The evidence continues and Security Personnel Mike is brought to 
justice by a jury of his peers. Dr. M stayed on as the lead 
researcher while Clara continued her overseeing daily containment 
procedures of SCP-3620. Testing on utilizing SCP-3620 as a source 
of renewable food continued. 


Ending 3 - The End 


No one told you to click this tab now did they? You're just looking 
around at all the answers, all the different possibilities to pick from! 
Well, you've found this one lonely tab. It leads nowhere, and 
nowhere leads to it. Unless you think outside the box, though 
thinking like that doesn't really get rewarded normally. Definitely not 
here, not now. 


Really, this murder mystery would make even less sense if you tried 
to read it by going straight on to every tab. Even less so if you're 
skipping around! Here's hoping you didn't misclick, or that you didn't 
forget where you were. Or the chance that there's a forgotten 
direction that got you here. That would be on me though, my bad. 


Anyways, hope you had fun! | hate this gimmick now! Way too tricky 
keeping everything straight as things begin to branch out! 


The death of Dr. Daniel H. F was ruled a suicide. The 
committee voted to keep the object classification as "Safe" for 
SCP-3620. No new anomalous effects were recorded despite further 
D-Class and researcher testing. Backup systems were implemented 
to prevent future security footage corruption, though no future 
incidents were reported. 


Dr.M __ stayed on as lead researcher. The D-Class named Clara 


continued her assignment overseeing daily care and containment of 
SCP-3620. Security Personnel Mike requested a transfer to another 
SCP citing, "unease around Spongy" since the suicide. His request 
was granted. 


You filed your report and moved on with your life. Well, at least until 
the next file was tossed on your desk to investigate. Exactly how did 
a D-Class personnel walk out of a secure facility with a 'Get Out Of 
Jail Free’ card from a Monopédlio set? 


Ending 1 - The End 


At the infirmary, you get to rest up, under observation of course, and 
by the end of the day, you're feeling better. No suicidal thoughts or 
other symptoms to report! Seems you just got hit by a more severe 
headache than others. 


Further testing provided no evidence that SCP-3620 had a direct 
role in Dr. F 's suicide. The committee would vote to keep the 
classification as "Safe" for now. 


Dr.M continued work as the lead researcher. Clara the D-Class 
stayed on the assignment overseeing daily care and containment of 
SCP-3620 as did Security Personnel Mike. Your report, though 
uneventful, was filed on this incident. Life went on. Well, at least for 
a few months before another death was reported around SCP-3620 
and your report was called into question. 


Ending 2 - The End 


Further investigation into Dr. M___ reveals nothing out of the 
ordinary. Their research was looking promising but has been halted 
until further testing proves Dr. F 's suicide was unrelated to the 
effects of SCP-3620. Dr.M continued work as the lead 
researcher, the D-Class stayed on the assignment overseeing daily 
care as did the Security Personnel. 


Dr. M __'s final statement on the case sticks with you well after 
you've moved onto other investigations: 


"You tend to become a bit numb to the weirdness around here, but 
someone as new as Dan... We think of the Euclids and the Keters 

as the scary ones, so we forget that even quote-unquote-safe skips 
can destroy someone's whole worldview, you know?" 


Ending 4 - The End 


Footnotes 
1. >99.9% certainty 


The Swift Rise And Fall Of Technical Researcher David 
Rosen 


OR, HOW | LEARNED TO STOP 
WORRYING AND LOVE OUR 
TECHNICAL OVERLORD 


This was the image that had graced Technical Researcher David 
Rosen's monitor when he had arrived in his office that morning. It 
was a Calling card, informing him of his imminent annihilation. The 
image heralded the return of his predecessor, Patrick Gephart, great 
and powerful technical overlord and the former iron fisted ruler of the 
IT department. He had always known, in the back of his mind, that 
this day would come. He had always known it, ever since he had 
first accepted the position of "Technical Researcher" from Dr. Bright. 


On that solemn day, the doctor had offered him this advice: "Y'know, 
one of these days Pat's probably going to come back, murder you, 
and reclaim his position." And now, that prophecy hath come to 
pass. He recalled all the prestige that he had obtained with his 
position. It had earned him the admiration of his coworkers, who 
were always kind enough to give him their extra equipment. It was 
always obsolete or broken, and it took up most of his office space, 
but David felt it was the thought that counted. The senior staff were 
always so funny, giving him friendly wedgies and swirlies whenever 
he passed them in the halls. They even gave him his own title: 
"OFFICIAL TECH-DWEEB". Someone even had the generosity to 
put it on all of his official documents. 


All of this loving attention would soon be gone, replaced by the cold 
embrace of death's hand. Rosen began to ponder his imminent 
demise. Would Pat merely eviscerate him, or would he also 
disembowel him? How long would Pat torture him before delivering 


his final, fateful blow? Would Pat use David's entrails as confetti to 
celebrate his return to glory, or would he use his skull as a pencil 
holder as a warning to any future usurper? 


Just then, Rosen heard someone come into the hall outside his 
office. He knew the footwear on those feet that those steps were 
being taken with were Pat's. He knew because Pat's shoes always 
squeaked a little when he walked down this corridor. As Pat, who 
would soon be (with great personal satisfaction) filling out David's 
personnel file with the words, "Super Terminated" made his way 
towards the office, David began to consider his options. He did not 
have any firearms training and didn't own any guns, so he couldn't 
shoot back. His "sharp objects" were limited to some #2 pencils and 
a stapler with around 20 staples left. 


David was regretting not using those karate lesson coupons when 
the squeaky shoes of despair stopped outside his office door. David 
felt the warm liquid of fore-ordination flow down his legs as Pat's 
keys jingled in the lock. He knew they were Pat's because Pat's 
keys always jingled just so. Rosen knew that there were only 
moments before his untimely finality came upon him. There was no 
way out. 


Unless... 


Dr. Taylor, MD, was walking down the hall in his raincoat. He was 
wearing a raincoat because it had been raining, and Dr. Taylor 
always wore his raincoat and boots when it rained. Hell, he even 
wore his boots when it wasn't. He was in this particular hall on this 
particular day having played the ultimate prank on a certain 
Technical Researcher. 


Taylor loved pranking Rosen, as did most of the other personnel on 
site. Rosen always gave them grief about stuff like not deleting the 
system32 folder and how certain things weren't cup holders (even 
when they totally were), so pranking him was the best way to let off 
steam and get revenge for the pestering Rosen did, especially on 
April Fool's Day. But Taylor had pulled the prank to end all pranks. 
Rosen, the most paranoid person on the site, would be a neurotic 
mess for weeks, and it was going to be great. Taylor tried David's 


office door. Locked, as usual. Was that whimpering? This'll be great. 
Taylor felt the lock catch. He entered the office. 


Technical Researcher David Rosen's doomed window exploded into 
infinitesimal shards as he lept out in the most dramatic action of his 
life. 


INCIDENT REPORT A-1 204376 


Personnel involved: Technical Researcher David 
Rosen, Dr. Taylor 


Date: 4-1-2012 
Location: Office of Technical Researcher David Rosen 


Description: On 4/1/2012, | found Technical Researcher 
David Rosen unconscious outside his office window. He 
was covered in glass, probably from the window, which 
had been broken. He had suffered major cuts and 
bruises from the impact and shards of glass. When | 
woke him from unconsciousness, he began ranting and 
raving about the return of someone called "Pat, the 
harbinger of brimstone and darkness." He did not 
respond to further questioning, only stating that this Pat 
would "DESTROY ALL THOSE WHO STAND 
OPPOSED TO HIM" repeatedly in an agitated manner. | 
admitted David to Site Clinic 22-B for treatment of 
lacerations, cranial trauma, and a sprained ankle. 


Addendum: | am personally recommending that David 
be put on some anti-stress medication and be givena 
weekly counseling session. Try to convince him that Pat 
might not come back. 


-Dr. Taylor 


[REDACTED], spanning a period of years. However, numerous 
contradictions in the documentation recovered on these leases 
suggests that these operations were not functioning companies, and 
may have been cover operations for as yet unidentified group(s) or 
individual(s). 


SCP-977 is outwardly unremarkable and, aside from Foundation 
equipment and the security station, currently empty. Along with a 
single open storage space typical of a warehouse, the structure 
contains a number of white, irregular rooms and corridors, many of 
which are sunk below street level at varying depths, and are all 
characterized by unusual plateaus, varying ceiling heights and 
raised platforms. 


The security station can be accessed via a stairwell next to docking 
bay C. The monitors are divided into two groups of eighteen, 
designated group-1 and group-2. All monitors have black and white 
displays, and do not receive sound. Group-1 receives signals from 
an unidentified source, showing numerous unconscious persons, 
visible from the shoulders upwards, wearing identical unisex hospital 
gowns. These images cycle at eight minute intervals, with a new 
image/subject replacing the previous one. A cross-reference of 
these images has identified a total of [REDACTED] unique faces at 
last count. Group-2 is receiving images of rooms and hallways that 
match the characteristics of the white rooms contained within the 
complex; however, while some of these images are verifiably 
originating from rooms within the warehouse itself, several others do 
not match the layout of any known room. The last three monitors in 
group-2 are currently not receiving any signal. The station also 
features a console with a text-based command input running a 
unique operating system, the functionality and interface of which are 
yet to be fully determined. Investigations in to the console's 
operation and the source of the unknown images are ongoing. 


Research Log 977-A: 


Log-977-A-1 

Date: / / 

Basic control of the group-2 cameras was established by 
means of the command console, including rotation 
(limited to 45 degrees from origin for X-axis motion and 


The Talk 


Eli woke an indeterminate amount of time later. Groggily, he turned 
his head to the side. Stainless steel equipment, wires tied neatly to 
the vertices where the clean white wall met the clean white ceiling. 
The sick bay. He groaned. 


The noise caught Dictator and Oliver’s attentions. Dictator stood 
more quickly than normal and went to him. 


“You’re up. How d’you feel?” 


“Like shit,” he answered. He noticed that Dictator’s hand was 
moving. So was their foot. Every fibre of their being vibrated with 
nervous energy. 


Dictator took a deep breath, and some of the tension dissipated. 
“Alright. Eli, listen to me. We have to fix this.” The tension returned. 
Dictator put planted their hands on Eli's shoulders, looking him 
seriously in the eyes. “We've got to fix this, there's no way around it. 
| don't care what they say about that stupid clock but we're gonna fix 
the universe, got it? We just have to. That's our job, isn’t it? It’s 
supposed to-” 


Eli reached up and put his hand on their mouth. They didn’t even 
bother to lick it, which told Eli quite a bit about their mental state. 
“Dictator,” he said. “I got it. We are going to fix this. It’s all going to 
work itself out.” 


He removed his hand, but Dictator launched right back into their 
tirade. 


“But what if it doesn't? Eli, | can't die.” They lowered their voice. 
“You can't die. If the universe collapses in on us, we'll both be left 
just floating in space forever. Just the two of us. | doubt you want to 
be looking at this mug for the rest of eternity, and I’m not-” 


Eli hijacked Dictator’s in-between-paragraphs breath. “You need to 
calm down,” he told them. “We’re going to find out what’s happened, 
if it even means anything. It might be nothing. But we need to get 
the whole story before we start losing our shit here, alright? Now, 
please get off me. I’m an invalid, and some of the aides are starting 
to look at you funny.” 


Dictator nodded, then crossed their arms and sat back down in the 
chair next to Eli's bed. Their leg started bouncing anxiously again, 
and they muttered “Gonna fix it, gonna fix it,” at least five times 
before quieting. 


That damn clock. Why did it have to reveal everything? Well, maybe 
not everything. It didn't say my name, but... now everyone's on high 
alert. They're ready for a breach. 


The unknown doctor strode down the darkened hallway. His 
footsteps echoed through the empty space, and once he found the 
door he was looking for, he swiftly unlocked it and walked inside. His 
hands worked the opposing wall, searching. They found their target, 
and he watched as the walls folded in on themselves, revealing a 
modestly-lit room. He looked behind him. No one. He retreated 
inside and the walls whirred and clicked to his absence, like batter 
rushing to fill the void where a spoon once was. 


No matter what that clock says, I'm going to tear this Foundation 
down from the inside out. Nothing, not even the end of the universe, 
is going to stop me. And if | can manage to take down those two 
abominations, all the better for me. We've all been under the heel 
of the Foundation for too long. The public — no, the world — 
deserves to know about the evils that haunt this world. 


A dark chuckle echoed through the room. 


Yes. My plan will bring down the Foundation once and for all. No 
amount of cover-ups or amnestics is going to stop what is about to 
happen. 


Previous | Next 


The Thing at the Bottom of My Dreams 


Night 0 
I'm stuck. 


That's my first thought as consciousness enters my 
body. 


I've woken up and | can't move. 


| try to force a limb to budge. It creaks at my attempt. It's 
tightly affixed to the wall. | try to swerve my neck, only to 
feel a horrible pressure keeping it in place. 


The wall. I'm in a circular well, the walls around me made 
of gray stone brickwork and glistening with water. The 
water glides over my hands and my feet below me. This 
well is being flooded from up above. 


| look around me as much as | can. That is to say, | stare 
into the abyss below. | don't see anything stirring, since | 
can't see anything. The light from above is refracted in 
the water pouring down, but the darkness below is 
impenetrable. 


That's when | start moving. The same pressure that was 
on my neck is now on my entire body. My limbs are 
grasping tightly on the stone around me, but they're 
slipping. I'm sinking into the deep. 


Deeper. 


Deeper. 


Deeper. 


Deeper into the darkness. 


| can't breathe. | can't breathe and there's something 
there. There's something here, with me. There's 
something and it's staring at me and 


Day 1 


You wake up. It's a laborious task, as always. Sunlight is 
streaming through your window and onto your face, an 
unwelcome but useful incentive to get up. You have work 
today, and the commute is never kind. Your mind is 
groggy, but free from the terrors of the night before.