Oh! | should probably state for the record, this audio log is for 
personal use. So, if you’re listening to this and your name is not 
Jason Finch, you're a horrible person. That includes you, Powell. | 
know you’re the one who’s been snooping through my personal shit. 


I’m in Montana right now. Never seen so many empty fields in my 
life. The Foundation could build a dozen facilities out here, and 
there'd still be room. 


It'd ruin the skyline, though. It’s a real beauty, too. Not much you can 
do when you're driving except look at the skyline. Completely flat, all 
around. 


Sorry, got side-tracked. Here’s what I’ve been told about the 
anomaly: people disappearing out of thin air. That’s it. No leads, no 
clues, nothing to link it to any other known SCP’s. 


This info comes from our contacts in the UIU, which explains why it’s 
kind of incomplete. Those guys mean well, but they’re out of their 
depth when it comes to anomalies. 


So, as usual, it’s up to the Foundation to figure out the cause of this, 
hopefully before the GOC blows the town up or MCD starts sticking 
price tags on everything. 


Kinda wonder what the cause of this is going to wind up being. I’ve 
got my money on an anomalous object. Powell thinks it’s going to be 
a humanoid, but Powell’s always wrong, so fuck him. 


Finch, May 13th, 20:55. It’s late, I’m tired, and I’m driving through 
what seems to be the world’s largest vacant lot. I’ve only passed a 
couple of farm houses; no road markers or anything. A few 
billboards, but that’s it. 


A lot of the billboards are just telling me to read a bible. When | took 
this job, part of my training was memorizing most of the Old 
Testament. | don’t need to read it again. 


If | ever meet SCP-343, | should tell him his advertising campaign 
isn’t very effective. 


Just passed the same farmhouse for the third time. | know it’s the 
same one, because it’s got a picture of Jesus hugging a sheep 
painted on its side. 


No way more than one farm would have that picture on it. I’m going 
to keep driving, try and see what’s up. 


| can’t get in contact with the Foundation. My phone doesn’t have 
any reception, and my radio is on the fritz. 


Also, my watch says it’s 36:55 in the morning, May 13th. Possibly 
dealing with time-space anomaly. I’ve parked on the side of the road 
to see if I’m only affected when I’m driving. If this fails, I’m turning 
around. I’ve still got plenty of gas, despite driving for... | don’t know, 
a day maybe. 


God, they’re going to make me turn this log in, aren’t they? Then 
they'll chew me out for being unprofessional. 


Well, | haven’t been acting official so far. Why start now? 


The sun still hasn't risen. It hasn’t risen for hours. I’m turning around. 


Finch, May 13th. The time is... | have no idea. | feel like it's been a 
day since my last recording. I’m hungry and tired. | don’t want to go 
to sleep on this fucked up stretch of highway, but | may not have a 
choice. 


Driving in the opposite direction didn’t change anything. | keep 
seeing the same billboards, the same farmhouses, the same weird 
painting of Jesus hugging a sheep. The car still hasn’t run out of 
gas, and the dash is saying I’ve only driven ten miles since my last 
recording. 


Still no word from the Foundation. 


Slept. Not sure how long. | feel rested, but still hungry. Ate a few 
breakfast bars | brought along. They didn’t help much. 


| just remembered | have my handgun in the glove compartment. | 
can’t bring myself to use it. I’m scared this highway will draw out my 
dying moments for weeks; maybe forever. | don’t want to— 


Shit. Damn it. | can see the farmhouse that has the painting of Jesus 
on it. Only I’m coming up on its other side; the side without the 
painting. 


| got turned around somewhere. Or this highway turned itself 
around. | have no idea. It seems like this place is just fucking with 
me. There are no consistent patterns. 


The sun just set for the fifth time since | started this recording. | need 
to take a break. 


Just passed a car parked on the side of the highway. My car. | was 
standing outside of it, watching me pass by. It looked like | had 
broken down. 

| didn’t stop. | didn’t want to find out if what | saw was real or not. 


| think this place is driving me crazy. 


SCP-906: Scouring Hive 


Item #: SCP-906 
Object Class: Euclid 


Special Containment Procedures: Subject is to be contained in a 
three (3) by three (3) meters squared, fully airtight, twelve (12) 
centimetre thick titanium enclosure surrounded by acid-resistant 
glass. Temperature must be kept under 5 degrees Celsius. Should 
temperature exceed this limit, all personnel are to be evacuated to a 
distance of at least one hundred (100) meters. Immediate area 
containing enclosure will then be locked down until temperature has 
been lowered. Holding cell is to be maintained on a bi-weekly basis 
and checked for sufficient corrosion or gaps. Any damage to holding 
cell is to be repaired immediately. 


SCP-906 is to be monitored at all times from four (4) digital cameras 
mounted on each corner of the enclosure. Any abnormal behaviour 
reported from these cameras will result in immediate lockdown of 
area around containment cell. Access to SCP-906 is permitted only 
to supervised Class D personnel for feeding and/or enclosure 
maintenance. SCP-906 is to be fed 80 kg of raw meat every forty- 
two (42) hours. 


Description: SCP-906 is a writhing mass of dark brown, worm-like 
invertebrates. These organisms seem to interact in a uniform 
fashion, forming a colonial "superorganism" in a similar manner to 
army ants. For reasons currently unknown, SCP-906 will usually 
form its "body" into that of a very rough, humanoid figure. SCP-906 
is shown to be capable of crude bipedal movement when in this 
state; however, when travelling longer distances, it will deviate to a 
flattened mass with a greater efficiency of movement. 


SCP-906 is capable of secreting a viscous, highly corrosive, semi- 
translucent fluid, similar in colour to its skin. This substance is 
shown to have an acidic strength comparable to hydrofluoric acid, 


May 13th, 00:00 PM. That’s what my watch says, at least. 


| slept, and had a dream about being back at the Site. | was telling 
everyone about this highway. | think it was me, at least; | never saw 
my face in the dream. For some reason, the Site looked like the 
house | grew up in. 


Jesus was in my dream, along with a sheep. Everyone acted like 
they were researchers. They called him ‘Jerry’. His sheep turned 
into 682 and ate Powell. 


| woke up laughing. 


Fuck Powell. 


Something happened! Thank god, something happened. My tire 
popped. | skidded to the side of the road and stopped. I’ve never 
been so happy to get a flat tire. 


I’m not off of this highway, but at least I’m not driving. | was scared 
that nothing ever changed here; that things stayed sort of stagnant. 
Like, you drove and you always drove, with nothing stopping the car 
from running. 


Does that make sense? It might not. I’m a little out of it. | ran out of 
breakfast bars yesterday. 


May 13th. Still stuck on the side of the road. Tried walking to get 
help. | wound up looping back to my car somehow, only now my car 
is beside the Jesus farmhouse. 


| tried walking to the farmhouse. Knocked on the door, but nobody 
answered. | waited outside for hours, but there were no signs of life. 


After a while, | decided to just force the door open. | looked through 
the whole house, but didn’t find anyone. There was food, though. 
And beds. 


Normally, I’m against sleeping in strange farmhouses, but | think I'll 
make an exception tonight. 


Slept for a long while. Ate a sandwich. Changed out of my suit, into 
overalls and a flannel shirt. | couldn’t take a shower; no running 
water. 


The TV worked, though. I’m not sure what inspired me to turn it on; 
maybe | was just testing everything. 


| turned the TV on to a news story about the Watergate scandal. 
Changed the channel, and it was the Royal Wedding. Every channel 
was something different, from some different point in time. | keep 
changing the channel, but | haven't cycled around yet. 


I’m on channel 1,356 now. It’s an episode of some show called Cop 
Rock. | think I’m just going to watch it for a while. 


What the fuck, why are the cops singing? 


May 13th. My watch is cycling through random numbers at this 
point. Best guess is it’s my third day stuck on this highway. | can’t be 
sure. 


| tried listening to this log to get a sense of how much time has 
passed. The recording is warped, or something; the entries have all 
been slowed down. | sat listening to the first log for what felt like a 
few hours. 


I’m back by the car. | had to get out of that farmhouse. The TV was 
showing news stories that haven’t happened yet. Earthquakes, 
mass shootings, and a couple of things that | recognized as the 
results of currently contained SCP’s. 


If | get out of here, | plan on telling the sites currently holding those 
SCP’s about what | saw. It might help stop any future breaches. Or | 
might be going crazy. Either way, it’s important to talk to people. 


It's been a while since my last recording. I’ve been trying to change 
the tire on my car. | don’t know why; | guess there just isn’t much 
else to do. 


| touched my face a little while ago. | felt whiskers. | looked in the 
mirror and saw I’ve grown a beard. 


| thought I’d only been here a few days. 


| just saw myself drive past. | didn’t even stop to help change the 
tire. Asshole. Past me was a jerk. 


Managed to change the tire. My watch is dead. 


Had a dream about the handgun in my glove compartment. | feel like 
it's the only way out. 


This god damned highway isn’t going to beat me. 


May 13th; Jason Finch, personal audio log. 


This is either going to be the most unofficial report in SCP history, or 
the last words of a dead man. 


I’m going to turn off the highway and drive off of the road; into the 
fields, past the farmhouse and Jesus and his lamb. It’s the only thing 
left to do that | can think of. I’ve got no clue if this will work or not. 
I’m sort of just holding out hope that this anomaly has some way out. 


If it doesn’t work... 


If it doesn’t work, | plan on driving into the nearby farmhouse at 
seventy miles per hour; maybe faster. I’m going to drive right into 
Jesus’s smiling face and splatter myself all over the house’s tasteful 
country décor. 


Pistol’s on standby if that won’t get the job done. | still hope that it 
won't come to that, but I’ve got to think realistically. 


To the Foundation: | probably don’t need to tell you this, but don’t 
take any chances with this place. Build a wall around it; blow it up, 
do whatever. I’m not sure at what point the anomaly starts, but | bet 
you'll throw enough class-D’s at it to figure things out. 


To Ben: You'll probably never hear this. | kind of hope that’s the 
case, anyway. But I’m glad to have known you. Us meeting each 
other was worth everything I’ve gone through as part of the 
Foundation. | love you. 


And, finally, to Powell: Go fuck yourself. 
Okay. That’s the last will and testament shit out of the way. 


Agent Jason Finch, signing off. 


MC&D Agent Orientation 


Welcome to Marshall, Carter, and Dark Ltd. If you are here, then you 
have been accepted into our ranks. Congratulations. 


A short summary of our organization is in order. We are a club of 
sorts, and we provide our members with the most exclusive, 
expensive, and rare experiences available. We are centered in 
London, with agents all over the world, finding and retrieving items 
for us SO we may better provide said experiences. Those of you here 
today, sitting, blindfolded, in the audience, are to be our finders, our 
retrievers. We have selected you from the best of the best, the most 
able and intelligent of those who have applied. 


Allow me to explain your duties. You are to be our field agents. 
Many of you have connections to other groups that deal with objects 
that we are interested in, such as the Foundation, The Serpent's 
Hand, and the Church of the Broken God. We expect full loyalty to 
our cause despite these connections. Any sign of deviance will be 
punished. 


As you will work on a case by case basis, | will be very broad. 
Cases, known as Acquisitions, will be assigned based upon 
personal statistics. You are not allowed to turn down an Acquisition. 
While working on an Acquisition, you will have access to certain 
portions of our near unlimited resources, depending on the case. 
Abuse of these resources will be punished. 


You are to apply yourself to the assigned Acquisition with all due 
haste, while keeping up any required appearances. Under no 
circumstances are you to reveal that you are working for Marshall, 
Carter, and Dark. Any attempt to speak about Marshall, Carter, and 
Dark with people that have not been sanctioned by Marshall, Carter, 
and Dark will be punished. 


This concludes your orientation. Please face to your right and take 
short, measured steps. Your blindfolds will be removed as you exit 


the door. Some of you will receive your first Acquisition case. Thank 
you for your time. 


Agent Smalls left the room with a bit of difficulty, his hands twitching 
at his sides. He seemed to be stepping extremely cautiously, as if 
afraid he might bump into people that were not there. His trip to the 
doorway was filled with tension, and a close observer would have 
noticed his breathing slowing, the gleam of sweat on his forehead 
becoming a bit duller. Agent Smalls, an up and coming Foundation 
agent, would have cringed in horror had he actually seen the room. 


Mr. Carter watched the man leave the room with rheumy eyes, his 
breathing carefully controlled. A shriveled husk of a man, battered 
and scarred, hung from the back of his wheelchair, its milky eyes still 
showing a vestige of fear. The old man wheezed as he spoke, and 
the husk wheezed with him. "Was it really worth it? A whole 
orientation, only for one man?" 


Mr. Marshall watched the blindfolded man leave the room 
impassively. A single, long finger made a sign, and the other men in 
the audience begin to walk as well, their footsteps echoing 
throughout the room. Their eyes were blank as they walked, and 
each bore a shallow but visible scar on their forehead. The co- 
founder of Marshall, Carter, and Dark cleared his throat, and drank 
from a glass of water. His voice changed from the cool, detached 
tone to a more rich, deeper one, one that belied an immense and 
inhuman intelligence. "Well. He might be useful in the future. It is 
always good to have investments." He straightened his tie. His 
chuckle was cold and knowing. "And it is always good to have them 
with the Foundation. Who knows how useful this one might be? He 
might even be better than Jenkins." 


The empty sound of wheezing laughter filled the room. 


Maintaining A Positive Relationship With Yourself 


Chibi Yamagusuku sits, typing away at his desktop; it's a slightly 
older model but that's fine, because this is a work computer and not 
a personal one that needs to be capable of running ten open internet 
browser tabs (one of them streaming video), two different chatting 
programs, a minimized video game, and possibly two text 
documents. What's on the screen of this computer though isn't 
relevant; maybe it's a psychological profile for an SCP they've been 
assigned to, or a personnel psychological evaluation of one of the 
many Foundation employees.