distances located in the range Ocm-54cm, however, the precise 

values vary with every activation. 

2. Visual records recovered indicate that the exhibit contained 

further instances of SCP-669 as well as an agglomeration of at least 
similar objects, none of which were recovered. 


« SCP-668 | SCP-669 | SCP-670 » 


before they consumed him and his prized [DATA 
EXPUNGED] 


Dr. Crow and Kondraki then confronted SCP-422 in Site 
19 Subbasement-Omega, where SCP-422 announces 
that he plans to throw the final cutting of SCP-307 onto 
the geothermal vents and use that energy combined with 
his power to [DATA EXPUNGED] four hundred feet 

(400 m.) tall and [REDACTED] the entire Foundation. 
The rapidly growing [DATA EXPUNGED] seized the 
shards of SCP-143 in its tendrils, and lowered them into 
the geothermal vent, forging them together into 
[REDACTED] (7) swords. It and Jake Son-of-Gaia fought 
with Kondraki while Dr. Crow attempted to disrupt the 
energy flow to the [DATA EXPUNGED]. 


The [DATA EXPUNGED] made a lunge with all (7) 
swords at Kondraki, who artfully parried, sending the 
swords tearing through the wall like tissue paper. This 
proved a mistake, however, as the wall was part of the 
containment cell for SCP-506, the instant growing plants. 
Chuckling at Kondraki’s mistake, Jacob used his powers 
to breach containment on SCP-506, causing them to 
ensnare Kondraki. 


Jake Son-of-Gaia then asked Kondraki if he had any last 
words before the [DATA EXPUNGED] ran him through 
[REDACTED] times, to which Kondraki replied “Yeah. 
What's red, green, and blue, and read by you?”, to which 
Jacob replied “A newspaper?”. 5 (5) enlarged instances 
of SCP-504 then flew at him in speeds in excess of 2175 
mph, blowing the [DATA EXPUNGED] to pieces and 
stunning Jake Son-of-Gaia. Kondraki remarked that, “No, 
my butterflies making a 4 look like a 6. Shouldn't a plant 
guy know the difference between zucchini and tomato?” 
Meanwhile, Dr. Crow succeeded in deactivating the 
geothermal vents, causing a loss of power to 15 Keter 
class containment cells (see Incident 
682/076/106/1370-8 for further details), and also causing 
Jake Son-of-Gaia to plummet into the shafts below Site 


19, where he was easily recovered and returned to his 
containment cell. Dr. Crow apologized for breaching 
containment, but was not subject to disciplinary action 
due to the overwhelming benefit to the Foundation this 
caused. SCP-422 hunger strike ends after three (3) 
days. 


| had never considered how good fencers plants might 
be. Inferior in skill to myself, of course, but | won’t 
underestimate their ability to wield one sword in each 
branch again. Still, they seem more vulnerable to fire 
than most people I’ve faced. 

~Dr. Kondraki 


As awesome as fighting Kondraki and Crow was, and as totally 
sweet as watching the chaos unleashed when Crow let loose half 
the Keters in Site 19, Jacob was troubled. While the others were 
chasing Jake Son-of-Gaia down into the bowels of the Foundation, 
he had stayed behind, and tried to strip the veils of unreality from the 
corpse of one of the D-class consumed by SCP-307. The D-class 
was no less dead without them. Rather more so, actually. When his 
classmates all died, they were just dead. None of the messy inside 
bits. When his parents were killed (Were they his parents? Was it 
really the Broken God’s servants that had done it?), they too had 
looked at peace. That wasn’t right. That wasn’t how things were 
supposed to be. 


That was how they were made to be. 


Incident 422-25: On [DATE EXPUNGED}], 50 (fifty) 
Church of the Broken God cultists entered Site-19 and 
attempted to steal SCP-882. Seeing site security being 
mobilized to stop them, SCP-422 used a small stash of 
SCP-843 to grow a herd of vegetable buffalo, and 
commanded them to stampede down the door to his 
containment cell. Following the terrible grinding of gears, 
he came upon Gerald, Kondraki and site security fighting 
the cultists on the eighth floor. 


SCP-422 grew the fibers in the uniforms of the security 
agents into impenetrable armor to protect them from the 
cog pistols wielded by the followers of the Broken God. 
Just as Gerald reached the cultist working to access 
SCP-882, the last lock fell and the great machine within 
let out an earsplitting scream of greeting. 


A Cultist leapt into the grinding maw of SCP-882, but 
rather than be crushed by it, he somehow fused with it. 
SCP-882 (eight hundred eighty two) collapsed inwards 
around him, taking on a semblance of human form, 
guided by human will. A Gearlord of the Church of the 
Broken God had arisen within the walls of Site 19 itself! 


Dr. Gerald is reported as having said “This calls for 
desperate measures” and then security footage shows 
him putting on a pair of roller blades and skating towards 
the Gearlord. The resulting explosion destroyed 
SCP-882’s containment chamber, blasted the Gearlord 
through the wall and out of the building, and also 
damaged the pipelines delivering acid to SCP-682’s 
tank. 


Curiously, no members of security were injured in the 
explosion. 

It was a tremendous explosion. Of course they died. ~Dr. 
Gerald 

Go with Jake on this one, Gerald. I'll need some of them 
for later. ~SCP-682 


Kondraki and SCP-422 took the emergency hang glider 
from the SCP-803’s containment chamber (it was there 
in case it became necessary to fight the Parasols in all 
three dimensions; see Incidents 803-40 and 803-49) and 
leapt out the hole in the wall of Site 19 to where the 
Gearlord gathered itself — literally — below. Out of 
concern for safety, Dr. Gerald volunteered to take the 
stairs. 


Once outside, Kondraki drew SCP-1871 and engaged 
the Gearlord in combat, while Jake Son-of-Gaia grew 


entangling roots around the whirling metal of its feet to 
slow it down. The surviving cultists shot at Kondraki, but 
he was too fast, deflecting an estimated 493 SCP-217- 
tainted gears with his sword. 


[DATA EXPUNGED] 


Just as Kondraki landed a killing blow on the Gearlord 
and turned his attention to the servants of the Broken 
God, the gate to Site 19 (nineteen) burst open, and Dr. 
Gerald came out, running, followed by ten remaining 
members of site security. A 300 decibel roar behind them 
told everyone that SCP-682 was loose! 


Jacob watched as the bulk of SCP-682 leapt through the air ina 
probably impossible trajectory towards Dr. Gerald, who wasn’t there 
when it landed. It bellowed and swiped at a guard, but at Jacob’s 
thought, the blow went wide. None of the corpses really went away, 
he’d found; without the vibrant liveness of the Senior Staff, the 
hallways of Site 19 were scattered with bones. 


“Jake!” Kondraki shouted, bisecting another cultist, “Come help. 
These are the monsters who killed your family!” 


It was true. This was the eighth time servants of the Broken God had 
attacked in the months since Jacob had arrived at Site 19 — nearly 
as frequently as Chaos Insurgency agents (ten times). He wasn’t 
sure where they came from or where they went. If they were killed, 
he couldn't tell their bodies apart from those of guards or D-class. Or 
even those of the junior researchers from the SCP-050 
Prankpocalypse, now that he thought about it. The dramatic, black 
and red cloaks of the Insurgency agents seemed to only be there 
when the Staff were near. 


What if the sinister cybernetic servants of the Church of the Broken 
God were also like that? 


What if a// people were people? 


Jacob turned to one cultist running towards him and peeled away 


everything but the bare truth. The villain stumbled, the ground 
beneath him drained of life and color, and where the half-machine 
fanatic had fallen was now a frightened, half-starved man who 
tottered away. Jacob grinned; he had been right. “You see, guys?” 
he said, “We don’t need to kill them after all!”. 


“What did you just do?” Kondraki said, suddenly very still. 


“Well, like any other sort of corruption, my plants can cleanse the 
machine plague, so | grew some and they siphoned all the SCP-217 
right out of him!” 


“Oh, bull!” yelled Kondraki. Then he paused, focused, and said 
again, much more quietly, “I said bullshit. You think you can do that? 
Don’t you ever uck with me. Fuck!” 


Jacob stepped back, but Kondraki continued. 


“I’m the one everyone wants. If | say the O5s orally osculate 
odiferous offensive... Shit, | know there’s more words that start with 
‘O’. The point is they'll give me a medal anyhow for saving their 
asses in the last site-wide containment breach! Know your place, 
Jake. You’re the dandelion guy we’ve got locked up, and I’m the 
everlasting badass the fucking devil's scared of.” 


Though the record would later claim that SCP-422 entered a rage 
state at this point, Jacob in fact felt quite calm. “But I’m an SCP, not 
a doctor. You’re not the boss of me,” he said, and restored reality 
around Kondraki. 


Dr. Alan Condack was not as tall as Kondraki had been, and neither 
did he possess the everlasting badasses’s rugged handsomeness or 
lust-stirring musculature. He wore a tattered lab coat and his nails 
were gnawed to the quick. In Dr. Condack's right hand, he held a 
short, rusted metal bar that slipped from now-slack fingers. From his 
sunken chest came a low wail of loss. 


Jacob stared, Dr. Condack sobbed. The tableau held for nearly a 
minute, then a crushing mental force sent Jacob staggering to the 
ground and broke his concentration. He looked up to see SCP-682 
and Dr. Gerald standing over him, ashen-faced. 


Dr. Condack was gone, hidden away again under swaths of 
consensus reality, and the Kondraki that raised himself to his feet — 
not uneasily, because Kondraki was never uneasy — looked almost 
the same as before. “You little shit,” he snarled at the prostrate Jake, 
“What a fucking piece of shit SCP you are.” Jacob struggled to keep 
his form from obeying Kondraki’s imprecation. 


“Just what will we do with you, Jake?” said SCP-682, planting a claw 
on his back. 


“| think a decommissioning is in order,” said Dr. Gerald. 


“And has he fucking earned it!” said Kondraki, a grim smile 
spreading across his face. 


Against the three of them, Jacob could do nothing; he could barely 
even maintain the separation between Jake Son-of-Gaia and 
himself. He felt both parts of himself shackled, beaten, and dragged 
towards Site 19. 


As he passed through the gates, a soft voice spoke in his ear, “I 
don’t think there’s much more for you here worth experiencing. Let 
me in, and | can take you away.” With the last of his strength, Jacob 
signaled acquiescence, then SCP-348 was all around him, then he 
was gone, sinking into blackness. 


Decommissioning Log 422: 


SCPs requisitioned: SCP-272, SCP-891, SCP-1417, 
SCP-2800 


Procedure: [DATA EXPUNGED] 


Addendum: Seriously, fuck that guy. ~Kondraki 


Jacob opened his eyes. He was in a large meadow, dotted with 
flowers and dappled with shade. A ways away, some figures were 
playing, joyously. Through the brilliant sky, if he looked closely, he 
could half make out a scarred room and a weary figure, and he 
knew that another mote now danced in SCP-343’s bell jar. 


A couple figures from the group ahead split off and approached him, 
a dog and a vampire. “Hi there!” said the dog, “We were told you 
might be coming. Come, join us. Rest, relax until we’re finally 
needed. I’m Joseph Simpson, and this is my friend Sid Duquesne. 
What’s your name?” 


Jacob paused. He felt the plants listen to him, knew they would still 
obey the command of Jake Son-of-Gaia. But then he broke into a 
broad grin and said, “Nice to meet you! I’m Jacob Glaser.” 


« | HUB | » 


Long Live The King 


My name is Dr. King, and you know what | hate more 
than anything ever invented by mankind? Apple seeds. 
They have always been the bane of my miserable 
existence. God damn, piece of shit apple seeds. Never 
whole apples, or maybe even sliced apples. Just the 
seeds, going everywhere | go and ruining all my plans. 
Finally get a chance to test a big SCP? Apple seeds. 
Working in my office? Seeds in the drawers. No matter 
where | go, apple seeds. 


But I'm going to change all that. For the past six weeks, | 
have locked myself alone in my office. The apple seeds 
have been slowly filling it up, and they're up to my neck 
now. Tonight is the night | let those demon seeds win. 
Those hell-spawned capsules of hatred have finally 
broken me, because | cannot deal with one more 
goddamn apple seed. 


| hope they don't have apples in hell. 


Dr. King groaned, as he was prone to do when waking up, and 
scrunched his eyes. Was he dead? Was this... after? Didn't feel 
very after. In fact, his face felt like it was resting upon a familiarly 
textured surface. 


Apple seeds. 


Dr. King's legs scrambled for ground as he sprung from a prone 
state, sending apple seeds scattering across the seedy ground. 


Absolute despair and anguish washed over him in waves, sending 
him tumbling back to the seeded earth. "No! Fuck! It's not supposed 
to- goddammit why won't you leave me?" 


Preoccupied as he was with lament and despair, Dr. King failed to 
notice the celestial figure approaching him from on high. It was an 
apple, a whole one, with leaves as green as the sea and a shimmer 
surpassed by none. It had one sticker, affixed to a side, which shone 
a golden "A" shimmering across the landscape. 


"Rise, King." 


Dr. King flipping around, and his jaw would have dropped had it not 
already been hanging agape, swinging like a pinata in the wind. 
"You... but..." 


"MY SON... YOUR FINAL TIME HAS COME," boomed the giant 
flying apple. 


Dr. King blinked. "My time? What... the hell are you talking about?" 


A shimmer of bright red liberated itself from the apple and spread 
over the land, blasting everything that had once subscribed to other 
colors on the spectrum into a brilliant, vibrant red. 


"THERE IS NO TIME TO WASTE. YOU WERE BORN TO CREATE 
APPLES. NOW, YOUR TIME HAS COME. THE WORLD IS IN 
CRISIS, AND THE ONLY SOLUTION IS APPLES." 


"\.. What." 


Suddenly, King's mind was filled with images. He was riding an 
apple chariot into Site-19, and all the senior staff were apples. They 
bowed down to him, and readied the apple throne for him to sit in. 
Panning out, the site was apples. Slices made up every wall, and 
the head of every researcher was replaced with rotund, healthy 
apples. There was no danger, because skips were apples. 


The whole world was apple. 
"SO, YOU SEE, IT IS- WHERE ARE YOU GOING." 


King was already gone. "NO! | am not going to be the king of the 
FUCKING APPLES." 


"BUT IT IS YOUR DEST-" 


King turned to the floating apple which called itself his father. His 
face was even redder than the world that surrounded him. "FUCK 
DESTINY." 


And then, Dr. King was apples no more. 


How's he holding up, doc? 


Well, we've recovered about 765 apple seeds from his trachea, in 
addition to the couple thousand we got from the rest of his orifices. 


Are they still cleaning out his office? 
Yeah, we'll be digging seeds out of there for a month. Poor guy. 


Man, he looked so pissed when they brought him in there... but 
now, heck, he looks happier than I've seen in awhile. 


Makes you wonder what he's thinking, doesn't it? 
Whatever it is, at least it's making him happy... 


« | HUB | » 


SCP-670: Family of Cotton 


Item #: SCP-670 
Object Class: Safe 


Special Containment Procedures: The family unit collectively 
referred to as SCP-670 is currently contained at Sector 25, located 
in , England. Members of SCP-670 are to be contained in a 
shared 12 mx 6 m holding cell, observed via surveillance camera. 
Cell is to contain four (4) beds, a bathroom, and an observation 
window. All staff entering SCP-670's containment area are to be 
searched for lighters, matches, and other sources of open flames.