authorized for this purpose. 


Instances of SCP-3300-1 attempting to leave Clear Water will be 
detained and interviewed under the pretense of a police search. 
Following this they will be allowed to continue their travel under 
Foundation observation. 


All personnel involved in the containment of SCP-3300 are 
prescribed a weekly dose of Class-Y mnestics. 


Description: SCP-3300 is an annual event in which the populace of 
Clear Water, Montana (henceforth SCP-3300-1) disappears and is 
replaced by a new set of citizens. The SCP-3300 event typically 
occurs in the mid-portion of June and lasts six to eighteen days. The 
first 48 hours of each event are marked by a light, continuous rain 
over the entire city. The rain is stationary and appears regardless of 
the weather in the surrounding area. 


This portion of the event ends when the rain transitions to a severe 
thunderstorm lasting for the remaining duration of SCP-3300. The 


interior of an SCP-3300 event past this point has never been 
observed. Any attempt by the Foundation to explore the event has 
ended in either a total loss of personnel/equipment, or a failure to 
even enter the phenomena. Several times personnel entering 
SCP-3300 have emerged instantaneously on the other side. 


When the SCP-3300 event ends, all previous SCP-3300-1 instances 
will have been replaced by new iterations with completely new 
appearances, personalities, and memories. Beyond remarking on 
the unusually severe nature of the storm, new instances show no 
recollection of the event. 


Instances of SCP-3300-1 behave identically to baseline human 
beings. However, no record of any instance prior to their 
appearance from a SCP-3300 event exists. Instances will 
occasionally share names, professions, certain memories, and 
broad personality traits with those from previous iterations of 
SCP-3300. However, no SCP-3300-1 instance has been observed 
repeating from previous events. SCP-3300-1 instances are unaware 
of their anomalous nature and the circumstances surrounding their 
existence. Physical and post-mortem examinations reveal no 
differences from baseline humans. Instances of SCP-3300-1 outside 
of the town when SCP-3300 occurs will disappear several days after 
the event begins. All attempts to observe this disappearance have 
failed. 


SCP-3300 is accompanied by a moderate cognitohazardous effect. 
Outside citizens learning about the existence of the town of Clear 
Water or its citizens will give little thought to them unless the subject 
is brought to their direct attention. This effect affects focus rather 
than memory— those affected do not forget that Clear Water exists, 
but rather show difficulty paying attention to it. Outside citizens 
familiar with disappeared instances of SCP-3300 will not comment 
on their absence unless reminded, and even then show little 
concern. 


The history of SCP-3300 is unknown. Records of its existence go 
back to the beginning of the Foundation. Despite this, almost no 
progress has been made in attempts to research the phenomena. 


Addendum: The following journal was recovered in the aftermath of 


the SCP-3300 event ending on 30th June, 1995 and represents one 
of the few descriptions of what occurs during the phenomena. The 
writer of the document has been identified as SCP-3300/1995/4307 
AKA “Margaret Lane”. The events described in the journal are 
unverified. Attempts to automatically observe the interior of an 
SCP-3300 event are still underway. 


Hey, if Kurt Cobain kept a journal, it can’t be that bad of 
an idea, right? Help express my artistic side or 
something. Finally get all the writing I’ve wanted to done. 
| don’t know. Mom said it might be a good way for me to 
“focus” things, which means she just wants an easy way 
to snoop and make sure I’m staying clean. Joke’s on her 
though if she ever thinks she’s gonna be able to find this. 
Still, | guess it could be nice to have something to look 
back on. Hopefully to remind myself that things get 
better. 


There’s a dream I’ve been having, which is weird 
because | don’t usually remember my dreams but I’ve 
had this one like three times in the past week. In it, I'm 
not myself. I'm in a small hut, standing above the bed 
where my daughter lies. Her skin is red, blotchy, hot. I'm 
praying that the disease won't take her, praying that she 
will recover or that this is some other sickness. It's no 
use, | know. The corpse of my husband won't let me 
forget. 


Another of the healthy, a boy who thinks himself a man, 
calls us together. The few that remain. | gaze around the 
room and see the same expressions on their faces that | 
feel in my heart. All except the boy's. He grins as we 
enter and gestures to the bowl of water in front of him. 


"| have found it," he says. "The key to our salvation." 


And then it ends. Weird, right? No idea what to make of 
it. Anyway, I’m heading to Sam’s so this'll be it for the 
day. 


Grey clouds on the horizon. We need the rain. 


| can’t remember what the sun looks like. Ha. Joking. But 
it's been drizzling for three days and it doesn't look like 
it’s gonna let up soon. Phones are patchy as hell too. 
Radio says we can expect the weather to continue for at 
least a week. 


David tried to come earlier today and | told him fuck right 
back off to the ditch he crawled out of. That | didn’t care 
how good the shit he'd gotten his hands on was. He did 
his whole kicked puppy dog routine but eventually left 
before mom noticed, thank God. 


The rain’s kind of relaxing, actually. It’s got a rhythm to it. 
| could get used to this. 


| don’t think it's ever stormed this hard in my life. It’s 2 in 
the afternoon but looking outside you’d swear it was 
midnight. My throat is starting to get sore from shouting 
over the noise. No idea what the hell happened. One 
minute it was drizzling, the next someone flipped a 
switch to dump the entire Pacific Ocean onto our heads. 
Internet and phone are completely down. The few 
seconds of clear radio we can get is just a barrage of 
tornado and flood warnings. Nothing to do but hole up 
inside and see how many games of Monopoly we can 
play until mom kills me or | kill myself. 


| swear some of the people in this town must be 
absolutely insane because sometimes when lightning 
flashes | can see them walking around outside. Some of 
them just standing there. 


I’m writing this from the back of Jared’s van and we’re 
going like 80 miles an hour down the highway and 
Isabel’s crying next to me and | don’t know what the fuck 
is going on. | think I’m going to die. I’m going to keep 


writing though. My hand shakes less when | write. 


It couldn’t have been more than an hour ago that this 
happened. We were all at my place. Sam, Jared, Mike, 
and Isabel had all come over. | hadn’t expected them but 
Jared insisted he wasn’t going to let something tiny like a 
biblical flood stop us from exploring the bottom levels of 
the dread lich Arzganoth’s domain. Stupid. Stupid. 


So we rolled up and started playing like everything was 
normal. Sam DMing with the stupid little monster accents 
she does. Isabel and Mike arguing over every scrap of 
treasure and possible trap we came across. Jared 
struggling just to keep us all from killing each other. Mom 
in the other room, pretending she wasn’t listening in. 


It was Isabel who first noticed the banging on the door. 
Like someone trying to break it down. At first we weren't 
sure what to do, | mean anyone banging that hard on 
your door so late is going to be suspicious even if there's 
not a fucking hurricane outside, right? So we just sort of 
sat there staring at each other until Jared got up and 
grabbed a poker from the fire place and went to check 
the peephole. 


| wonder what his first thought was. Surprise? 
Confusion? Did he just accept it, like | did, too stunned 
by the weirdness to question when he opened the door 
and saw a family on our porch. A mom, dad, two kids. I’d 
never seen any of them before. For a second we all just 
stared at each other and then the dad shoved past Jared 
and said, “Why are you in my house?” 


Mom had come out of her room when she first heard 
knocking. When the guy said that she flipped out 
instantly. “What do you mean your house, asshole? This 
is my house! What the hell are you doing just barging in 
here? | swear to God, you’ve got ten seconds before | 
get the cops over here!” God. | remember being 
annoyed. Embarrassed. Wishing she wouldn't flip out 
over everything. 


The dad's expression didn't change. He stepped forward 
again, and Jared tried to hold him back. When he did, 
the dad just... flung him. Snagged Jared by the collar 
and tossed him through the living room into the kitchen. 
Jared smacked into a counter and went limp. And the 
dad said again, in the exact tone, “Why are you in my 
house?” 


That was when mom charged him with a golf club. He 
barely had time to react before she swung it into his 
chest. For a second she looked pleased with herself. I’m 
sure she was already forming the story to tell all her 
friends about how she fought off the home invader. 
When she tried to pull the golf club back, and she 
couldn't, the expression disappeared. The guy didn't look 
a little bit hurt. Not even phased. The club was stuck in 
his chest, and the skin around it was rippling, like when 
you throw a stone into a pond. Water dripped out from 
where the metal entered skin. 


Mom stared. Then she screamed. Fell back, scrambling 
at the floor to get away. The man looked down at the 
club with same expression you might look at a dead 
cockroach. He grasped it right below where it speared 
into him, yanked it from his chest. Held it as he walked 
towards mom. 


She stopped moving the first time he hit her in the head. 
She just fell. Like a rock. And he hit her again. And 
again. And again and the whole time he was saying “My 
house, my house,” in the same fucking tone, the only 
fucking way he knew how to speak and the kids were 
standing in the door just watching and the wife was 
holding them close and | swear to god she was smiling. 
Sam stood up, like she was going to charge the guy but 
Mike wrapped himself around her and said don’t, that we 
had to run so we did, Mike and Sam grabbed Jared even 
though he wasn't moving and | grabbed the journal 
without even thinking about it and | don’t really 
remember anything after that except Sam driving and 


crying and Mike screaming and all | could think about 
was the way mom's body looked as she fell. The light 
disappearing from her eyes before her body hit the floor. 


We drove right to the police station. Me and Mike 
decided to go inside while Sam and Isabel watched 
Jared. The lights were on but the station was locked with 
no one inside. We walked around, looked through every 
window. Nothing. When we got back to the car Jared still 
wasn't awake and his breathing was all fucked up, so we 
discussed it and decided to take him to the hospital in 
Landhart. It’s only a two hour drive. We should be there 
soon. It'll be okay. 


We've been driving for six hours now. We're almost out 
of gas. Jared still isn’t awake. And we haven’t made it to 
Landhart yet. We’ve doubled back twice. Looked for road 
signs, building lights, anything to tell us where the fuck 
we are. But there's nothing. No signs. No cities. Not even 
a gas station. We haven't passed another car since we 
left my house. The rain’s falling just as hard out here. 
Mike says we need to turn around, try to get back to 
town before we get stranded. Isabel says that’s crazy, 
we need to keep looking for the hospital and we don’t 
have enough to make it back anyway. Sam says she’s 
going to keep driving. That’s all we can do at this point. 


Jared’s dead. And we're out of gas. The car died maybe 
an hour ago. Jared maybe half an hour after that. No 
idea where we are. We decided to double back, see if we 
had passed the hospital again, but there was nothing. 
Isabel and Mike are going at it, each convinced this is 
the other’s fault. Sam’s ignoring them. She’s sitting by 
Jared, holding his hand. She hasn't looked away from 
him since he stopped breathing. Hasn’t said ten words 
since we left town. 


| must have fallen asleep because | had another dream. | 


knew instantly it was a continuation from before. It was 
too clear, too substantial to be anything else. And even 
though | knew it was a dream | couldn’t do anything but 
watch. 


| stand ankle-deep in a vast, clear river. | am holding the 
corpse of my daughter. I’m not sure how | recognize her, 
as taken by the sickness as she is. Her hair has fallen 
out. Her skin is entirely covered in black scabs that hid 
even her eyes. Flecks of cracked skin fall away as my 
arms rub against her body. But for some reason as | look 
at her | don’t feel sorrow. | feel hope. 


| kneel and place her body into the water. It drifts on the 
surface. Then the water engulfs her, makes her a part of 
it. She becomes the current that takes her and | know it 
will sweep her to the sea where she can finally be at 
peace. 


But the work isn’t done. | turn, wade back to shore where 
the blackened body of my husband waits. As | do | 
became cognizant of the others. The survivors. Each has 
with them the bodies of their children, families, friends. 
Eighteen survivors. Hundreds of bodies. One by one we 
take them to the river, until only we remain. 


| woke up to the sound of Jared evaporating. It took me a 
moment to realize what was going on. The others were 
all scrambling around the body and | couldn’t get a good 
look. All | could see was the steam filling the car. When | 
pushed my way through | saw his body was boiling. 
That’s the best way to describe it. Bubbles writhing and 
popping across the surface of his skin. Drops of water 
leaping off him and burning where they touched us. The 
shape of him almost completely gone, aside from a 
vaguely human-looking lump within his clothing and 
some ridges that might have been facial features. Sam 
tried to touch the water to... | dunno stop it? Save him? 
Catch him? But the heat of the steam pushed her back. 
All we could do was watch as Jared fizzled away. Until 
the only thing left of him was vapor and soaked clothing.