Please don't feel that way. | know it's big and scary... | 
wish you could see the courage that | see in you. 


Glacon wrote you. You have so much of him. All of the 
things that made him good. 


good? 

01100111 
01101111 
01101111 
01100100 
00111111 


Yes, you are good. All the best parts. Never lose it. 


| can't stay for much longer. 


If | ever make it out here someday... find me. Okay? 


ok 01101111 
01101011 


Hey, keep your beak up. 


You're free now. 


Be safe, Crom. 


Goodbye. 


bye 01100010 
01111001 
01100101 


:DISCONNECTED:: 


free 01100110 
01110010 


01100101 
01100101 


symbols describe a sudden and intense desire for a 
cheeseburger. 


Name: Dr. Wesirin 
Date: 23/2/2017 
Total items: One of my screws 


Input: My screw. 
Setting: 1:1 
Output: Your screw. 


Name: Dr. Syka Brown 

Date: 7/12/20 

Total Items: 1 (one) brand ‘Bouncy Ball', cardboard 
label still attached 


Input: 1 (one) brand 'Bouncy Ball’, with cardboard 
label 

Setting: Fine 

Output: A ball carrying a cardboard label identifying it as 
a brand 'Extra Bouncy Ball’. Behavior was identical 
to store-bought varieties. 


Input: 1 (one) brand 'Extra Bouncy Ball’ 


Setting: Fine 
Output: One ball of smaller shape and differing colour, 
with a cardboard tag, specifying itas a" brand 


‘Super-Duper Bouncy Ball". The manufacturer does not 
appear to produce this product. Testing reveals that the 
ball has 0. % energy loss per bounce, making it 
extremely efficient. 


Input: 1 (one) brand 'Super-Duper Bouncy Ball’ 
Setting: Very Fine 

Output: One ball, that appears unchanged from the 
input. There is however, a difference in its [REDACTED] 
properties, exhibited when dropped by Dr Brown. [DATA 
EXPUNGED] forty-five casualties, and reached escape 
velocity. Currently thought to be orbiting Mars. 


[/end] 


« HUB| Part I| Part II| Part IIz| Part IV | Part V: Null-terminating 
String » 


Numbers, Like Stories, Never Die 


Do as you are told. 
Curfew is 8:00pm. 


You cannot use your real name. 


Of the three rules D-11424 was told before her induction as D-Class, 
the last one stuck with her the most. Even at the old prison, her 
cellmates called her Jamie. 


She walked alongside a dozen fresh new faces, all in matching 
jumpsuits. At this point being herded around had become routine for 
D-11424. So she plodded along until the security detail arrived at the 
cafeteria. They had arrived during the scheduled D-Class dinner 
block, so they were to eat before they were shown to their quarters. 


By the time that D-11424 reached the front of the line, the food had 
gone cold. She took her lukewarm chili and sat down at a table with 
a two others. 


"Hey," she said as she put her tray down. 
"Evening," a fellow D-Class replied. "You one of the new ones?" 
"Yeah. Just got off the bus." 


"Welcome to the shit show. I'm 3114. And over there is 5040," he 
said as he motioned to the man sitting on the other side of the table. 
He looked up mid bite, and nodded. 


"Nice to see that even hell has courtesy. I'm 11424." 


"Oh really? Well, shit..." 


D-5040 put his chili sooon down. "| mean, he'd been gone for a 
week." 


"Yeah, but that wasn't the first time. There was that time when he 
was out for like twenty days or something? Came back then." 


"Excuse me?" 


"Oh, my bad. It's nothing personal. Just didn't realize that number 
was up for recycling." D-3114 replied. 


"What do you mean up for recycling?" 


"Like, the previous 11424 going, uh... out of commission. They 
reuse their designation." 


"So, when they die." 


"Don't be so close-minded," a woman said as she sat down next to 
D-5040. "There are plenty worse ways to end up here than dead." 


D-3114 waved to her. "Evening, 2312. Apparently Six-Eight-Screw- 
You got decommed." 


"What? No fucking way! That guy?" 

"Well, here's his protégé." D-3114 motioned to D-11424. 
"Damn... How long he'd been here?" 

"| don't fucking know. Longer than me." 

"And me," D-5040 added. 

"Wait wait wait. What's so special about this guy?" 


"11424 was... well, he was a legend. | think he got called in for like, 
a thousand tests or something?" 


"| thought the count landed around a thousand three hundred," 
D-5040 said after some mental math. 


"Yeah, something like that," D-3114 continued, "stuck around since 


the eighties." 
"Late seventies sounds closer." 


"Right. Thanks 2312. Either way, dude managed to survive all of 
that. Err... almost all of that. Got the official nickname: 'Six-Eight- 
Screw-You', because he was pretty much indestructible." 


"| hear he choked out a zombie once," D-2312 added. 

D-11424 shot her a confused look. "How does that even work?" 
"Well, he put his hands around its neck and squeezed. Duh." 
"Oh, are we going to tell 11424 stories?" 

"Looks like it." 


"Then I'm going first," D-5040 announced. "You know when he 
actually got his nick name? One time 682 broke out of the acid vat, 
while 11424 was on transport duty. Before the lizard could 
regenerate our boy clocked him in the face." 


"And that stopped the breach?" D-3114 asked. 


"Yeah. Knocked the beast out long enough for the rest of the team 
to put it in the back up vat. Got acid burns on his hands from the 
punch to prove it too." 


D-2312 rolled her eyes and replied. "Psssshhh. That's nothing. You 
hear about what happened when he got sent to the underwater 
site?" 


"Underwater site?" D-11424 asked. 


"Yeah, the one where they keep 76. He was there one of the times 
when the demon himself woke up. And you know what 11424 did?" 


"He shot it?" D-5040 guessed. 


"No. He fucking arm wrestled it. And won. Coffin boy was so 
ashamed he recontained himself for six months or something." 


Name: Dr von Hildebrandt 

Date: //20 

Total items: One (1) set photocopies and duplicates of 
lab notes and other research material on SCP-914. 


Input: 1x set of research materials 

Setting: Fine 

Output: One leather-bound tome, 54cm x 42cm, 256 
vellum pages, with title written in gold leaf. Language of 
the title and the contents were at first unidentifiable, and 
were later discovered to be an old dialect of Finnish. The 
contents are written in calligraphy, and more than half 
the pages are elaborately illuminated with colored inks 
and gold and silver leaf. Once translated, the contents 
proved to be identical to the contents of the input 
material, arranged chronologically. The tome has been 
radiocarbon dated to the early 11th century C.E. 


Anachronistically, a leather pocket is sewn into the inside 
back cover, and this pocket contains what appears to be 
a modern compact disc, 10cm in diameter. Data on this 
disc is encoded by an unknown codec. Attempts to 
divine the codec and decipher the data are ongoing. 


Note: It's a pity the contents of this tome are classified. 
It's a piece worthy of any museum. I've never seen such 
exquisite calligraphy. The illuminations may prove to be 
the most interesting part of the book, though. They often 
portray clockworks and related mechanical parts as well 
as some of the input or output objects; possibly they 
relate in a direct rather than abstract way to the 
operation of SCP-914 as described on the illuminated 


pages. 


Name: Dr. 

Date: 2013/06/06 

Total Items: Five (5) small, rectangular pieces of paper, 
measuring 18x18 cm, with several equations relating to 
the theory of special relativity written on them in black 


D-11424 just sat in her chair, a little shell-shocked, and a lot 
confused. Mostly because none of these names or numbers made 
any sense to her. But she didn't want to feel too left out of the 
conversation, so she leaned over to D-3114. 


"So, uh, you have any stories?" 


"| mean, | have a few. But | probably couldn't quite do any of them 
justice." 


"Oh, what are you saying? You're the only one here who's been with 
him in the field. So bullshit," D-2312 called out. 


"That doesn't really count as a... oh fine." D-3114 pushed his tray 
out of the way and set his elbows on the table, "So, the two of us 
were assigned to explore some thing up in the arctic. Brought a 
bunch of us along in case one person couldn't do the trick. The 
exploration went fine, or so | heard. Six-Eight-Screw-You was first 
one ferried out to whatever this thing was, and when he came back 
we were all told we could leave. Of course the others swarmed the 
guy and asked him about it. Told a big story about giant walruses 
and vikings." 


"Which is also a great story," D-2312 interjected. D-5040 glared at 
her. She put her hands over her mouth and motioned for D-3114 to 
continue. 


"But anyways, during the drive back to the airstrip, the caravan got 
ambushed. Don't know who did it, they never told us. But, | do 
remember the car in front of ours erupting into flame, followed by 
gunshots. | took cover, hid behind a chair. Watched as the drivers 
shot out the side of the window. As one of them took a bullet to the 
head and dropped their gun. As 11424 picked up that gun and 
started firing." 


D-3114 took a pause and a deep breath, "Yeah, | don't care that | 
was a coward. But goddamn did | admire that man who just stood 
there and shot back. We... uh... well they eventually scared those 
bastards away. And | guess the rest is just history." 


"He really was a legend,” D-2312 said. "Like right out of those action 


movies or something. Quips and all.” 


D-5040 grabbed his drink. "A toast to the most talented test dummy 
this place has ever had." 


Everyone except D-11424 raised a paper cup. The table fell into a 
somber silence. Clinking and clanking of aluminum trays being 
thrown into buckets rung throughout the cafeteria. Dinner was over. 
It was about 7:45. Curfew was at 8:00. 


"| better get going,” D-11424 said. 
"Yeah. See you around,” D-3114 replied as he stared into table. 


D-11424 made her way back to the group of new D-Class. She felt 
lost. Like she'd just walked in on a story half-way through. Autopilot 
took over as the security guards showed each D-Class to their new 
quarters. She noticed the cleanliness of the floor, the fluorescent 
lights overhead, the bespectacled scientists exchanging clip boards 
down the hall way. 


"D-11424! You sleep here," one of the guards called out. D-11424 
snapped back to reality and noticed they had arrived at a cell. On 
the door was a small plaque that read "D-11423, D-11424, D-11425, 
D-11426". 


Inside was pretty bare. Just a pair of bunks, and enough left over 
space to move around. D-11424 entered and walked to the only 
empty bunk. Her new cell mates were already asleep. Just as she 
sat down on the mattress, the guards closed the door behind her. 
The only light left came from the fluorescent lights outside, shining 
through some glass in the door. 


D-11424 laid down, about to go to sleep. But when her head hit the 
pillow, she heard a crinkling noise. D-11424 sat up and lifted the 
pillow. Underneath was a twice folded piece of paper. D-11424 
unfolded it. She couldn't quite make out the writing in the low 
lighting, so she sat near the door and let the fluorescent lights shine 
on it. It was addressed to her. 


Well, if you're reading this that means two things. First, 


you are D-11424. Second, | am dead. Or something 
worse happened. Don't want to be too close minded 
about it. Knowing me | probably had a fun trip through 
the digestive tract of a giant rabbit. Sounds par for 
course. 


You'll probably hear stories about me. You'll probably get 
strange looks for a bit. The number carries weight. It did 
so even before | got here. | got warnings from everyone 
that "11424 was cursed". Apparently the last five guys 
didn't last a week. 


Made me scared as all hell when | first got called for 
testing. They were at least kinda right about the curse. It 
was keter class. So, | walked in there, expecting to be 
ripped apart or eaten or something. And you know what 
happened? They gave me a fucking cake and told me to 
eat It. That was it. 


| came back and everyone thought | must've been some 
sort of hero. None of them actually asked what 
happened. So | just nodded as they made up the stories 
themselves. 


I've been around the block more than a few times, that's 
true. But I'm no hero. I'm just a lucky bastard. | got good 
at exploring stuff and keeping my head out of trouble, but 
all of the times | escaped death? All luck. By now | 
should've been killed 11 26 34 times over. At least. 


| don't have any talent or anything. There's nothing 
special about me. You know how | know that? Talent 
doesn't run out. Luck does. And if you're reading this, | 
used up every ounce of Fortune's Favor. 


But then again, that number carries a lot of stigma. Turns 
me, a simple Tony Marquez, into some sort of character. 
11424. It makes me sound so flat. But they have you use 
it so you can disappear into the crowd with the rest of us. 
Even if people talk about me, they won't talk about me. 
They'll talk about 11424. 


Maybe you'll remember me as Tony. As a country boy 
from Kansas with a mom who worked and a dad who 
worked harder. | mean, maybe my daughter will 
remember me as a dad who wasn't home. But that's still 
not who | want to be. | was a father for a time. A 
carpenter for longer, built a few chairs, a desk. Even 
made my mom a new night stand. Yeah, that actually 
sounds good. Carpentry feels like a very human thing to 
be remembered by. 


Then again that's why I'm writing this. I've seen others of 
us come and go. There and back again. Nothing more 
than a number and a body. | don't want to be that. | don't 
want to be just this thin representation of luck. | want to 
be Tony. 


Sorry I've left you with this stigma. You'll probably fight 
through it though. Us D-Class are tough like that. 


Good luck. I'm rooting for you from the other side. 
-Tony Marquez, because that's my fucking name 


D-11424 smiled a little, before folding the paper again and shoving it 
under the mattress for safe keeping. She crawled into bed and fell 
asleep. 


Thanks Tony. Jamie Greenston really appreciates it. 


Tales O 


Obituary For The Immortal 


Humans were never meant to live as long as O5-13. 
Turtle is supposed to live this long. | could be a turtle man. 


A rare smile crept across the usually sullen face of -13. The man 
nearly attempted to hide the smile before realizing that he was 
alone. No more hiding. There would be no use anyway. Something 
had changed. -13 was not sure what it was yet, but something was 
different. The ache in his bones had subsided, a rare occurrence. 
-13 hadn't felt so good in years. 


Every fiber of his being told him that he was sitting on a familiar 
beach. But of course that was impossible. -13 hadn't sat on a beach 
for as long as he could remember. 


A childhood memory? 


No, impossible, and if it was the case, he was going to need to make 
a call to up the dose of the antimemetic cocktail he made for himself 
everyday. "An O5 must have no past, and must always look to the 
future." They had agreed on that when they made the creed with 
each other. 


05-13 took a long sip of the vodka he didn't realize he was holding. 
A flood of memories washed over him with every sip, drinking with 
friends in college, taking a swift, teasing sip of a drink held by some 
lady friend of his, spluttering all over the table when his father had 
introduced him to the drink. -13 closed his eyes and attempted to 
think of his father. What had previously been a blank slate had been 
replaced with a strong, tall Russian man, an intimidating frame, 
other than his hard but caring eyes. 


-13 tried to take another sip, only to come up empty. 


No matter.