I’m awoken at some unacceptably early hour by the ringing of my 
interoffice telephone. One of the research directors launches into a 
thanks for my retrieval of Seven-Twenty-Eight, and asks me quite 
politely to handle the three more like it arriving later in the week. It’s 
not like | have a choice, | suppose. | stretch out my arm to hang up 
the phone, but the director interjects with another fun piece of 
information: I’m needed to round up a retrieval team and investigate 
claims of a living breakfast somewhere in the States. | think | might 
resign some time in the very near future. 


780-PCS Incident 


Document #780-PCS: Exploration IV 


[DATA CORRUPT, RETRIEVING EARLIEST UNCORRUPTED 
RECORDING] 


Feed begins. The first, and so far only, D-Class to explore the newly 
discovered and not yet studied Area H-2-5 continued to climb the 
stairs, stopping at the ninety first platform, designated with a worn 
down bold ‘91’ painted in white on the wall beside him. D-9985 
paused and sat to rest. In the distance, and above D-9985 soft 
laughter continues. D-9985 shines his light up the stairway above 
him, revealing another flight of stairs. 


“Doc, there’s no end here. It just keeps going,” D-9985 groans 
directly into his radio, producing a harsh noise. The safety tether — 
designed not for his safety, but the safety of the transmission — in 
plain view on the video feed, dangling over the railing across from 
him. 


“You're allowed a short rest, D-9985. Then continue your ascent. 
That’s an order.” Dr Seidelman replied from back at base camp, 
from the old storage room across from the utility closet designated 
Area H-2-5. Records show that Dr Seidelman was assigned initial 
exploration responsibilities with two junior researchers, and had 
arranged a basic field lab in a storage room across from the utility 
closet containing Area H-2-5. 


“... D-9985, are you ready to continue?” 


“Yeah, give me a sec...” D-9985 replied as he pulled himself to his 
feet with a grunt. Video feed looks back to the stairs as D-9985 
continues his walk, a hand against the dusty concrete wall. D-9985 
continues at a steady pace, pitch blackness around him and the soft 
giggling in the darkness above him remaining consistent as he 
ascends the stairwell. Feed continues, lingering on each floor’s 


SCP-765: Duck Pond 


Item #: SCP-765 
Object Class: Safe 


Special Containment Procedures: SCP-765 is to be isolated from 
the rest of Site-88 by a wire fence of at least 1.22 meters. Instances 
of SCP-765-1 are harmless beyond this area, and SCP-765's effects 
are negligible at this range. SCP-765 is to be staffed with a rotating 
group of researchers and guards. These personnel are to be 
changed every three to six days to avoid suffering the detrimental 
effects of SCP-765. Researchers who have been absent from 
SCP-765 for at least one month may apply for assignment to it 
again. 


Description: SCP-765 is a duck pond, discovered in the 
region of South Carolina in 197 . SCP-765 appears to emanate an 
emotional effect causing what researchers have called "serenity." 
Researchers, guards, and test subjects within the field of SCP-765 
report relaxed feelings, contentment with their life, and justification 
with their life choices. However, after seven to twelve days, the shift 
becomes one of lethargy, apathy, boredom, and depression. Further 
shifts beyond this are currently being monitored, with test subjects 
D-02841, D-02844, and D-02851 having been in the effect for over a 
. Psychological reports on all these subjects are available at 
request with approval from Dr. G 


Due to its relaxing nature, SCP-765 is regularly assigned to 
researchers undergoing severe stress or lethargy. The effect does 
not appear addictive or memetic in any way. 


Addendum SCP-765-1, 197 : 


Unsurprisingly, several members of the Anatidae family 
showed up today, classified SCP-765-1. While they do 
not appear affected by SCP-765, staff have reported that 


number for 2-4 seconds. 93... 96... 98... 101... 104... 


“... Hold it. It’s getting louder.” D-9985 suddenly halts, pulling his 
hand away from the wall. Audio feed corroborates with D-9985’s 
experience — sound of laughter has grown noticeably louder in 
volume, but is not apparently approaching D-9985. D-9985 stops, 
placing a hand against the wall again, body language suggesting 
tension. Eleven seconds pass before Dr Seidelman speaks again. 


“D-9985, please continue your ascent. That’s an order.” 


The D-Class hesitates, lifting his hand for a moment before placing it 
against the wall, continuing to climb the stairwell at a slower pace 
than before. Footsteps and breathing are prominent in audio 
recordings, and laughter continues to grow in volume at a gradual 
but steady rate as D-9985 ascends beyond platform 110. 


The subject roughly inhales, and apparently leans to wipe his lower 
face with his arm. He hesitates again, before continuing, leaning 
over to shine the floodlight over the railing, revealing further flights 
above. D-9985 mutters as-yet-undetermined curses under his breath 
before continuing, as the laughter grows apparently closer. D-9985’s 
breathing has grown notably more rapid and his movements more 
tense. Past flight 114, D-9985 suddenly stops, shining his light into 
the darkness above. 


“It’s right there.” D-9985’s voice is quiet and shaky, directly into the 
radio. After eight full seconds, he continues forward, climbing the 
next flight slowly but without prompting. Laughter is at speaking- 
level now, and apparently close by. As D-9985 reaches the next 
flight, he shines light up the stairs ahead of him, the light steadying 
as the camera attempts to focus on an indistinct figure. Voice of D- 
Class and anomaly are both at speaking level now. 


“Doc, it’s an ass.” 


Camera focuses, revealing an apparently disembodied humanoid 
lower back, upper thigh, and posterior pointed in D-9985’s general 
direction. D-9985 shakes his head and turns to return to base camp, 
apparently tripping on his own feet and falling down the stairs, 
swearing profusely as anomalous laughter breaks into hysterics 


before camera and audio feeds cut out. 


The 784 Incident: Part 1: Contact 


Incident 784-1 


"... once the D-Class personnel have finished rinsing the outside of 
the container using fire hoses, a third personnel will approach the 
container, and then affix the module to the outside of the structure. 
The microphone should pick up any vocalizations made by Skip 
Seven-Eight-Four." Doctor Lorenzo indicated a microphone and a 
speaker located on the console. "Speak into this microphone. It will 
transmit to the speaker in the communications module. Seven-Eight- 
Four should be able to pick up the vibrations through contact." 


"That will not be sufficient, Doctor Lorenzo." Director Valentine's 
eyes were hard as flint, matching the steely grey of her hair, and her 
voice carried the snap of many years of authority. "| need to get 
inside the containment chamber and speak to Andrews directly." 


Lorenzo hesitated. "Ma'am," he said, his lilting, Castillian accent 
tinged with doubt, "Seven-Eight-Four is a highly dangerous Keter- 
Class SCP that has already claimed the life of at least one other 
human being. | can't recommend that you be allowed in there." 


"Your objections are duly noted and overruled." She opened her 
briefcase and handed a manila envelope to the perplexed scientist. 
"My papers. As of 0600 hours this morning, Overseer Eleven has 
given me clearance for direct access to this artifact." 


The Spaniard glanced over the papers. "Looks like it's all in order," 
he sighed. "Except for the fact that it's absolutely loco. All right. 
There's a changing room to the left of the main entrance for 
Foundation personnel. Remove all your clothes and personal effects 
and change into scrubs. Angie will get you a respirator and some 
goggles and brief you on the safety procedures." 


"Thank you, Doctor Lorenzo." 


She had expected the interior of the containment chamber to be 
dark and gloomy, filled with shadows and grime, a monstrous home 
for the monster it contained. The brightly lit chamber was far less 
dramatic, but given the choice between drama and safety, Valentine 
preferred the one that let her walk out alive. 


Seven-Eight-Four's tendency to assimilate any silicon and metal it 
came into contact with meant that steel and glass were verboten. 
Transparent acrylic and concrete were the materials of choice. The 
heavy concrete container rested at the bottom of a deep pool of 
acetone, the sharp odor of the solvent cutting through her paper- 
and-cloth respirator mask. The acetone was a safety measure: the 
nanomachines that made up the artifact's mechanical portions were 
very similar to proteins, and would disintegrate under heat and 
heavy solvents. 


She tried not to think about the fail-safe measure that relied on the 
first method. 


"You didn't have to come in here with me," she said. 


The figure in the blue hazmat suit next to her shook its head, the 
gesture muted by the loose hood. "I'm responsible for this artifact," 
Lorenzo said. "I'm not letting an outsider in here alone." 


"| see. Please tell the Deltas to raise the artifact." 


Lorenzo nodded to the two figures in orange hazmat suits, who 
began to turn the capstan on the far side of the chamber. A series of 
ropes and pulleys, all made out of non-metallic materials, raised the 
heavy concrete chamber out of its acetone bath like a monster rising 
from the sea depths. A third D-Class, carrying a sprayer on its back, 
stood by nervously, fiddling with the controls of his device. "If | may 
ask, what's the reason for all this?" Lorenzo asked. 


"Psychological analysis," Valentine said. "Overseers want to find out 
what's going on in his head." 


"Really? Because | can tell you right now. Nothing. He's like an 
animal, all he knows is food and pain. | know he was some kind of 
agent before, but he's just a monster now." 


"He wasn't just 'some kind of agent,’ Lorenzo, he was a member of 
Pandora's Box. He's the one who stopped Steel Doll. He's helped 
capture over a dozen SCPs in the wild, three Keter-Class. He was... 
he IS a hero, and he deserves better than to be treated like a caged 
beast." Her last words were punctuated by the heavy thud of the 
containment chamber being locked into place, suspended just over 
the pool of solvent. 


Lorenzo's lip twisted into a half-sneer, half smile. "I'm sorry. I'll be 
sure to show the proper respect," he said. 


"See that you do. Is it possible for me to speak to him directly?" 
Valentine asked. 


"There is a port on the top of the chamber for replenishing the 
nutrient bath. We normally keep it sealed except when attached to 
the pipe, but..." 


"Do it." 


Lorenzo nodded and shouted something in Spanish to the figures in 
the orange haz-mat suits. They flinched noticeably. One of them 
protested in the same language, only to be shouted down by 
Lorenzo. There was a brief hesitation, then one of the D-Classes 
started to gingerly approach the concrete cube, while the other two 
grabbed sprayers and looked on nervously. "Please stay behind the 
yellow line, Director," Lorenzo said. "We've been trying to train him 
not to cross the line using aversion therapy. It's been... well, we've 
had some success." 


"Thank you." Valentine stepped back over the spray-painted line on 
the floor. "Any particular reason why the containment crew is mostly 
Spanish-speaking?" 


"Easy to acquire. Some third-world dictator needs a few trouble- 
makers disappeared? We need a few warm bodies. Mutually 
beneficial agreement." Lorenzo smiled. "I think the guy climbing the 


ladder's here for calling Hugo Chavez a fat bastard on national TV." 
"Hm." Valentine crossed her arms. "Convenient." 


"Absolutely. Oh, hang on, here it comes. This is actually pretty cool,” 
Lorenzo said, chuckling nervously. 


The D-Class opened the port, then hastily ran down the ladder and 
back to his companions, picking up a spray tank and strapping it to 
his back. Slowly at first, a tendril of steel and glass emerged from 
the opening, swaying back and forth like a snake. A bulbous growth 
appeared at the end, then split open to reveal a small blue gem the 
size of a marble. "We're pretty sure that's a visual receptor of some 
sort," Lorenzo whispered. "It seems to be made up of thousands of 
tiny photoreceptors and lenses, kind of like an insect's eye." 


"How well does he see?" Valentine asked. 
"Well enough." 


The tendril snaked towards the two scientists, approached the 
yellow line, hesitated. The sapphire-blue eye turned towards the D- 
Classes, who gripped their sprayers tightly. The thing paused, then 
withdrew about a meter from the line. The orange-suited men 
relaxed visibly. 


"If it crosses the line, it gets a full spray from the solvent, then 
reduced nutrition for a week," Lorenzo explained. "It seems to be the 
only way to get it to obey." He smiled at Valentine. The older woman 
just stared back at him coldly, and the younger scientist coughed 
and cleared his throat. 


Valentine turned her attention back to Seven-Eight Four, which 
seemed to be reconfiguring itself. A blob of nanomaterial oozed 
down the length of the tendril (like a mouse being swallowed by a 
snake, she thought), then formed itself into a crude face, a second 
blue eye opening up next to the first. Valentine had seen 
photographs of Agent Andrews before his accident, and recognized 
the pudgy cheeks and pursed lips: the rest of it, however, was 
crude, a vague approximation of a human face formed by a mind 
that had nearly forgotten what it looked like. 


"Andrews," Valentine said. "Can you hear me?" 


"Seven-Eight-Four can pick up air vibrations," Lorenzo chimed in. "It 
talks back by forming and vibrating..." 


"Shut up." Valentine cut Lorenzo off angrily. "Andrews," she 
repeated, "Can you hear me?" 


The mouth opened, and a membrane stretching across the back, 
just behind the teeth, began to vibrate. "yessssss," it said, ina 
buzzing, electronic approximation of a human voice. "i kckkckkcan 
hear yyyou." 


"Do you know who | am, Andrews?" Valentine said. 
“anddddddrrrrrers is deaddeddeddead i am sevensevev—" 
"Do you know who | am, Andrews?" Valentine repeated sternly. 


The eyes turned and regarded Valentine closely. "dirrrrecccctor 
reckakckakrcruited mmmmmmme from em em em eye yay 
titititieee." 


"Yes, Andrews," Valentine said, smiling. Her eyes were bright with 
triumph. "So you do remember things from the past." 


"rrrrremember. nnnononono longerrlongerrrrr carrrre. i am 
stitstststeeel now. steeel. perfect. moving beyond mere fleshflesh to 
perfection." 


"Really?" Valentine's smile widened to a fierce, triumphant grin. She 
pulled off her hazmat suit glove, and before Lorenzo realized what 
she was doing, had pulled a small photograph out from the glove, 
held it up in front of the creature's eyes. It depicted a young woman 
wearing a blue hospital gown laying on a bed, hooked up to a 
respirator, her eyes staring blankly up at the camera flash. "And 
what if | told you,” the Director said, "that Beatrix Maddox is still 
alive?" 


Part 2: Negotiation 


The 784 Incident: Part 2: Negotiation 


Part 1: Contact 


"When you look into the abyss, 
the abyss looks back" 


Looking back, I'm not sure what | thought was going to happen 
when that crazy bitch showed 784 the photo. If | had to put money 
on it, it would have been even money between screaming at her for 
lying and going completely apeshit and killing us all. 


No one, | think, would have dared put down money on saying, 
"yesssssssssssssssss&. i know." 


Valentine, that crazy bitch, didn't even bat an eye. "I thought you 
might. How did you guess?" she asked.