"571," he read. 
"Good number," Crow yawned. 


Cog sat down at his desk and undid the brads on the file folder, 
releasing the Special Containment Procedures Form. He slid the 
triplicate form with its carbon-paper intermediate layers into his 
typewriter, carefully aligned the guides with the proper box, and 
began to type. 


Item #: SCP-571 
Object Class: Euclid 
Special Containment Procedures: 


A single piece of paper containing an instance of 
SCP-571 should be kept inside an opaque, sealed 
container of any kind, at the center of any high security 
containment room... 


END 


Brooke Scribeworks (Gol-154.) The author is listed as Erin Ahmadi, 
whose biography describes as a thaumaturgist and amateur botanist 
living in Hell, Michigan. No other records of this individual have been 
located. 


The body of SCP-910's text details the theory that groups of humans 
organized according to specific principles can fill roles in 
thaumaturgic rituals traditionally held by biological or mineral 
components. For example: An organization may fill the need for a 
physical circle that would otherwise be drawn in chalk or blood. 
Such a substitution is argued to greatly increase the efficacy of the 
augmented ritual. These organizations often exhibit anomalous 
effects in the course of routine operations, some of which are further 
documented within SCP-910. 


Seven of the book's nine chapters depict different structures of 
organizations, outlining them through a combination of thaumaturgic 
jargon and elaborate metaphors. The presentation of ritual 
construction and execution throughout the book bears similarities to 
the theories of the Three River School, which emphasizes the need 
for balance of power across spell systems. 


SHOW CHAPTER LIST 


¢ Chapter 1: Introduction to Organizational 
Symbology 

¢ Chapter 2: The Populace as Shifting Moon 

¢ Chapter 3: The Firm as Runed Circle 

¢ Chapter 4: The Lawkeepers as Burning Candle 

¢ Chapter 5: The Rebellion as Sacrificial Dagger 

¢ Chapter 6: The Imperial Edifice as Bound Goat 

¢ Chapter 7: The Church as Gray Ash 

¢ Chapter 8: The Learned as Twined Focus 

¢ Chapter 9: In Conclusion, the Future 


Tests of SCP-910's outlines have produced varied results. 
Organizations structured in accordance with chapters 3, 7 and 8 
have generated significant anomalous effects. Organizations 
structured in accordance with chapters 2 and 6 have generated 
minor and inconsistent anomalous effects. The contents of chapters 
4 and 5 produced no discernible results during testing. On average, 


Nameless Bodies, in Unremembered Rooms 


Threat Assessment 3033 
Official Unit Name: "Mike" Squad 
Affiliation: Chaos Insurgency 
Type: Shock Infantry 
Threat Level: Orange 


Composition: Up to 30 instances per one controller, 
deployed in company-strength. 


Armament: Varies. See description. 


Description: Instances are Cl test subjects, implanted 
with invasive cranial implant enabling limited, 
rudimentary mind control, typically armed with small 
arms and hand-to-hand weapons, but will improvise as 
necessary. The only reliable ways of neutralizing an 
instance are the severance of the implant package, 
asphyxiation and exsanguination. 


Tactics: As instances are indiscriminately violent, they 
are only deployed in large-scale engagements against 
large concentrations. Once deployed, they will use 
human-wave tactics in order to overwhelm defenders. 
The implant has difficulty controlling the fine motor skills 
required to operate firearms efficiently, and operators will 
generally push instances into close quarters combat. 


Vulnerabilities: While instances will tolerate vast 
amounts of small arms fire, they possess no additional 
durability. If close combat is unavoidable, the use of 
large calibers, explosives, and other maiming/ 


dismembering weapons is recommended. Instances also 
lack the ability to discern and avoid danger - if instances 
are expected to be used, the preemptive deployment of 
minefields may mitigate the risk entirely. 


Never before had the halls of Site-79 seen so much blood. 


Never before had Elizabeth Campbell ever had to actually break the 
glass in case of emergency. 


Never before had she heard the phrases "Inner perimeter breached" 
or "Enact Protocol Makron". 


And never before, had she ever been so alone. 


"Welcome to your new job at Site-79. You've already had the whole 
song and dance about the whos, whats, and whys, so I'll try and 
keep this short. You're already fine managers, clerks, accountants, 
and whatever white-collar non-containment personnel you happen to 
be." 


"The one thing | do need to go over is emergency procedures. Being 
a secure Foundation site, this is important. You've all had 
psychological evaluations - that's part of the reason you're here and 
not elsewhere. Also why you make hazard pay. You know the 
stakes, and what kind of ‘emergencies’ the Foundation experiences. 
The Foundation trusts you to do what is necessary, if and when the 
time comes." 


"Before you ask - don't worry, there's nothing so silly as an onsite 
nuclear weapon. This isn't The Andromeda Strain. That'd cause too 
much collateral damage, not to mention geopolitical consequences. 
The Foundation is much more discrete." 


"Spread throughout the facility are airtight blast doors and a large 
stock of VX. For you non-chemists, that's nerve gas. Like all 
chemical weapons, it's not pleasant, but at least it is fast-acting. The 
facility will seal, and it won't open again. VX concentration will reach 
well over lethal levels. The skips - what we're ultimately here for - 
will be secured." 


"If site security is compromised - from within or without - so badly 
that upper command does not have a handle on the situation, and 
they don't think they ever will, they'll call out for a ‘Protocol Makron’. 
If you hear these words, you are already dead where you stand. Or 
worse. Your only job from that point forward is to prevent it from 
getting worse for anyone out there." 


"You can find emergency stations around the facility. They're 
reasonably well-dispersed. When you hear Protocol Makron, get to 
one of them. Punch the last five of your ID - I'm sure you all have 
them memorized by now - and make peace with yourself.” 


She had been wounded earlier. It wasn't clear whether it was a 
graze, a clean shot, or somewhere in between. Her progress was no 
faster than a limp. 


She didn't know how much she had bled, or how much time she had 
left. Or if time was even an issue. 


She didn't want to die. She'd never been religious, there was no 
afterlife waiting for her. She had never been married, or had kids, or 
been able to tell her parents goodbye or forgive her brother or find 
someone to watch her dogs. She had so much to live for, still. Only 
twenty-six with a good job and a stable life ahead of her. No one, 
other than coworkers, knew what she really did or where she really 
worked. She didn't even tell Brooke. 


She would miss Brooke the most. 


The emergency station. The glass was broken, but whichever poor 
soul had broken it had long since passed. 


A croak from the floor. "| Know what you're doing. Don't do it." She 
couldn't tell which of the fallen was attempting to speak. If any. 


"It's what we're supposed to do." 


"The Cl already went through here. They have what they want. 
There is nothing to be gained by gassing the facility." 


"It's what we're supposed to do. We have to contain-" 


A rumbling from around the corner. Not close, but not far away. 
"See, that's the cavalry right there." 
A muffled snarl called that suggestion into doubt. 


"Do you think O5, or the Site Director, gives a shit about you? You're 
probably a secretary or a-" 


"| work in procurement, specializing i-." 


"See, you're not worth anything to them. You don't have secret 
knowledge or skills. To them, you're as disposable as the D-class. 
An cog in the machine, a human fail-safe." 


"No, you're - " 


"Oh, | am too. Ethics Committee? They don't give a shit either. Their 
goals have always been the safety of those out there - don't you get 
it? We are the sacrificial lambs. Do you want to die, little lady?" 


"| really, really don't. But | think we are both dead no matter what we 
do." 


"I'd rather you not make decisions for both of us." 
Snarls grew louder. They weren't far now. 


"No one will remember you. You'll be a nameless body in an 
unremembered room." 


She looked at down at the broken glass. ‘Secure’ had been 
shattered; 'Contain' was in pieces. Only ‘Protect’ was mostly intact. 


"Be still. They won't attack if you look dead. We can still get out of 
this." 


Propping herself up on the terminal, Elizabeth held her breath. 


Naptime 


Working at a daycare gives you a very strange view of children. | live 
in the South, so the stereotype of screaming children in Wal-Mart 
isn't part of a redneck joke. It's literally just what happens when you 
go to Wal-Mart. Without a ton of close family, those kids were for the 
longest time the only children | had any exposure to, so my views on 
them were somewhat negative. But my grad school told me the only 
financial aid | could get was an assistantship working at the on- 
campus daycare, so | was going to have a new experience with 
them whether | wanted to or not. And | have had many, many 
experiences with them, life-altering and strange experiences that 
cast a great doubt in my mind as to whether the world is going to 
exist when these people become voters. But | digress. This is about 
one child in particular. I'll call him Thomas. 


Thomas was about four years old at the time this happened, and he 
was a little...special. | don't mean he was "special needs," as the 
current euphemism puts it; I've met those kids, they're different. 
Some of you have kids who are just...special. You don't realize it 
because your children are completely different people around you 
than they are around their friends. You're still convinced that your 
kids are going to grow up to be astronauts or scientists, but | knew 
within minutes of meeting them (at age six) that they're going to be 
spending large parts of their adult lives performing some kind of 
service at truck stops. But | digress. Thomas was special. 


Thomas's thing was that he simply refused to sleep. Some of you 
are parents and are nodding your heads (the insomniacal nature of 
children being commonly understood) but it's a lot stranger than you 
think. Those of you with children have one, two, maybe three kids, 
all of different ages. During naptime with Thomas's group, | have 
forty children, none of whom have any genetically-based reason to 
obey me, none of whom | can punish in any meaningful way, all of 
whom have friends who will back whatever insanity they have in 
mind. During naptime, the room becomes a prison. I'm the warden. 


| have some experience with the behavior of children of this age. 
There are children who dislike sleeping. There are children who 
prefer not to sleep until they choose the time and place. But people 
who work at daycares become experts in swooping in and physically 
incapacitating children in the fastest possible timeframe, and we're 
damn good at it. That's what naptime is, if you look at it clinically. 
Sensory deprivation (turning off the lights, playing music to drown 
out snoring, etc.) combined with hypnosis (rubbing their backs). 
Some kids fall asleep more easily than others, but if you put in the 
time, they a// go out eventually. 


Except Thomas. 


Other kids who didn't sleep would just stare plantively at the adult 
until they got embarrassed and walked away, trying again later. 
Thomas, though, was determined to fake-sleep until you left, feeling 
satisfied at a job well done. As soon as you walked back, there he 
is. Staring at you. 


Look, | know how to fake-sleep. But I'm in my twenties. This kid is 
four years old, and he is a master at the craft. He knows just how 
much to snore and when. He knows how to slow his breathing down 
to give off that sleeping demeanor. He knows how far he can open 
his eyelids to see if the coast is clear. And he knows how to do all of 
this without actually falling asleep. 


The other teachers and | talked about it. What the hell is going on 
with this kid that he's learned how to do this as young as he is? But | 
decided it was just too weird not to experiment with. | figure, if you 
look at the kid for long enough, he'll keep his eyes closed, and 
eventually he sleeps. Has to work, right? 


So that's what | do at naptime. Everywhere | go in the room, | keep 
my eyes on the kid. He sees me looking, lays down, and closes his 
eyes. | sit across from him and stare. Nothing | do really requires a 
ton of attention, so | just keep my eyes on him wherever | go. And 
every few seconds, the same dance. Eyelids flutter. Eyelids raise. 
Eyes glance slowly upward. Eyes meet mine. Eyes clamp shut. 
Pause. Eyelids flutter... 


This goes on for twenty minutes. | notice something weird about his 


breathing. He's losing his cool, | think, and figure I'm about to win 
this round. 


Then he starts crying. "Quit looking!" he wails. "Quit looking! Quit 
looking!" 


Shit. 


Look, you might think it's an asshole move to get into a staring 
contest with a four-year-old. Lemme just say that in my shoes, you 
might do the same thing. 


After a long talk with my supervisor and Thomas's parents, we agree 
that yes, Thomas's ability to pretend to sleep is just uncanny, but no, 
there would not be any further experimentation on this front, as it's 
not important enough to emotionally traumatize a preschooler over 
the subject. He had been seeing a therapist, and he kept mentioning 
nightmares about someone staring at him, constantly staring. My 
immediate thought was "how can a kid who doesn't sleep have 
nightmares?" Nevertheless, | agreed to knock it the hell off and the 
matter was dropped. Thank God | have a tolerant boss. 


A day or so ago, | walked in while they were doodling with crayons. | 
glance over the table, seeing a bevy of wonderful, psychologically 
fascinating exhibits (kids taller than one parent, kids being rained on, 
kids shooting various animals) before | land on Thomas's. 


A window and a face. | asked another principal teacher in the room. 
She said all of his drawings were always the same. A window and a 
face. 


| saw something that looked like crayon on the other side of the 
sheet. | flipped it over. 


It keeps looking. 
It won't quit looking. 


Quit looking. 


Narcissus 


Twice as lucky 
Five times strong 
Here two seconds 
The next one, gone 


When | was very young other kids were mean. Not all of them, but it 
was bad enough. Everything is bigger when you're a child, but | 
never really would've felt small if not for them. | was scared. God 
knows what | could have been scared of now. But as a kid it must 
have felt like the sky was falling. Before recess one day, | created a 
poem in my head about somebody who could help, a Hero (I like to 
think I've always had a way with words, but I'm biased of course). As 
the bullies approached me | recited this poem for the first time out 
loud, and suddenly they were all running away from me. | wondered 
if my newfound confidence had stunned them, then | turned around 
and saw My Hero. My Hero wrapped me in a hug and took me away 
from my tormentors. | laughed as | was whisked away from them. 
When you're a kid, these things don't tend to scare you. You just 
think that's how the world works. 


Twice as helpful 
Five times high 
Twice as loving 
Once as shy