Addendum 1: SCP-866 has been successfully used by Foundation 
staff for large-scale simulations and computations. At this time, the 
limit, if any, to SCP-866 computational capacity is not known. 
Access to the machine can be made remotely by anyone 
possessing a student or staff account for the University 
System. Addition of a [REDACTED] prevents non-Foundation 
access. 


Addendum 1.1a: of the university employees have since been 
discovered. Prof. has been found in the building's basement by 
janitorial staff. Analysis of the remains has shown that his death 
occurred roughly at the same time as the attempt to remove 
SCP-866 from the power supply. He was found 
embe[REDACTED]oom wall. Position of the body suggests Prof. 
was initially alive while in the basement, the words "{illegible] 
[illegible] died to a rounding error" were written in his own blood. 
Radar scans of the building's concrete walls are ongoing, but have 
failed to find anything of note. Research assistant Dr. has been 
found in Lagrangian point L3 through unrelated observation 
regarding [REDACTED]. 


Addendum 2: An analysis of currently running jobs shows that less 
than 5% of tasks are the result of foundation personnel. This value 
could not be increased through an increase in jobs submitted, 
suggesting non-linear relation between job size and machine 
resources. Attempts to identify the nature of the other jobs has 
proven so far unsuccessful. Largest observed jobs up to date, still 
running, are the "TSTWRLD1" to "TSTWRLD4" series submitted by 
"ao000002" and taking 20% of total machine resources each. 
Further analysis required. 


Addendum 3: Log recovered after attempt to remove from 
power supply failed. 


sysstat@ >Program received signal SIGSEGV, Segmentatic 
sysstat@ >Ox1lc0005c2 in Kernel02 () at TSTWRLD2.c:345z 
sysstat@ Pile, hive 

sysstat@ Pie ace 

sysstat@ Seas 

sysstat@ >Restart from checkpoint attempted 


to such a unorganized group, he would. Just when 
Grape's agitation began rearing its head yet again, there 
was a tap on his shoulder. He jerked his head to see 
Thorn standing by him. 


Grape continued walking. Thorn and 8-Ball hustled 
behind him trying to keep up without bumping into other 
Maxwellists. 


>/:_NO 


Thorn sulked behind both of them looking at his feet on 
the busy sidewalk. A few things caught his attention here 
and there as they crossed city block after city block. The 
dampened glitch hop music coming from the dance 
clubs. The soft whizzing of overhead traffic. His own 
reflection as he passed by a simulspace arcade window. 
All these distractions didn't help him stop from firmly 
bumping into a random Maxwellist. 


OMG! o(2VSo) 

/me dies a Itl 

whr did U git dat hat?!?! 
iz it specL o comN? 


THX! <3 

itz a perfect gift 4 my Itl bros bday 
hav a +1 ttyl 

~* *Praiz B 2 WAN***~ 
(a 


A tiny green arrow suddenly appeared in front of Thorn's 
nose. He grabbed it out of thin air and looked at it 
curiously before pocketing it. When he looked up, he saw 
the young Maxwellist avatar already walking away from 
him. 


They both exchanged a polite wave and then Thorn 
double-timed it back towards Grape and 8-Ball who were 
waiting to cross a street. Grape just gave a short-lived 
scowl at him for falling behind and then crossed with the 
rest of the crowd. Thorn made more effort not to fall 
behind or get distracted. 


It was just a few blocks after that the the group arrived at 
what appeared to be a less than respectable simulspace 
pub. The grungy glowing sign on the door read 
'GAMBIT'S LAST DRINK’. Grape looked at the blinking 
cube in his hand and took a deep breath. 


>/:_YES 


Thorn walked ahead of the group, eager to see what was 
inside followed by the others. Surprisingly it was not as 
modern as the exterior lead on. The floor was a slab of 
painted concrete and crowded with stools and pool 
tables. The whole room stunk like a wet sponge. Black 
Flag roared through the overhead speakers as they 
made their way to the bar about as casually as three 
AlCs who didn't belong there could. It was as if the bar 
was simulating the weathered grit of a few decades. 


There was a group of huddled Maxwellists already at the 
bar on the other end. Grape and Thorn propped up onto 
stools while 8-Ball floated over one. Thorn laid his hands 
on the table, excited to not only order his first drink, but 
also get to try out his burgeoning social skills. The red- 
haired bartender had her back turned cleaning some of 
the display bottles. 


Grape slowly turned his head towards Thorn, as though 
his ears had just lied to him. There's no way Thorn just 
tried to use the local lingo so embarrassingly. Before he 
had time to confirm just that, the girl behind the bar 
responded. 


Thanks— | guess. But I'll have to ask you chippers to 


move on. Can't let you stay here even if you all you want 


to do is lurk. 


Grape facepalmed as she leaned in with both hands on 
the bar. Another Maxwellist moseyed over from the 
group on the other end. He wore a dark jacket, dark 
pants, racing goggles, a face mask, and a size 10 pair of 
ass-kicker boots. His hollow steps overshadowed 
Thorn's gulp as he approached. 


We. Don't. Want. Chippers. In. Here. Got it? | don't care 
what your intentions are. Now leave nicely before | have 
you all kickbanned. 


There a problem here, Bishop? 


This trio of chippers. Can't tell if they are trolling or 


legitimately stupid. 


Who are you then? What do you want? 


Thorn's blurted words hung in the air as the group waited 
for someone to break the silence. Grape and 8-Ball 
looked at Thorn with the most confused look, moreso on 
Grape's face. Thorn nodded towards the chalkboard on 
the adjacent wall: 


TRYOUTS FOR GRANDMASTER RACING CLAN THIS 
WEEK! 
~ENTRANCE FEE REQUIRED~ 


SIMULSPACE RACING TOURNAMENT OPENING 
EVENT IN 3 WEEKS! 
GOOD LUCK TO ALL APPLICANTS! 


Grape shrugged and rolled his eyes. It was at least a 
plan. It was a bad plan, but a plan nonetheless. Grape 
internally shelved his irritation and decided to run with it, 
especially considering that they were about to be banned 
from investigating the location of their first lead. 


You want to tryout as pawns? You guys don't strike me 


as the racing type. 


Grape pulled Thorn closer and dug into his pockets. With 
two hands, he unloaded what was left of Thorn's 
spending money after hat shopping. The two Maxwellists 
gasped as the heap of silver stamped hexagons that 
nearly spilled off the bar's edge. 


Oh my WAN. There has to be more than 2,000 cryt 
here, Rook. 


2,000 cryt? That'll cover our rent space for most of the 
tournament. 


Yeah. Sure. Shots. Coming right up. 


Thorn pinched the rim of his hat and tipped it ever so 
slightly. 


« Part | | Part Il | Part Ill | Part IV » 


Hello World (Part III) 


« Part | | Part Il | Part Ill | Part IV » 


Two pairs of pitch black hands feverishly scrolled from 
screen to screen. In the soft blue light of the Grand I/O 
Temple, a row of yellow eyes twitched back and forth, 
faster than its hands, looking for a sign or an anomaly or 
anything resembling a clue to this insurgent's identity. 
Who sent it? Where is it? What is it? But these questions 
had to end for now as another surge of pain began 
growing. 


A cry of agony echoed in the empty virtual sanctuary. 
With wave of the arm, whole rows of crystalline pews 
upturned by sheer force as pages and pages of carrier 
wave hymnals scattered in the air. Then there was only 
the faint scraping. The scritch and scratch of hard fingers 
against a harder head; digging to get at the unbearable 
pain. An existential pain made physical. A pain worsened 
by this— 


—problem. 


There were drinks, and jokes, and some menial 
introductions. Thorn was eager to socialize and it 


showed. His vibrant personality meshed with most of the 
Maxwellists in the bar. Grape excused himself with 8- 
Ball, leaving Thorn to mingle. As Grape stepped out and 
turned a corner to a secluded alley, he ushered 8-Ball 
with him in a small voice. 


>/:_YES 


>/:_000114565552278 
>/:_\1 


Grape? Grape is that you? 


>/1_+15%%4 


It's— Oh. There it goes. Coming in clearer 
now. 


Grape. Where's Thorn? Please tell me 
you didn't ditch him. 


sysstat@ Pies 

sysstat@ Pid ate 

sysstat@ estes cs 

sysstat@ >Program restart successful 

sysstat@ Pp a 

sysstaté@ Pee is 

sysstaté@ Pies 

sysstaté@ >Loading checkpoint data.................. 
sysstat@ arate tahia teralahot 7:55 Si: i Tas GeO Tar acl ters Taf eiee owe Ja tay elie Pohees Ree) We tees lee 
sysstat@ ds lance oats aa fade URE tee ari Doo ester OM aw a eee atin Ste, Side oo ee te ehchca 
sysstat@ >Checkpoint data succesfully loaded 

sysstaté@ >CRC check in progress 

sysstat@ Sas 

sysstaté@ Didcaics 

sysstat@ Pas 

sysstat@ >CRC complete 

sysstat@ Skeets 

sysstat@ Pid alee 

sysstat@ Dis acs 

sysstat@ >889 YB data corrupted 

sysstat@ Dastants 

sysstat@ >ELLOL: COrrection in Progress .6saaiedee ees 
sysstat@ Deuces torte Sel Qseu ra acy fey are Reale US ER les ae ws fenatllel eRe or eens We: ac eretene 
sysstat@ De Seis Yetteccte Board toe: ehclen ORV SY Soe ehiar Glel-« conte vole acenh eb Ol eco tee-scere eye dees 
sysstat@ fay ak (su los 'Siawetel cab ot Ove iB! tee Tay Oley Sis faa ok ne Ja Te, ide tebiekon GONG) Sie Meu ee 
sysstat@ >456 YB data salvaged 

sysstat@ sites 

sysstaté@ >Deleting unsalvageable data 

sysstat@ Seats 

sysstat@ ie dzs 

sysstat@ Pas 

sysstaté@ >Continuing simulation 

sysstaté@ >. 


Addendum 4:Investigation Log of TSTWRLD2 program 


Dr. Report Log. 
1.10.20 Attempt to profile TSTWRLD2 application faile 


Sorry. 
What building? 


Racing? Grape we don't have time for 
that. 


Just be careful. 


You think you're close to the target? 


Keep your cool and your distance for now. 
Just report back when you have 
something on one of your leads. 


This is bound to come up; 45 more died in 
Beijing today. 


That's all. 


I— Really it's not even worth mentioning, 
8-Ball. Drop it. 


Fine. 


Since 8-Ball has already queried the intel; 
there's been a proposal put on the table 
right now to rescind this whole initiative. 
Hasn't been finalized yet. 


| don't know who's leading it. But it's 
something being talked about. 


Our task force nickname is not doing us 
any favors on that front either. 


I'll see what | can do, Grape. 
Good luck. 


Grape leaned against the wall in the alley and rubbed his 
temples. This was not going like he wanted. He looked 
up at 8-Ball, the only person he could really trust. 8-Ball 
may not have had the capability to show emotion, but 
could definitely understand it. For the two friends, there 
was nothing to say to each other. Nothing to do other 


than try to finish what they started. 


They trudged back inside to see Thorn sitting atop what 
looked like a small almost spherical ramjet engine with a 
seat and handlebars. The whole vehicle was suspended 
about a half meter off the ground while Bishop and Rook 
gave him pointers. 


So when you roll right, you bank left. That's how you set 
up for that maneuver. 


Not at the speeds you'd be going. 


Thorn turned to Grape just as him and 8-Ball came back. 
He looked like he was having a nice time. Although he 
was not passing off as even a novice racing enthusiast, 
his charming naivety clicked with the friendly 
Maxwellists. 


Sorry about calling you chippers earlier. When someone 
starts off with that childish lingo, it just sets me off. 


Chippers get their first implant in and they go completely 
ballistic with it. 


In all fairness though, they tend to level off about the 
third or fourth operation. Age also helps. 


So Thorn, what model was your latest implant and when 
did you get it? 


Grape was sure they were about to be found out as he 
watched Thorn fold like cardboard. 8-Ball edged a little 
bit for the door. Before Grape had time to quickly 
interject, a surprising voice stepped in. 


Orison systems? That's probably the name you're 
thinking of. New fabricator based out of Canada. Kind of 
a small outfit, but decent stuff for a fair price. 


Bishop wouldn't know them. She's all about the Asian 
fabricators. 


There was a pause as Thorn and Grape both tilted their 
heads at Rook. 


Yeah? Where have you been? That was announced like 
2 hours ago on WANsong. 


Ah. Well I'd love to rattle off some more racing tips for 


you guys but I'd like to attend that vigil tonight. 


You guys should come. 


Don't really login to Cipher City much? Can't say | blame 
you. After all, these recruitment networks get really 
crowded over time. 


Yeah, this is the one catered to the gaming youth. They 
start off here and when they're ready to move on, we 
help them make the leap. 


Ever seen Pinocchio? 


It's like Pleasure Island only without the donkeys. 


Bishop put down her drink and removed a small glass 
orb from behind the bar counter. With a finger she 
swiped it across the surface and tapped it five times. 8- 
Ball examined the strange object intently while Thorn 
dismounted from the seat but wound up getting his shoe 
caught on the handlebar and flopping to the floor. He 
was quick to rebound and walk it off before anyone could 
mention it. 


You good, Rook? We should leave now if we want to 
beat the rush. 


Let's see, we'll be going up through sixteen sub-levels | 
think. Five transfers total, yeah? 


>/:_YES 


Bishop nodded and pressed the orb firmly with her 
thumb. What happened next could only be described as 
‘A canonball breaking reality’. The orb in Bishop's hand 
whizzed right through the wall, bending the rendered 
surfaces and light with it until it pinched off into an 
ominous swirling tunnel. 


Bishop took out a chess piece and dropped it at her feet. 
Before the small sound had a chance to echo off the wall 
and back to them, the small carving flickered into a red 
painted engine that looked very much like Rook's 
metallic one. 


With a swift hand, Bishop grabbed Thorn by the sleeve 


and pulled him onto the bitch seat behind her. Grape 
scrambled to mount the other one as Rook flipped his 
goggles down over his face and warmed up the engine. 
8-Ball was mostly sure he could keep up. Mostly. 


Hang on Thorn... and mind the tail. 


On that last word, the whine of the rear nozzle propelled 
them in through the tunnel. As they moved through the 
light, Thorn had his eyes open just long enough to watch 
the entirety of Cipher City pass behind them. There was 
a sudden swing as they phased right through the 
landscape and into a rushing array of colors, shapes, 
and even voices moving by so fast they were as 
indescribable as whispers or blurs. 


Just hold on. 


Thorn gripped Bishop with both hands as they made a 
barrel roll and a hard left into another swarm of stretched 
colors. His teeth were clenched so hard that they could 
have cracked under strain. Bishop gave a sharp inhale 
and looked down at herself. 


Uh, Thorn. 


Thorn quickly moved his hands a little lower. 


After the next turn it was impossible to tell which way 
was up or down. Rook and Grape were bringing up the 
rear as both engines whined under strain. Red and Grey 
tails streaked through the mottled blackness at pressing 
speeds while 8-Ball struggled to keep up in their wake. 
Up ahead, a large 2D square was careening toward both 
of them. 


Bishop was adamant about not letting Rook pass her as 
she ducked and dodged around frozen rays of blue light. 
The featureless square was getting bigger by the 
second, until it rivaled a small country in size. Both 
racers revved the engines into overclocked speeds. 


Coming in hot!