"Yes." They all seem busy with their notes and readings. You strain 
your head, trying to look around the room. There's text by the door, 
and a symbol you recognize. Pointed and harsh, with three spears. 
Looking at it hurts your mind, but it also brings color and clarity to 
the room. "W-what is that? Where am |?" Your words shake just as 
your limbs do, and you distract yourself trying to figure out why 
you're so cold. The air temperature? "I'm not wearing clothes,” you 
reason aloud. "W-where are my clothes-" 


"Coming. Just calm down. You've only been out of stasis for six 
minutes. Full accustomization can take up to forty-eight hours. You 
don't need to panic." 


"W-why am | tied up-" 


"Muscle spasms. Give it thirty minutes. Else you might kick one of 
us in the face." 


"Oh, oh, I'm- sorry-" You're interrupted by another bout of coughing, 
and decide you'll probably feel less panicked if you just close your 
eyes and let them attend to you. 


"Alright. Who is this? Late one?" someone by the door says after a 
light knock. 


"Oh, hello, Director. Yes, two days late. Wouldn't wake from 
preservation." 


"Even after draining the fluid?" 


"That's correct. It actually had a bit of congealed fluid working its 
way into its esophagus. Safe now, but glad we caught it in time." 


"Hmm. Must have been an effect of extended stasis. Who is it?" 


You hear the shuffling of papers. "Let me see," the warm doctor 
says. "Uh... Teresa Ann Lockwood, Level 3 Field Researcher, 
Site-81. Biologist." 


Your eyes shoot open. "Please tell me why I'm bleeding,” you 
interject in your trembling voice, and two of the doctors rush over. 


"Where do you feel bleeding?" one says. 


"M-my gums, my f-fingernails, my- between my legs- am | on my 
period? Please help-" 


"West, you gotta help us with this,” the one in teal scrubs with 
bouncy dark ringlets of hair says over their shoulder. "Vaginal and 
rectal bleeding, that's not normal-" 


"It shouldn't be menstruating, no. Must be internal bleeding. Teresa, 
do you have abdominal pain?" 


You nod. Being called that makes your eyes and ears ache. You 
have memories of other people calling you by that name, but they 
feel dreamlike and fragmented, as if you're looking at them through 
stained glass. They feel false. 


You feel West push a speculum into you. You wince. You still don't 
have much of your sense of touch yet, but you feel something large 
wedged deep in you, painfully pressing, almost as if it's in your 
stomach. You shake and grip the edges of the table. 


"Shit, is that more of that stuff?" one of them mutters. 


"It sure is," West says, pulling a long, heavy string of something out 
of you. "Yeah, this is bad." He dumps the slimy, blue, congealed 
lump in one of the stainless steel pans. "Check its eyes and 
nostrils." 


For the next several minutes, you retreat as far into your mind as is 
possible while more hands than you can count pull chunk after 
chunk of preserval fluid out of every conceivable orifice your body 
has to offer. When they're done, they take you out of your restraints 


Further mental effects caused by SCP-958-A are currently being 
studied, however it is highly likely that SCP-958-A somehow affects 
how children interpret SCP-958-B and scenarios involving them. 
Furthermore, unconfirmed testimonies claim SCP-958-A will suggest 
uses for SCP-958-B in games and activities. For further information 
see Addendum A. 


SCP-958-B are objects created using the knowledge imparted by 
SCP-958-A. SCP-958-B instances vary greatly in appearance and 
function, but all recorded instances have been weapons of some 
form created from a wide variety of miscellaneous objects.1 
Ammunition and payloads used by SCP-958-B are unconventional 
and/or anomalous - notable examples include bursts of non- 
anomalous paint, toys and plush dolls ejected at high speeds, and 
beams of focused light capable of melting steel. 


Addendum A: SCP-958 was originally detected in Philadelphia, 
Pennsylvania on 04/12/1986. Thirteen children accompanied by 
eleven instances of SCP-958-A and fifteen instances of SCP-958-B 
were seen walking to an abandoned industrial complex on the 
southern edge of the city. The children entered one of the buildings 
after destroying its entrance with several SCP-958-B. 


Foundation forces moved into the building in an effort to contain 
SCP-958 without harming the children. Beyond the door that would 
have otherwise contained the facility's furnace was an 
extradimensional space that was similar to the rest of the building, 
albeit heavily degraded and rusted. 


Within the extradimensional space the MTF encountered dozens of 
non-anomalous individuals, with most suffering from injuries likely 
caused by industrial accidents, within a room filled with dilapidated 
industrial equipment. Objects produced therein all had "The Factory" 
emblazoned on them. Most of the children were using the SCP-958- 
B instances to attack the equipment and a single anomalous entity 
with multiple limbs, while two were using non-lethal SCP-958-B to 
incapacitate those who tried to interfere, including the MTF. 


As the MTF prioritized evacuating the workers,? the children were 
able to terminate the anomalous entity and reduce it to ash prior to 
the Foundation being able to disable them. Upon the death of the 


and carry you into a side room, where at least three of them ask you 
at least five individual times whether or not you're safe standing in 
the shower on your own. You insist that you are, if only to make 
them leave you alone. You stand on shaking legs and scrub your 
skin until it turns bright red, replacing the artificial blue of the 
preserval fluid that had drenched your pores for so long and 
watching it run in rivulets down the center drain. When you're done, 
you rise off and lie curled up under the water until the doctors come 
in and drag you out. 


April 03, 2069 
"You really think so?" 
"It only makes sense! What else could have done it?" 


"Come on, the /izard? Did this? You've gotta be kidding me, Ketson. 
| think you're overestimating it." 


"Overestimating? About the end of the world? Ha! I've... I've... seen 
better jokes!" 


Your coworkers laugh, albeit with an unsettling two-second delay. 
You swallow and stare at your pale mashed potatoes. There area 
lot of things about this place and these people that bother you, but 
your coworkers’ restructured speech patterns will never stop 
sending chills up your spine. The unnatural humor, the backwards 
syntax, the lack of context for statements that come out of nowhere, 
all of it. It feels so forced. Not just forced, you remind yourself; 
artificial. You shudder and shift your eyes to the other side of the 
cafeteria. 


Several hours later, in your quarters, you're staring at your next 
briefing. A societally unstructured town on the outskirts of the park, 
built on logged wood, deer hunting, and the determination of a family 
of reality benders. Their genetically - or potentially anomalously, 
noted the paperwork - engineered trees are leaking some sort of 
unidentified combustible substance into both the aquifers and 
potentially the geyser systems and Site water supply if you don't put 
a stop to it in time. And somehow they want a biologist to do this. Go 
figure. 


You push your thoughts out of your mind and start packing your field 
bag. 


There's a laser sight on your chest, or at least it seems like that. You 
sigh and look up into the trees. "Please don't shoot," you call out, 
holding up your ID card and paperwork above your head as you 
scan the trees for the sniper. "I'm not here to cause problems. I'm 
here on behalf of the-" 


"| Know where you from, stranger! I'd recognize that shit-eatin' 
Foundation accent anywhere! You turn around and walk your cold 
ass off this property and maybe we won't land a three-oh-eight in 
that God-fearin' head of yours, mmm? Scat!" 


You bite your lip, finally locating the shooter. It's a camouflage- 
clothed older person with unkempt facial hair and a tan rifle, sitting in 
a hunting perch to your left. About what you expected. "Please, we 
need to talk. We're not taking anyone, or anything, we just need to 
talk about your trees." 


"Yer trees? | mean- | mean- my trees? What are you after my trees 
for, skipper? There ain't nothin’ wrong with 'em-" 


"They're leaking a toxic substance-" You stop and gently shake your 
paperwork, trying to indicate that you need to read from it without 
getting shot for moving your arm. You gently bring it down in front of 
your face and clear your throat. "The trees- these ones, with the... 
er... tendrils? They're a problem, first of all, in that they display 
sentient behavior and seem to be fond of grabbing people. We've 
lost eight agents in the past month due to strangulation-" 


"Ain't my fault y'all chokin' each other!" 
".,.N-not us, sir, the trees-" 


"Oh, oh! Well guess what! That ain't my problem either! Now shoo, 
skip!" 


"Will you please let me finish? They're going to poison the aquifers! 
This will be detrimental to your town as well!" 


"Fuck off!" 
"Please, if you just cooperate, we won't have to send anyone else-" 


"AHA! There's the fuckin’ threat! | knew it was comin’! All y'all ever 
do is lie, lie, lie, and then there go the threats! Always!" 


You jump as a round slams into the dirt beside your feet. "Look, can 
| at least take a sample?" 


"If you can do it in thirty seconds!" 


You sigh and hurry over to one of the trees, choosing to just yank off 
one of the tendrils and extract the substance later. It writhes in your 
hand and wraps around your wrist. You wince and give one last look 
at the man, who aims his rifle at you again. 


"Yeah! That's right! Skip on outta here, skipper! Whoooo-hoooo-" 


His voice fades out as you walk hurriedly in the direction from which 
you came. 


"How did it go?" 
"Unsuccessful. Town guard knew what | was up to and shot at me." 


"I'm sorry to hear that. We'll make sure to send more agents next 
time." 


You nod solemnly and wait for your supervisor to slide you the next 
assignment, but no paper appears. You look up expectantly. 


Your supervisor chuckles. "The Foundation appreciates how eager 
you are to serve it, but there is no other assignment at this time. 
Return to your quarters until you are called." 


"...Oh. Okay." You stand with a halfhearted "thank you" and walk 
slowly out the door, trying not to dwell on how much you miss the 
outside already. You pause. "Uh... Director?" 


"Yes?" 


You take a deep breath. "Um... pardon me if this is... too personal, 
but..." 


You expect an objection, but are met with only an expectant stare. 
You continue. "But, uh... you were there the day | was... um..." You 
trail off. "I'm just saying, am | supped to remember that? Day?" 


"All personnel are on an opt-in list for amnesticization of the first 
week following removal from stasis for emotional stability." 


"I... uh... where is, um, Doctor West?" 


The Director raises an eyebrow. "He's doing the same work he's 
always done, if that's your question. | won't stop you from speaking 
with him, but there would be no purpose. Why do you seek him?" 


You stare at the floor until your vision blurs, and continue staring 
long after that point. "| suppose | don't have a valid reason." 


"Very well. If you have no further questions, | request that you 
leave." 


You nod, mutter another "thank you," and walk out. You don't look 
up as you walk the hundreds and hundreds of meters of white- 
walled hallways and gray-walled elevators back to your quarters. It's 
only when you're about to slide your keycard through your door lock 
that you realize it's not where you want to be. You set off down 
hallway after hallway for hours - days, as it feels - until you find what 
you're looking for. 


"Doctor West." 


He jumps, hand knocking a cup of coffee on the lab table. 
"Apologies, |'m apparently a little on-edge today," he sighs. "Um, 
yes, what can | help you with?" 


You linger by the door, not sure if he wants you to come in or not. 
"I'm, um... not sure if you remember me." You think you're going to 
finish your sentence, but you stand there with your mouth open. "I 
was, uh, the late bloomer. Y'know." 


He stares blankly. 
"The one with the chunks of dried blue stuff in my va-" 


"Oh, oh! Of course, yes. My apologies. | see so many subjects that 
they all blur together after a while. Anyway, er, do you need 
amnesticization? Usually that's done earlier, come to think of it, you 
really shouldn't- remember-" 


"It was never offered to me at the beginning, if that's what you 
mean." 


"Well, it can still be done. Please, please, come in, sit down-" 


"I'm, uh, | have a meeting in 30 minutes," you lie, gripping the door 
frame until your knuckles turn white. "Look, do you know why | was 
two days late?" 


His face goes blank, hands clasped in front of him. "I don't, I'm 
afraid." 


"You sound like you're lying." The words spill out of your mouth 
before you have time to think, and you curse yourself. "| mean-" You 
put your head in your hand. "Actually, never mind. I'm so sorry for 
bothering you. Have a good evening, doctor." You turn on your heel 
more slowly than you intended and catch him looking at you with a 
worried expression. As you turn the corner, you think you hear him 
call out again, but you don't look back. 


April 07, 2069 
"Alright. Thanks." 
"Of course." 


You take the vial from the researcher and motion for the two guards 
to come in. Between their arms is a surprisingly compliant D-class; 
of course, you have to remind yourself that the Foundation fixed the 
"surprisingly" aspect quite a few decades back by training all of them 
to be submissive from the get-go, but it's not the type of thing you 
like to think about. After all, you're nothing but the falsely implanted 
memories of- 


"Lockwood? You need assistance?" 


You're staring at the cabinet door, you realize. You snap out of it 
and turn to the guard speaking. "Oh. No. You can leave it here with 
me, it's fine." 


"Alright. We're in the adjacent room if you need us." 
"Thanks. It won't take too long." 


"Get on the table, please," you tell the D-class. "This won't take too 
long. It's just an injection." You snap your gloves on and start filling 
the syringe. 


You turn around and start walking over to the table. "Alright, lay your 
arm out for me-" 


You freeze, and the syringe immediately clatters to the ground. 
Staring up at you from the table is a spitting image of yourself. 


You blink several times and back up a few steps. You're torn 
between asking the D-class to stand up and trying to cover up your 
reaction as much as is possible so that you can safely call the 
guards, but you've already locked eye contact. 


"Is something wrong?" it asks. 
"You're- uh-" 
"Are you okay?" 


For fuck's sake, why does it care, you think, but panic quickly 
replaces your frustration. 


"...Am | doing something wrong?" it says in your voice. 


You stammer. "N-no, just- god, stop talking," you gasp as you run 
back to the door. You already forgot the two guards’ names. They all 
look and act the same anyway. "Uh- help," you say in a tone you 
interpret as pitiful. They immediately come running. You put your 
hands up and stop them outside the door, talking in a panicked 
whisper. "Did you not look at her face? Did you not look at its- they-" 


"The D-class?" the bulkier of them says. "What about it? Did it do 
something?" 


"It's me!" 
"What?" 
"Wait, what is she talking about-" 


"It's not you. You must be under the influence of something. Let's 
call the right team-"