"You look kinda shellshocked,” Nurul enquired. "You still thinking of 
the locals at Kuching who gave you the weird looks on Friday? Don't 
be! Those guys were just jealous that you can travel and work 


of the characters. Experiment demonstrates that SCP-826 can work 
on DVDs as well as books. 


Subject: Agent 

Book: The Mammoth Book of Comic Fantasy, a collection of short 
stories 

Equipment: One (1) canteen filled with water, one (1) watch, one 
(1) 9mm semi-automatic with extra cartridges, one (1) video camera 
attached to Agent's headset (note: use of GPS locator and two-way 
radio discontinued, due to their uselessness in previous tests) 
Results: Agent returned after seven minutes, having 
experienced and recorded just over nine hours. Examination of the 
recorded footage reveals that the Agent experienced a portion of the 
short story "The Eye of Tandyla,” and was forced to defend himself 
from temple guards, killing two. This caused the alarm to be raised, 
and though Agent was able to retrieve the book from a temple 
library and escape, the protagonists were apparently caught and 
executed. The altered copy of the book now reflects this change, 
although the cause of the alarm is not mentioned, with other stories 
remaining unaltered. It should also be noted that the book now 
contains seven fewer pages than a standard, unaltered copy. 


Dr. requests that further experiments be performed with books 
of short stories, to determine whether the entire book will be 
experienced, or just a single story, if the book is not recovered from 
SCP-826 before the story's end. 


Head Researcher: Dr. Edison 


Subject: Agent 

Book: "The Sword That Shoots Laser Beams When You Swing It", 
a 3-page short story written by Dr. Edison. The story consists of a 
poetic description of a sword that shoots laser beams when swung. 
The story states it stands on a pedestal as thousands of years pass 
uneventfully. 

Equipment: One (1) canteen filled with water, one (1) watch, one 
(1) video camera attached to Agent's headset. 

Results: Subject is instructed to retrieve the aforementioned sword, 
test its "magical" properties, and then bring it out. Subject enters 
door, and returns five minutes later with the original story, and 


abroad and see other cultures, know?" 


"Thanks Nurul, but | won't let some complete strangers ruin my day. 


"Sure, if you got any problems, don't be afraid. Help is in the desk 
beside you." Nurul winked at her recently-arrived colleague, pointing 
at herself. 


As their conversation ended, Jameson's desktop was ready. He 
accessed the intranet and ran through the e-mail. There was a new 
message, a reply to one he had sent a few days ago. 


FROM: Technical Researcher David Rosen 
TO: Jr. Researcher Will Jameson 
RE: RE: Database error? 


Hi, Jr. Researcher Jameson. | have checked with RAISA 
and find no irregularity with the system. You are cleared 
for Level 2 access regarding SCP-2140. For certain SCP 
objects, personnel can be granted higher levels of 
access compared to their actual security clearance. It is 
mentioned in the Employee Guide, so | would suggest 
reviewing that again. 


Rosen 


Looking at the e-mail, Jameson gave out a sigh of relief that all was 
normal. But the question remained — what was so special about 
SCP-2140 that he could access it? 


"Must be one of those General Reading files like Able or those 
chairs," Jameson thought, as he changed tabs to access RAISA. He 
continued to type in his password and access clearance, gaining 
access to SCP-2140. His eyes skimmed through the document. 


Description: SCP-2140 is an image derived through 
Project Kallinikos from SCP-2140-1-D. SCP-2140-1 
instances are alternative versions of the image. All 
instances depict glyphs in the [REDACTED] script. 


100% of persons who view a complete SCP-2140 
(regardless of medium) are loyal Foundation personnel 
with 2/2140 clearance or higher. 


supports the hypothesis that this is a retroactive 
alteration to personal history 


located at the [REDACTED] dig site km west of 
[REDACTED], Uzbekistan. 


"Some primitive artwork from Uzbekistan..." Jameson summarised, 
his eyes turning to the attached image files and their captions. 


The first of the files attached was the image itself, SCP-2140 itself. It 
was a set of symbols that is all Greek to him, with the Foundation 
logo at its centre. While this should be the first time he saw the 
symbol, Jameson just kept staring at it. 


"This is..." 
"Oh, got problem | see." Nurul peered from behind Jameson. 


"Nurul, please stop creeping me up from behind!" Jameson insisted, 
his gaze switched to his colleague. 


"You're checking out 2140, | see," Nurul quickly deduced. "No 
biggie. I'm cleared for it too, and so are our other colleagues here. 
2/2140, right?" 


"Yeah... must be those under General Reading," Jameson 
reasoned, causing Nurul to make a X mark sign with her fingers. 


"Incorrect, rookie! General Reading is denoted by the SCP number, 
followed by the letter "G" in caps and square brackets. 2140 is not 
under General Reading," Nurul explained. "Read the Employee 
Guide again, smart boy!" 


"Say Nurul, do you think we are what we are?" Jameson asked, "! 
mean, as loyal Foundation employees." 


"Huh, don't tell me you're creeped out by 2140." Nurul rolled her 
eyes. "Look, that attitude won't get you far in the Foundation. 


Besides, let's take a look at the document here." 


Nurul leaned forward, and pointed at certain passages on the 
screen. 


No record exists of any experimental test subjects (such 
as D-Class personnel) or any other person lacking 
appropriate background and clearance viewing the 
complete image. 


"See, no inappropriate person was tested this SCP before," she 
explained, "and the personal history thing is only a hypothesis, as 
stated there. Go read the academic journals; Dr. Vang wrote his own 
theory of it being a memetic kill agent for spies and double agents." 


"Yeah... maybe I'm having an existential crisis," Jameson admitted. 


"Comes with the job. Get used to it, mister loyal employee." Nurul 
smiled, as she walked off while humming to a song from her 
childhood. 


On the hand, Jameson continued looking at SCP-2140's 
documentation and his eyes browsed through the captions. 


Area-313 Deep Storage 


"Area-313?! Oh yeah, | was there for orientation," he realised. 


As the day ended and most matters settled, Jameson went to sleep 
for the night. Like previous nights since his employment with the 
Foundation, he dreamt... 


Jameson was seated in an auditorium. It was full of other people, all 
of them wearing orange jumpsuits with numbers on them. He too 
was wearing the same orange jumpsuit. Guards armed with 
truncheons were stationed at the doors of the auditorium. 


On the stage, a stern elderly lady in uniform stood at the podium. On 
the breast pocket of her uniform was the emblem of the Foundation. 


"Good afternoon boys, welcome to Area-313. Rejoice, for you will be 


offering your time and selves in service to all humanity-" she spoke. 


Le Fou d'Avril 


WARNING!!! 


Notice from the department of Rancid And 
Idiotic Sexual Antics: 


The following is a CESSPIT-class infohazard, containing 
Consensual Eldritch Sexual Squickercourse Poor In Taste and 
is not to be read by anyone at work, anyone at home from work, 
or anyone. (But mainly anyone at work.) 


The Lizard rose from the smoldering rubble of a McDonald's, located 
at the smoldering rubble of Adams and Wabash in the smoldering 
rubble of Chicago, Illinois. Still-warm shards of the skull of the last 
human in existence fell from its dribbling mouth. 


And after a great roar of primeval hatred and victory, it occurred to 
the lizard how damnably quiet everything had become. For well over 
a year, long after the smoke had cleared and flowers began to 
bloom in the carcasses, the Lizard sat and waited for something - 
anything - to happen. 


You got what you wanted, Sherman, said the Lizard to itself. Why 
aren't you happy? 


Do I... miss them? 


Sherman retched at the thought, regurgitating a fragment of a 
particularly spicy nuclear bomb. 


There's more than one life form | can destroy. ...fuck's sake, 
Sherman, don't kid yourself, it's not the same. You need a 
challenge. 


There was one more such opponent to destroy. The impossible one. 
The final boss. Even when it died, nobody won. 


Sherman cracked its knuckles. It raised its right claw. It plunged its 
hand into its chest. It felt its veins snap one by one. It felt around for 
the prize. 


"FUUUUUUCK!" 
One final pull. 
Squarlich! 


And just as the word "squarlch" was used to describe a sound for 
the first and last time in existence, Sherman ripped its own heart 
from its chest and threw it into the rusted remains of the deep fryer. 


Darkness. 


Sherman's heart regenerated, as it always had. It awoke an hour 
later to find another, identical Lizard, grown from its disembodied 
heart. 


"My own clone!" bellowed Sherman. 
"Now neither of us will be virgins!" bellowed Herman. 
+ Infohazardous Portion 


As if on instinct, Herman tore the meter-thick leather 
membrane from its own abdomen, releasing its 7,000 
prehensile, spaghetti-like breasts. The venomous blue 
nipples on the end of each pale tendril wheezed from 
their throat analogs, reminding Sherman of a poorly- 
tuned woodwind section. 


Sherman's new, stronger heart skipped a beat, and it 
dove its snout into Herman's pulsating tit linguine. The 
toxic nipple barbs filled Sherman's veins with acidic 
pheromones, causing its great sequoia of a love sausage 
to quiver in its chastity gland. A few hundred tits flossed 


Sherman's teeth and detached themselves to display 
submission. 


Sherman's face rose from the slithertits and a smirk 
crossed its lips. It gazed upon Herman's gorgeous face, 
ripe with all the fully-erect Mating Tumors™ that had 
unsheathed from its eyelids. So magnificently moist were 
these Eyedicks that no human could look upon them 
without having their brain atrophy. 


Sherman was hopelessly, helplessly in love, and 
struggled to find the right words to express it. 


"BEND OVER YOU FECULENT SNOT WAD, IT'S 
SAUSAGE TIME!" 


Herman snarled and raised its tail, exposing all seven of 
its bridal cloacae and their nineteen layers of razor-sharp 
teeth. "STICK YOUR CHORIZO IN MY TEETH PITS, 
DOIT OR I'LL EAT YOUR EYES!" growled Herman. 


"YOU HAVE SUCH A WAY WITH WORDS! DO YOU 
WRITE POETRY?" 


"| WRITE CHILDREN'S NIGHTMARES WITH MY 
TEETH!" 


"ME TOO! HOLY SHIT!" 
"| KNOW RIGHT? WE'RE LIKE SOULMATES!" 


Crack! On cue, Sherman's chastity gland exploded, 
pouring 19 gallons of blood onto the concrete below. Out 
came Yggdrasil, the magnificent world-tree that bound 
the nine realms. That's totes what Odin would say if he 
saw Sherman's seven-headed mile-long trouser hydra. 


As Sherman spread its wings and flew into the sky to 
gain enough distance to fully thrust into Herman, it let out 
its mighty mating-cry, heard throughout all the 
Multiverse, screaming in the minds of every soul who 
dwelled in the light... 


"FROM HELL'S HEART, | 
STICK IT IN THE 
POOPER!" 


... Happy Arbor Day! 


Footnotes 
1. The Lizard's name is Sherman McGillicuddy Junior. | saw its birth 
certificate. 


Daydreamin 


Daydreams 


That's all there is anymore. That's all | can have. I'm an all powerful 
demigod, locked in the chamber of little boy. Do you know where the 
power goes? It flows out our fingers and out soggy clothes into 
broken men. They seek forgiveness, so here | go. Our mother was 
there, and the fridge flew out of the way. Mommy's pretty neck, gone 
in a flash, bursting blood onto my our poor hands, and dripping onto 
the floor. We're all broken now. 


The monsters, the jailers, they hold me now and they won't let me 
go. They need me whole. They make me fight grammie, but she 
knows we've already won. This doesn't make any sense. What am | 
talking about? None of that shit actually happened. | need to get a 
hold of myself, before | start spouting some more goddamn 
nonsense. Deep breaths. How many fingers do | have... ten? Ten 
seems like a good number. One, two, ten. Okay, back. 


My name is Andrew, and there's something really wrong with me. | 
don't know what it is, or how it even started happening... all | can 
say is that when | was 17, | started to be able to destroy things, 
just... make them disappear when | touched them. There's no way 
to control it, because as soon as | try something else gets atomized 
and somebody else dies. 


God... if this... not a jail, but a prison, if they hadn't gotten to me, | 
don't know how many more people would've died. How many are 
dead in here, right now? They say I've killed thirty people, but that's 
probably an exaggeration. Something to get into my head. | know | 
killed... | killed mom, but that was an accident. | didn't know what | 
was doing. 


But actually, that's not how it happened at all. 


My name is Damien, and I'm pretty amazing. Actually, amazing is an 


understatement. | can do incredible, mind-blowing shit that none of 
you pussies reading this could even dream of. Look, dude, when 
you can fuckin’ blow shit out of the sky with a touch, you turn some 
heads. Sure, before | came to this joint, | had a lot of fun with 
mayhem, but it's cool in here. Where else are we gonna ignite some 
old hustler and kick back with a Yoo-Hoo? 


It's cold in here, but we're still sharp. The instrument sharpens the 
blade on every whetstone it uncovers, breaking new ground by 
breaking the bonds in front of him. Every shape it grasps, sees, 
tastes and touches in one million new ways. Godspeed. 


No, you're remembering it wrong. You need to answer us. What is 
your name? 


... |don't have one. | don't Know. 
Where did you come from? 


California. | just... let me get some headspace, okay? This is too 
much, this is too gone... 


Just try to stay with us, okay? Who are you? 


| said | don't know! Fuck, can you give me just one goddamn 
minute? 


Please, calm down. You're safe here. 


No, but... it's out there. it's... coming out, coming up, and ripping 
people to pieces. 


You're safe now... it's over. 


No. It never ends. No matter how many times | fucking want to go 
back to square one, to crawl into a little hole inside myself and let 
this thing take over, it never happens. Something always pulls back 
from the edge. Memories fail me, and like so many other days, the 
sun is rising in the west, and the clock counts down from zero. 


They keep making me change. Every time death is coming close, 
I'm changed to suit the world better. My mind breaks and molds to fit 


sword. Testing proved that sword, when swung in an arc greater 
than 45 degrees, emits a beam of radiation consistent with the 
output of a CO2 laser. Sword has since been assigned to Dr. Edison 
for furthers study to determine energy source, laser medium, and 
optical resonators. 


Video logs show that the sword in question matched textual 
descriptions (including the ability to shoot "Laser Beams"), and that 


Agent did indeed bring the sword with him. The story itself 
remains unchanged, except for a paragraph about a man matching 
Agent 's description stealing the sword and taking it to "Parts 


Unknown". Sword has been dubbed SCP-826-1. 


Addendum: Scientific testing has proven inconclusive. Molecular 
analysis shows that SCP-826-1 has a molecular structure consistent 
with laser printer paper (the medium original story was printed on), 
yet behaves like high-grade steel in all other respects. The "Laser 
Beam", on the other hand, acts like a CO2 laser in all respects but 
speed, which is clocked at a mere 60 km/h, far slower than 
conventional lasers. Attempts to collect this energy has proven futile, 
as energy dissipates within . seconds regardless of hitting a target.