Grunting and sweating even in the cool evening air, the elder god 
struggled with his gate. He couldn't remember when he last opened 
the thing, as he had few reasons to leave his boggy demesne for 
quite some time, or at least few reasons he saw. With enough 
shaking and threats of divine retribution however, the gate finally 
succumbed to his godly might and creaked open, to reveal... 


A carnival. 


Gone was the evening, gone the garden with its dead trees and its 
crumbling fences. Here all was song and sound, light and liberty, 
merriment and marvel. Gods in their dozens, in their hundreds, 
attired in the brightest hues of the cosmos, surrounded him ina 
dazzling and terrifying cacophony. 


He saw a young looking thing covered head to toe in iridescent 
seaweed, each strand moving independently to the rhythm of some 
unseen underwater stream. She flowed through the crowd blissfully, 
each strand intertwining with the others and itself to create... 
something. Something the elder god could no longer see. 


Another was like a bird, plumed in gold its feathers each a 
diminutive field of wheat, its beak an ever-flowing azure stream. At 
first it seemed bashful, hiding itself from the surrounding havoc, but 
a closer inspection of its movement revealed a different tale. It 
simply waited, waited for the perfect movement when the light would 
shine on its feathers brightest, when the attention of the other gods 
would be drawn to them most fully, and then it opened them, like a 
fan of fields, and the others would "ooh" and "ahhh" at their 
magnificence. The elder god could not tell if he was proud or 
ashamed to find himself so unimpressed by the beautiful things. 


A god third was wild and hairy, horned with oak, shoving himself 
about the crowd, asking for all to inspect his horns, apprise his 
horns, please, admire his horns! Some did, and he brayed with glee 
and stomped his argent hooves. Others scoffed and he growled with 
rage and he shoved much harder with the sounds of "see it, you 
didn't see, see it well this time!". He was approaching the elder god 
and brandishing his horns once more when he saw the expression 
on the elder's face and thought better of it. 


This and more, so much more, infinitely more and suddenly the 
elder god remembered the days when his garden was much that 
way. Back then he was not the creaky old thing he was now, more 
gut than god. No, back then he shone brightly, and his garden... his 
garden shone brightest. He remembered how the trees would shape 
themselves to his touch, how aromatic their fruits were when they 
fell ripe into his hands. 


The windy pear, filled with the taste of mystery and magic, ever so 
slightly unsatisfying but always calling for more. 


The horned apple, tart and crunchy, an acquired taste but one that 
left a memory on those who tasted it. 


The triple berry, sweet and bright and sour, which always seem to 
taste better when prepared by another. 


The other gods liked his garden, once. They tasted his fruits, and 
they cheered. Where were all of them now? He thought he 
recognized some of his old cohorts in the crowd but they wore 
different colors and different cuts, and though a few nodded to him 
in faint acknowledgment, none seem to care all that much that he 
was there. The rest he never knew at all- young gods, faces fresh 
and pockets filled with wonder. With so much to give to the world. 


What did he have left to give? 


Gone was the carnival, gone were the gods and their colors. He was 
back at his garden again. The suns have all set and a chill was 
sneaking into the air, as insidious as plague. The elder god sat back 
at his lawn chair and stared into the distance, into the endless 
expanse which surrounded his garden from every side. All around 
was quite. Empty. He had nothing left to give, because he was 
empty. All gut and no god at all. Elder. He buried his head in his 
hands. When did they become so blunt? When did his hair gone so 
thin? 


Enough. Time to sleep and think of this no longer. The garden's time 
was past. He would not return here again, he promised to himself for 
the thousandth time. Never again. Rising for the last time, he strode 

for home, an indistinct shape in the distance. The mud sucked at his 


boots as he walked. 


In one of his footprints, a sprout began to grow. 


Guard Duty 


Monday, 19:00 


Another day, another dollar. Quite a few dollars, to be honest, | can't 
believe how well they pay me to sit on my ass in a tower and watch 
a fence. That's private security for you, almost makes me glad | left 
the army. | should really remember to thank David for setting me up 
with this gig. Just a few more months, and | can afford that trip to 
Australia | always wanted. Shift's about to start, better go and 
replace Anderson. Make the crotchety bastard wait on that tower a 
minute after his shift ends and you'll never hear the end of it. The 
captain is already here to supervise the shift change. 


"Alright, Penn, you know the drill. Twelve hour shift. No eating, no 
smoking, no using your cell phone or reading. Just keep your eyes 
on the fence and stay awake. Ignore anything you hear from the 
facility itself- it doesn't concern you." 


"You don't have to give the same damn speech every day, Cap, | 
got it." 


"If you fuck up it's my ass on the line too, so | rather not take any 
chances. Now get up, Anderson is getting jumpy." 


Climbing the tower, | see the captain is right. Anderson is even more 
restless than usual. He's smoking, of course, and | see more than 
one empty pack of crisps on the floor. 


"You better clean this mess up, because I'm sure as hell not doing it 
for you again." 


"Stuff it, Penn. | Know what I'm doing. Just keep your mouth shut." 
"I'm not going to rat you out for a few cigarettes, Anderson." 


"Whatever," He really is a mess today. Is that a flask he's hiding 


under his jacket? "Just keep your eyes open. My knee's been acting 
up, and that means something bad is going to happen. Always does. 
| don't trust those eggheads inside, they're up to something." 


"They could be cloning Elvis for all | care. As long as they keep 
paying me." 


Anderson climbs down, and | check my gear to see everything is 
there: my rifle, combat vest with five magazines, flashlight, canteen, 
radio, med-kit, night vision goggles. All good. Now | just sit back and 
watch the fence. 


Monday, 22:00 


God, this is boring. Every time | finish a shift | forget just how mind 
numbingly dull sitting up here is. Mosquitoes are fucking driving me 
insane. What the hell did Anderson do to the chair? How can plastic 
be this uncomfortable? It wasn't this lumpy yesterday, | swear. Nine 
more hours of this shit. God dammit. 


Monday, 23:30 


Noises coming from the facility, sounds a bit like drums. Maybe the 
eggheads are starting a band, and I'm here to guard their sweet 
grooves. Heh. 


Tuesday, 00:30 


The noises are getting louder. Those are definitely drums, and I'm 
starting to hear this eerie chant too. What the hell are they doing in 
there? 


Tuesday, 01:15 
Silence again. Whatever they did, it's over now. | hope. 
Tuesday, 01:30 


Alarms! The entire facility is lighting up like a Christmas tree. Those 
spooks they keep to handle inner security are all riled up, swarming 
the entire perimeter with their jeeps. Radio is going apeshit too, but 
it's all code words. They even launched a chopper. Anderson was 


right, they were messing with something in there. Whatever it is, it's 
none of my business. I'm outer security, just a grunt. Better just sit 
tight, obey my orders and stay the hell out of the way. The spooks 
are going inside. They'll fix everything, nothing for me to worry 
about. 


Tuesday, 01:50 

They aren't coming out. Everything went quiet again, but no one has 
come out. All the lights are out too, that's not supposed to happen. 
It's okay, the spooks are probably just getting things under control, 
everything's cool. Oh God, what the fuck is going on inside?! Radio 
is totally silent. Something is very wrong here. Maybe | should climb 
down, sneak away before whatever did the spooks in gets me too. 
Wait, what's that? Someone is coming out. Jesus, that's a relief. 
Wait, that doesn't look like the spooks. Better turn night vision on. 
What is that thing? 


222? 


The stone of the watchtower is cold beneath my fingers. Was it 
always stone? It must have been, this tower has been here for 
centuries. Why am | remembering metal? The solitude must be 
playing tricks on my mind. Being a royal scout is no easy task, but | 
perform it gladly. The King will be proud. 

What's that? A horn! Scanning the road, | see a group of footmen 
making their way to my tower, carrying the royal standard and 
forming a protective ring around a majestic figure. Why, it's the King 
himself, here in my humble tower! What on earth is he doing here? 
A man approaches the tower, wearing the uniform of the royal 
guard. 


"Good scout, the realm requires your services! In the name of the 
King, attend!" 


| hurry to do as | was commanded. In the back of my head, a little 
voice whispers "Don't. You have orders. Something is wrong here", 
but | ignore it. How can serving the wise King be wrong? He is our 
just ruler, our savior. "Good sir knight, how may | assist your party?" 


The knight had a grim look in his eyes. "I fear we come bearing 
grave news. The castle has fallen to the forces of the Adversary. We 


Subject-1: Place seems different from what you described, Doc. It's 
giving me the— Wait. The hell? 


Subject stops. In front of him, the trail forks into two paths, one of 
which is made of cobblestones. 


Subject-1: Unhh, Doc? Which... which way should | go? 

Dr. : This... er, this is new. We haven't seen it manifest like this 
before. 

Subject-1: ...well, | guess I'll — [shouting] Oh,  ! 


Subject-1 turns around. The trail has disappeared; thousands of 
trees have replaced it. The mist suddenly turns [DATA 
EXPUNGED], and the murmurs increase in volume. 


Subject-1: [shouting] ,Doc,whatthe is going on here? What 
is this noise? 

Dr. : Please calm down and proceed down the cobblestone trail. 
Subject-1: I'm nota guinea pig, Doc, just because | 
volunteered | don't— [shouting] Oh my God! 

Dr. :What? __, respond, what do you see? 


Subject-1 starts screaming and proceeds to run through the 
cobblestone path. The murmurs suddenly cease, and only 
Subject-1's screams can be heard. He runs 143 meters before the 
camera is suddenly thrown into the ground. Subject-1's screams 
cease. The camera is turned towards the woods. The mist is now 
thick enough to block sight completely beyond two meters. 


Dr. :  ,do you hear me? 
Subject-1: [DATA EXPUNGED] 
Dr. : ? 

Subject-1: [DATA EXPUNGED] 
Dr. :Oh God. 


There is no further response from Subject-1. Three seconds before 
the camera's battery ran out, a very low noise was heard. Analysis 
of the video feed showed two glowing yellow spheres for one frame 
in the last second of the video. The sound was later amplified, and 
can be heard here. At the suggestion of Dr.__, the sound was 
reversed: the modified file can be heard here. 


barely managed to rescue the King before we were overwhelmed 
and forced to flee. The Prince and Queen were killed during our 
escape. Now, we require your help and that of your cohorts to show 
us a Safe way through the border. We already have them here." 
Indeed they have. Capian and Andres, my loyal friends, are among 
the party. "Very well," | say, "We must make haste before the 
Adversary and his minions arrive." Suddenly, the call of a dread 
horn. Too late! 


The knight hears it too. "To arms, men, protect the King with your 
life!" We form a protective ring around the King, as the wretched 
forces of the Adversary descend upon us. Flying beasts with glowing 
eyes and fiery breath, hulking, crawling behemoths with skin like 
steel, chitinous footmen that scream at us in their alien tongue. They 
are trying to capture us alive, but we won't let them, we all know 
what they do to captives. We fight to the death, for the King! | raise 
my bow and take a foot soldier through the eye, and see Andres fall, 
a poison barb in his neck. Capian is taken down with a raw shock of 
power by one of their mages. | feel a sting in my neck, and see that | 
am the only one left standing, save for the King himself. He fights 
with the force of a typhoon, felling foul beasts left and right, ripping 
the behemoths to shreds with his mighty sword, even cutting a flyer 
from the sky, but they are too many. He falls, his body pierced with 
dozens of metal barbs. My tears are the last thing | see as the world 
turns dark. 


222? 


"RthgEtTn Dra'k! NoR MoStdyX!" 

A figure dressed in writhing shadows, its tongue demonic. The 
Adversary. 

"| will never betray my King! Begone, cruel revenant." 

"SRoTn, caBn yoEu heaWr meU?" 

Not shadows. Black fabric. Wait, | think I'm beginning to 
understand... 

"Son, do you understand me? Can you tell me who you are?" 
"lam Veron Pennoren, proud scout of the-" No, that isn't right- "I... 
I'm Vernon Penn, sir. | think." 

The man smiles, he seems relieved. 

"| think this one is going to be okay. Leave him here for now, let him 


recuperate. I'll arrange for some class-Bs. Everything is going to be 
alright, son, Just lie down and relax. It's over." 
Yeah, that sounds like a good idea. 


Sunday, 07:00 

Last shift is finally over. | can't believe it's been six months already. 
Time to leave this dirt hole behind and finally catch that plane. | can't 
believe they paid me so much just to sit on my ass and stare ata 
fence. 


Tales H 


Habil and Qabil 


Surveillance Report Mu-4, 26/12/2017: 


During routine online investigation for anomalous content, our dark 
web crawler (EmoSpiderMan.aic) discovered a web series entitled 
"Habil and Qabil" which constitutes an extreme breach of 
Foundation security. 


"Habil and Qabil" is a sitcom explicitly set at Site 17 and stars 
numerous characters based on actual SCPs within the Foundation's 
possession, primarily scips whose SCP designations are lower than 
10001. 


The two main characters are SCP-076-2 and SCP-073. Despite the 
title of the show using their Quranic names, the characters are 
always referred to as Cain and Able within the show itself. They are 
depicted as an 'Odd Couple’ attempting to get along despite their 
differences. 


There is also some degree of estrangement between the two, which 
is not directly dealt with until the first season finale. Each episode is 
approximately 22 minutes long, including opening and closing 
credits. Aside from the show's title, the credits are in an unknown 
language of glyphs that has yet to be identified or deciphered, 
although they do have a superficial similarity to the markings on 
SCP-076-1. 


The actors portraying Cain and Able do bear a strong resemblance 
to SCP-076-2 and SCP-073, however numerous differences have 
been observed. Cain's mark is inaccurate, and his prosthetics 
appear to be low quality CGI. Able's tattoos are also inaccurate, 
apparently redesigned to be more aesthetically pleasing, and are 
inconsistent between episodes. He also carries his bladed weapons 
with him at all times and does not possess the ability to summon 
them in the matter of SCP-076-2. 


Other main characters based off SCPs include: