The others from Containment, and all of you from Research, are 
gonna be Specialists. You guys are gonna be providing critical 
expertise to your Task Force in its DOS. That means you can 
probably guess what kinda Task Force you're gonna be deployed 
into. Mr. Suarez, for example, ain't headed to my crew. We don't 
exactly have a billet for an anomalous-manuscript expert. But there 
are Task Forces that do, otherwise he wouldn't be here. 


Everyone else, and definitely most of you guys from Security, are 
gonna be Tactical. You guys are gonna keep the Specialists safe — 
hell, sometimes the field dogs, too — and basically get the brunt of 
all the worst shit for your entire careers. Yeah, | see you grinnin'! 
Used to it, ain't you? But | came in from Security myself, back in the 
day, so now you got proof: not everyone gets wasted on their third 
deployment. Just the dumb ones. 


Quit pouting, Weiss. | was kidding. 


But speaking of deployments, that brings me to the next thing. 
You're hardly ever gonna deploy. Oh, sure, you're gonna rack up a 
good number of deployments in your careers, assuming you spend 
the rest of 'em with us, of course. But new skips don't come along 
every day, and ones that need a Task Force instead of a regular 
team to contain 'em — or recontain, sometimes — are even rarer. 


Don't get cocky, though, 'cause that doesn't mean it's gonna be 
slow. You're gonna spend like 90% of your uptime training. Some of 
you are familiar with that way of doing things already. The rest... 
you're gonna hate it sometimes, but when you get out on your first 
deployment... you'll get it. Train hard. Contain easy. 


Lemme see; what else | got here... Amnestics. I'm gonna give it to 
you straight. You're gonna be amnesticized. 


Now. It's not the first thing the brass reach for if they think we've 
seen something they don't like, and it's a lot more targeted with us 
so they don't waste all that training... but it's gonna happen. Having 
to be amnesticized is one of the costs of doing business in an MTF. 
Shit, /'ve been amnesticized a few times. Some of 'em | was told 
about, afterwards. The other times | can work out. Obviously, | can't 
remember, right? Hah. 


And you wanna know one of the reasons we don't just get 
amnesticized every five minutes? The Ethics Committee. 


Oh, | see Zimmer thinks | made a joke. Do | look like I'm joking, 
Agent? | bet you think different, right, Leclerc? Yeah, thought so. 
You're gonna get more information on this later, but right now | can 
tell you this: the Committee has a lot more power than you think it 
has, it has eyes on the Task Forces at all times, and it does not play 
games. So don't make the mistake of thinking that you can get away 
with anything you want now you're a high-speed MTF operative. I've 
seen more than a few rookies learn that the hard way. The Ethics 
Committee is not a fucking joke. Don't say you weren't warned. 


And there's one last thing. You can't handle this job. 


Sure, you think you can. You're all hard-chargin' motivated go- 
getters, or you wouldn't be here. And what about me and the Rabbi 


and all the other old MTF vets? 


Truth is, nobody can really handle this life. You're gonna see, and 
maybe do, shit that the human mind just wasn't built to be able to 
deal with. We've got structures in place to help you, but in the 
meantime, you gotta be prepared that there are things you can't 
prepare for. Hey, is that some Zen shit, or what? Seriously, though: 
you know that thing | said about bein’ amnesticized? Yeah. 
Sometimes, you're gonna be asking for it. Gonna help you sleep a 
little better at night. 


Alright! Now I've ended on a happy note and boosted team morale 
— hah, now you clowns found your sense of humor, huh? — | think 
we're about done. Real quick, before we go to assignments: 
questions? Comments? Concerns? 


Aziz. Okay, Aziz, I'm gonna answer that, 'cause Specialist Ben- 
David is just here to observe today. To address your first point, it 
does happen, though the Rabbi's spent his entire career with the 
Exorcists. As for the rest, my advice to you is to focus on basic skills 
now and worry about all that later. 


Leclerc? ...Okay, I'm gonna answer this, but the answer's for 
everyone. First, if you don't make it through Basic School you get a 
pat on the head, a thanks-for-your-time, and returned to your 
previous unit. After you get amnesticized. Second, here's a free tip. 
You have to have 100% self-belief and 100% mental strength to 
make it here, and if you don't, you might wanna think hard about 
whether or not to go ahead. We clear? Okay. Good. 


Zimmer? Nah, it's not based on your career track. You're ex-Navy, 
right? Yeah, it doesn't work like that. We have Task Force 
Commanders that started out in all the basic tracks, plus some that 
started in the weirder tracks a few Task Forces use. 


Kildare? Man, you rooks always gotta ask about him, huh. Max 
Lombardi didn't answer this when you were a rookie regular Agent? 
One more time, then: yes, he is. MTF Commanders report to him 
when it comes to training our Task Forces. And the rumors are all 
bullshit. He's just a guy that's very good at what he does. That cover 
everything? Outstanding. 


Any more questions? No? 
Okay. Assignments. Listen up. 


Anderson and Jones, you guys are going to shore up the CBRN 
platoon in Nu-7. Aziz, you'll be with the rabbi here in Chi-3. Bathory, 
you're off to Psi-7, so if you wondered why the fuck we need civil 
engineers in MTFs, you're gonna find out real soon. Bernstein, 
you're going to lota-10 — and, do me a favor? If you meet Steve 
Pullmer, say hi to him for me. 


Where was |? Okay. Green. You, Yakub and Zimmer are all going to 
Zeta-9. Unlucky. Hah! Nah, they're good. We got a little rivalry goin' 
on with them 'cause of the related DOSes. Kildare, you're with Nu-2. 
If you see Dr. Trebuchet, tell her | said hi. Lamont! You wonder why 
you didn't go to Nu-7 with the other two? You're off to the Maz 
Hatters, buddy. Beta-7. Have fun with that. 


Let's see, last few... Leclerc, you're off to Mu-4. Try not to jump at 
too many shadows. Suarez, you're assigned to Rho-1. Apparently 
they got some things they want you to read. Wang, you're also going 
to Rho-1 'cause they're short on Tactical guys with your specialist 
skills. And Weiss, | guess you drew the short straw, ‘cause you're 
with me in Theta-90. 


Alright. Ten minute break. Don't leave the Red Area. Be back here 
at quarter after so we can get started on your inprocessing 
paperwork. Yeah, Wang, already. Welcome to the Task Forces. 


See you in ten. 


Sunday Funnies 


a reading list of textbooks and medical papers has been provided to 
SCP-948 to keep it up to date with modern medicine, which has 
shown a marked increase in its healing ability2. 


SCP-948 also displays a minor secondary calming effect - many 
people entering the theatre while it is lecturing report feeling 
refreshed and safe regardless of their previous condition. Prolonged 
exposure to this effect can lead to short-term dizziness and trouble 
with fine motor skills. These effects generally only manifest after 
12-15 hours of continuous exposure to the object, and thus are 
considered negligible. 


SCP-948 shows physical signs of extreme emaciation and sleep 
deprivation, but does not seem to need food, drink or sleep, and 
commonly refuses them when offered, preferring not to interrupt his 
lectures’. SCP-948 becomes extremely aggravated when removed 
from the lecture theatre or otherwise prevented from lecturing, often 
requiring restraint. SCP-948 has proven amicable in all other 
aspects of interaction, allowing medical procedures to go ahead 
without argument so long as they do not impede his lecturing. 


Discovery: SCP-948 was brought to the Foundation's attention on 
the third day of his lecture, what was then believed to be a marathon 
world record attempt. The building was cleared, and news 
disseminated that the anomaly had collapsed from exhaustion 
during the fifth day of lecturing. As two Foundation teaching centres 
were already located within the college at the time, negotiation of a 
change of department was relatively smooth, and the now- 
permanent Area-lE5 was established around the object. 


Addendum, 05/07/2013: Dr. Eleanor Bridge, a researcher recently 
employed at Area-IE5, has shown to be resistant to SCP-948's 
calming effect. Dr. Bridge has been assigned as a specialist 
supervisor tasked with befriending SCP-948 for the purposes of the 
cooperation and general QoL of the object. 


Selected Conversation Transcripts: 
LOG, 05/01/2015, 20:59 - 21:06 


SCP-948: | don't really have time for interruptions, 


Sunday Service 


She hugs the stuffed rabbit close to her and watches the procession 
go by. Her mother shoots her the briefest of looks, and drops her 
offering on the table. The tiny coins clink in the iron dish, the pipe 
organ plays a handful of solemn notes, the seats creak as all the 
others sits back down, and then everything is still and silent as the 
fat man on the podium inhales enough air to get his disgusting, 
reedy voice working. 


“Brothers and Sisters, let us bow our heads in prayer.” 


The little girl hesitates a moment, before her mother grabs the back 
of her head and forces her down. 


“...And behold, The Lord spoke unto me, in a voice both soft and 
terrible, but was silent to the unbeliever. The Lord spoke 'Come'’, 
and | did, and | was afraid and fell to my knees, weeping. | rose my 
hands, and asked 'O, mighty Lord, what has become of thy body? 
Why have you been undone?’ The Lord said unto me 'Go, and 
restore me to glory, and | shall restore you in turn’. The voice of God 
spoke to my heart, and | wept at both the Glory and the Shame of 
The Heart of our Lord! Thus | came to know his Heart and his Word, 
and | swore the blood of my family in his service! Amen!” The man at 
the podium's voice is almost a screech by the time he finishes, 
overcome with emotion and religious fervor. 


“Amen,” the crowd roars back. An old man in the pew to the left of 
the girl stamps his feet. The girl opens a single cautious eye and 
stares at the mass of clockwork jutting out of his legs for a minute 
before her mother applies more pressure and she's quickly forced to 
shut her eyes again. 


“Brothers and Sisters!” The laugh and smile enters the preacher's 
voice. “Raise your heads. This is not a time for weeping and 
gnashing of teeth. This is a day of celebration.” 


The congregation cautiously raises their heads; they've been tested 
in this way before. Even the young girl remembers the time when 
the Father announced a 'Trial of Faith' and had those who looked up 
after the opening prayer killed. 


“Rise, rise! Look and rejoice, people of the Steel. A month ago, the 
Faithful found a hated... Foundation...” 


Here, he stops and spits on the floor. A few of the older members of 
the Church do as well. 


“Foundation agent snooping around our abbey! Bring him in, Brother 
Adjutants.” 


Two men in flowing black robes and face masks made of iron enter 
from a back room, slamming aside a large oak door and dragging a 
man in rags. In their free hands they carry cruel spears. The girl 
makes a tiny noise of fear before her mother slaps her on the thigh, 
making her jump slightly. 


The congregation laughs when the man, hunched with pain and 
hunger, stumbles on the stairs up to the stage and podium. His 
ragged beard speaks of long days in captivity, and his blue eyes 
burn with a cool flame of anger. 


The Father stands and flourishes his robe. “Now, rather than have 
our practiced Adjutants end this dog's life, High Priest Frick would 
like us to use this heretic as a trial for the newest and youngest 
member of our order. Young Lady Tau, please come here.” 


The little girl — the Lady Tau in question — freezes. She hugs the 
rabbit as close to her chest as possible. Her mother shoots her a 
half-smile, pleased with her. She tugs the rabbit out of her grasp, 
and shoos her into the aisle. 


Tau just stands there. Her mother utters a chuckle. 
“She is nervous.” 


The congregation laughs, and the fat priest's smile grows wider. He 
extends a hand in the direction of the girl. 


“Come, child.” 


She slowly advances, going around and up the stairs, and then 
reluctantly takes the man's hand. Here, she can hear the heavy 
breathing of the men in the masks behind her. 


“Today, we welcome Lady Tau into the Order of the Black Cog, and 
that of The Broken God.” 


He turns, still smiling, and nods to one of the masked men. “Do it.” 


The Adjutant nods, and crouches down behind Tau. She turns, and 
the man's spear is dropped into her hands, nearly knocking her 
over. 


The priest crouches down as well and whispers in her ear. “Do your 
duty to your God.” 


Everyone on the stage backs away from Tau. Suddenly, she is 
acutely aware of both the ragged man on his knees in front of her 
and his hazy breath. 


He looks at her. She stares back. 
He speaks. “Look me in the eye.” 
She does so. 

“Now.” 

He nods at her, resigned. 


“Kill me. Or they will kill you.” 


There is a pregnant silence, an intake of breath. Tau looks down at 
the weapon in her hands, then at the man again. He closes his eyes, 
mumbles a few words, and then inhales, waiting. 


She clumsily thrusts the spear into his stomach. He winces, gapes, 
then moans. Tau flinches. She withdraws, stabs again, this time 
slightly higher. Blood leaks from between the wounds and he 
coughs, spattering Tau's white dress with red. She realizes she 


must have hit him in a lung. 


He falls, cold blue eyes glassing up. Tau looks down at the spear in 
her hands, before the man in the mask reappears and takes it from 
her. He pats her on the back, as if he were burping a child. 


Somewhere, far away, she hears the priest's voice, echoing over the 
silence in the room and in her head. 


“Lo, behold and tremble, for this is the least terrible fate of the 
Betrayer. To betray The Lord is to bring wrath of both the People 
and the Body of God, and both will seek holy and terrible 
vengeance...” 


Sunset 


Heat. 
There are too many, TOO MANY! 


Heat unimaginable. No flame, there could never be flame here, but 
more heat than almost anywhere. Surging plasma and searing 
vapour, springing from the surface of the great yellow sphere. 


That one! That one! Keep turning! 


And beyond the heat... nothing. Nothing but the endless expanse of 
void. 


Sauel! Help me, Sauel! 


There were too many threats. To her, to the planets, to Sauel... So 
many creatures wanted to eat him. Or worse. Dozens of faiths, 
hundreds of beliefs, thousands of half-remembered notions... they 
all had a promise of eternal night to uphold, and most were going 
straight to the source. 


I can't warn them all! | can't do it! 


She didn't even know if anyone was watching at this point, let alone 
heeding her warnings. It was too much, there were too many... 


But it was all she had left. Sauel was fighting off a thousand 
thousand monsters, and whilst Sauelsuesor doted on her big brother 
she was under no illusions as to his ability to survive this assault. 


It's coming apart, isn't it? It's all coming apart... 


Far, far above her a titanic red snake the size of Neptune broke 
through Sauel's final line of defence and clamped its jaws into his 
surface, hungrily sucking the plasma from his form. He flailed at the 
creature with a wave of unimaginable force and it screeched in the