“You're awake! Wonderful! I’ve been waiting for hours. | thought 
about waking you up, but you seemed so worn out that | just didn’t 
have the heart to deprive you of your rest. After all, today is going to 
be a rather busy day for you!” 


Michelle opened her mouth to speak, but only managed a harsh 
gurgle. The confusion was rapidly turning to panic. How had she 
gotten here? The last thing she remembered she had been going to 
the post office while Greg looked after the baby... “Oh, don’t try to 
talk! You'll only manage to hurt your throat. You don’t want to irritate 
what’s left of your vocal cords, do you?” What was left? What had 
happened to her? 


“A shame about that by the way, but | couldn’t have you thanking me 
too loudly, now could I? | mean, the last several people | helped 
were so loud. The neighbors raised such a fuss; even called the 


wrapped around your neck, you [expletive] dog. 
Dr.: YOU [expletive] PILE OF [expletive], I'LL KILL YOU! 


Dr. proceeds to pick up SCP-735 and slam it against 
the wall repeatedly, before throwing it on the floor and 
kicking it across the room. 


735: HA HAAAAA! YOU PANSY-[expletive] [expletive], 
HIT ME! DO IT HARDER, [expletive]! You're a [expletive] 
weak human, just like the rest of them! | wouldn't want to 
be one of you dirty [expletive] when the Reavers finally 
get here! 


Dr.: (still physically assaulting SCP-735): [expletive] 
YOU! [expletive] YOU! 


(At this point in the recording, security personnel enter 
the room and forcibly remove Dr. _ .) 


735: You pussy. 
(Recording ends.) 


Addendum 735b: After this incident, Dr. is removed from the 
735 project. 


Addendum 735c: A proposal has been requested by Dr. to 
apply SCP-1331 to SCP-735 in attempts at reducing or neutralizing 
its effect. This proposal is currently being reviewed by the Ethics 
Committee and Site-14 administration. 


« SCP-734 | SCP-735 | SCP-736 » 


cops! Said | was a crazed madman. They said | was a killer! The 
nerve of it! Slandering a good Samaritan’s name like that...” 


As the man chattered on, he was also moving around the room, 
though she couldn’t see what he was doing. A clattering noise and 
some clinking only made her more panicked. She tried to sit up 
again, and though she could muster more of an effort this time, her 
attempts were again fruitless. She could barely move her head, and 
the straps holding her down, (a surgical table?) made it so she could 
only stare at the ceiling and the walls to her side. What she saw 
there only made her more terrified. Photographs taped to the wall, 
scenes of torture and carnage that had been highlighted on the 
nightly news for weeks. 


“...L mean, a photographer would want to see the world through a 
lens right? So | was helping him! And he was grateful! If he wasn’t 
grateful, why would he be screaming with joy?” 

The man, apparently finished with his task, moved behind her head 
and set something down with a harsh click. Glass on metal. Other 
objects rattled loudly on the surface. 


“But enough about my past works. | don’t want to brag. Bragging is 
for the prideful, and the Lord teaches us not to be prideful. So, let’s 
talk about you, Michelle. | have to say, I’m really happy that | saw 
you on the street a few days ago! Ever since | had to leave 
Wisconsin, I’ve been having a hard time picking who to help out! But 
then | saw you, walking down the street, and | saw that you needed 
my help more than anyone. That look of loss in your eyes, like you 
needed someone to give you purpose, to reaffirm your life... That 
spoke to me. And so | decided to answer your plea, and here we 
are, ready to get you back on the right track!” 


The man reached down and grabbed her jaw firmly, and with his 
other hand reached into her mouth and fixed something in place 
over her teeth. A mouth guard, made of rubber. He patted her cheek 
as his hand withdrew. “Don’t want you to bite your tongue. Not 
before we’re finished.” She stared at him, beseeching him with her 
eyes to let her go. He paid no heed, too lost in his own thoughts. 


“Where was |? Ah yes. So | followed you, and | saw your life. The 
love you have for your husband, and your child. But | noticed that 


you were unhappy, particularly when your son and husband weren’t 
with you. Feeling lonely? Didn’t know what to do? | understand. 
Some people mock homemakers, saying they’re just a relic of a past 
time, but | disagree. | think it’s your choice, and you’ve made a 
worthy decision. So let’s get you back in that role you chose!” 


He reached down and picked something up from behind her. As he 
walked around to stand next to the table, she saw the scalpel glint in 
his hand. Her eyes widened. She began to hyperventilate, the 
breaths through her nose sucking in more of that stench, making her 
gag. With one hand he held her stomach down, while with the other 
he reached down and slit the shirt she was wearing, exposing her 
abdomen. The scalpel continued cutting, drawing a burning line 
down her diaphragm. The wet, warm feeling of her own blood 
trickling down her sides as each breath began to hurt. He stepped 
back and put the scalpel back behind her and his hand came back 
up holding a large jar. The source of that earlier sound. The smoked 
sides gave no indication of what was inside, beyond faintly 
discernable motion. He turned it upside-down, and unscrewed the 
lid, holding it over the mouth as he brought it next to the cut. 


“Now, don’t worry. This may sting at first, but its all right. A little pain 
is worth purpose, right?” 


The hand holding the lid flashed away as he firmly pressed the jar 
down on the cut. Michelle’s breaths were harsh as she felt the sharp 
pinpricks of the feet of the creatures inside the jar. She tried to 
struggle but was still too weak, the pain from her diaphragm and the 
psychological shock of what was going on making her movements 
pathetically impotent. He looked down at her, one hand dropping the 
lid on the ground to come up and stroke her hair. 


“You'll soon be all better. Let them inside and they'll never leave you 
alone like your family does. Just what a homemaker would want, 
right?” 


His hand moved past her head, back to grab something from behind 
her. A tuning fork. He sharply rapped it against the side of the jar, 
frightening the insects inside. Michelle screamed inside her mind as 
the first slipped inside, a burrowing pain in her entrails. More and 
more entered her, a gnawing tide clawing and biting at whatever it 


needed to get away. Tears streamed down her cheeks as more 
blood began to pour from around the jar, sliding down her ribcage 
and the writhing bulges under her skin. Her heart beat faster and 
faster, until the sensation of prickling feet and devouring mandibles 
entering it caused it to cease completely. 


The man looked at the slowly cooling body of what was once a 
human being, now just a hive. He reached down to the surgical table 
and picked up a camera. Another successful mission of mercy. 


The Designer 


Juliette smiled maternally when she met the new girl. Her thin, 
bladelike face radiated wonder, wide eyes dulling soft edges. It was 
always nice to meet the next person with the Talent. Their 
enthusiasm and joy at their new position was infectious, and soon 
the entire staff was cheerfully going about tasks that would normally 
seem boring and routine. Juliette was no exception, a spring in her 
step as she explained the Job to the new girl. 


The wide eyes grew even wider still at the simple explanation. 
During the tests that were given to all citizens regularly, she, 
Belinda, had shown signs of the Talent. Follow up testing had 
revealed that she was indeed Talented. Now, as the new Designer, 
she was one of the most important people in the world; ready to set 
the Fashions for everyone from the lowly police officers to world 
leaders. From now on, she would live in the Designer’s tower, 
creating the Designs and setting the culture for the rest of her life. 


Belinda’s eyes welled up with joyous tears as she began to sob. It 
was like being reborn. The next few days were a whirl of activity, 
being shown around the tower and meeting with all the people who 
lived there; people who now worked for —her-. It was overwhelming, 
but Juliette was always there to lend a guiding hand or to simplify 
something that seemed ludicrously complex. As the Assistant, 
Juliette was second only to the Designer in the tower, and her word 
was law. 


The following weeks, and the months after that were a steady 
routine. Think, draw, submit, and repeat. Her Talent, that rare gift, 
the mental spark that made one the Designer, guaranteed that 
anything she created was solid gold in terms of Fashion. Her first 
works were filled with the bliss she felt in her new position, bright 
colors with subtle undertones that put a skip in the stride of anyone 
who looked at them. Juliette handled the talks with organizations for 
those first years, taking their requests. The new Designer was far 


too caught up in her work to handle such mundane tasks. 


With time however, her Designs took on a different tone. Joy was 
replaced with purpose. Narrow lines and angles suggested 
movement, speed, surety. Messengers became swift blur, racing on 
their bikes, ice-skates, or rollerblades. Her mood became different. 
The childlike innocence was a thing of the past, replaced with the 
smooth confidence of someone who knew what she was doing, and 
how best to do it. Juliette became less and less needed, Belinda 
becoming a presence in the tower, her mood reaching again to the 
now smoothly efficient workers. 


A year passed, and another, and more after that. Belinda became 
older, her Designs reflecting that maturity. Autumnal colors rested 
gently on the shoulders of a fireman, a doctor, an EMT. Not 
weariness so much as peace, the contentment of the day-to-day. 
Her workers smiled and cracked jokes, dry humor and easy 
camaraderie settling in. Juliette and her boss now felt like sisters in 
a way, one in a higher position, but still in some way equal; bonded 
by the long hours spent in the office, producing the next great 
Design. 


This slow and mellow time was not to last forever. Belinda began to 
smoke, hazy clouds of gray hanging over her worktable. Her 
products became more harsh, jagged spikes and cold, dark 
patterns. Polished boots gleamed on the feet of the police as they 
marched in the streets, impersonal and somehow cruel for it. 
Belinda became eccentric, her attitude shifting erratically. Her 
workers were now grim and angry; hard-edged office politics and 
even harder punishments for failure. The tower was now a menacing 
place, its spire stabbing into the sky like a needle poised at the eye 
of the universe, just waiting for a vicious plunge. Belinda worked 
constantly, the cigarette and accompanying cloud of smoke the only 
sign that she wasn’t a machine, some hateful automata chained to a 
desk until its servomotors broke. Abstracts began to show in her 
work, the emotions behind them a violent need, a grasping yearning 
for something that eluded the creator. 


And then, one wintery day, Juliette came in to find Belinda; not 
hunched over her desk as was now her custom, but hanging from 
the ceiling, a horrifying mannequin. Hooks pierced her flesh, 


stretching skin, contorting muscles into a model’s pose. Swatches of 
cloth were sewn into her, covering wetly pink and crimson areas 
where she had flensed herself. Juliette looked up at her boss, her 
surrogate family, her friend...and sighed. Picking up a camera, she 
set about taking photographs of the corpse, manipulating the taut 
wires holding it up to change the poses. Such was the Assistant’s 
job after all; to aid, to help, to open the doors for the Designer, and, 
in the end, to preserve their last, macabre work for the ages. She 
would place the photographs next to the depictions of the legion of 
Designers who had gone before, each of them pursuing, 
unknowingly, their own beautiful, Fashionable, death. 


Third Law Hub 


Canon Hub » Third Law Hub 
"Any sufficiently advanced technology is 
indistinguishable from magic." 
— Sir Arthur C. Clarke 
"Technology is neither good nor bad; nor is it neutral." 
— Melvin Kranzberg 


"To every action there is always opposed an equal 
reaction." 


— Sir lsaac Newton 


Startup (1881-1938) 


The early days of the paratech industry, as companies like 


Prometheus Labs form to capitalize on the potential of anomalous 


research in the wake of the Sixth Occult War. Many important 


discoveries are made during this period, laying the groundwork for 


all future paratech development. Normalcy preservation 


organizations begin to assume their modern forms, and the idea of 
the Veil — long upheld by informal consensus — is first articulated 


as a formal policy. 


* Preliminary Report of J.C. Randall Upon His Party's 


Efforts... — In 1927, Doctor John Carver Randall led a team 
of experts on an expedition to explore the multiverse. They 


never returned. Written by GreenWolf 


¢ Zeitgeist — A day in the life of a ghost hitman, a space-drug 
smuggler, a psychic mob cleaner, and a junkie witch. Enter: 


the Chicago Spirit! Written by A Random Day 


Bubble (1938-1992) 


The Second World War, the concurrent Seventh Occult War, and 
the subsequent Cold War create a surge in demand for paratech, 
leading to a parascience bubble that will last until the end of the 
Cold War. This period is filled with numerous mergers of paratech 
suppliers as the market consolidates in order to better meet growing 
demands. Normalcy preservation organizations and national 
paranormal agencies reach the height of their power, giving rise to a 
strong Veil and the so-called "Golden Age of Normalcy". 


* The Seventh Occult War 


© Obskuracorps Memos Acquired in Operation 
BLACK ROPE — Nazi wizards frantically plot to 
assemble a doomsday weapon, all while being hounded 
by a machine that punches fascists. Written by 
GreenWolf 

© Archival Document -- HSA-008-Advent — Mankind 
has always been enamored with cool swords. The Allied 
Occult Initiative has to make sure the Obskuracorps 
doesn't sway the course of the war with one. Written by 
9Volt 

© A Man of Clay and Men Formerly Men — Special 
Operative Josef invites himself into an abandoned 
manor to put an end to an occult experiment. Written by 
9Volt 

© SCP-3457 - The Rite of Solomon — Want to create a 
god that lets you control who gets to be a wizard? Well 
you can't because the Foundation won't let you, but if 
you could you'd have to use this. Written by ChaoSera 


¢ SCP-2664 - Redline — In 1950, Joseph Stalin demanded a 
weapon for world domination. GRU Division "P" built a 
weapon for world peace. The year is now 1963, and that 
weapon wants the world. Written by A Random Day 

¢ SCP-2350 - From the Mind of Malinalxochitl — At some 
point in the 1950s, the United States weaponized the concept 
of mosquitoes. Not the mosquitoes themselves - but the 
concept. Written by A Random Day 


SCP-2630 - Stock of a Sort — The market seems awfully 
bullish today. Written by Taffeta 

Make Portland Weirder — During a massive music festival in 
1970, a Foundation agent inadvertently ends up in Three 
Portlands and finds the UIU already waiting for her. Written by 
Jacob Conwell 

Operation LLEWYN DARK — When a contractual mind 
control satellite run by demons is struck down by a meteoroid, 
it's up to the Foundation to do some emergency maintenance. 
Written by Taffeta 

"Unicorn Horn’ (HYTCH/8FNE6/B77KT) — Marshall, Carter 
and Dark discover that unicorn horns are amazing 
contraceptives, and take the inevitable equine body horror to 
its logical conclusion. Written by GreenWolf