After a bit of... persuasion that Geneva would probably object to 
greatly, | get some info from the mooks: they work for a Foundation 
of some kind, and | highly doubt it's charitable. They were sent to 
‘contain' me for some reason, as if | needed containment, and I'm 
dangerous to them. | asked them why I'm dangerous, and he just 


slightly, but the effect is minor since SCP-615 merely splits around 
them to continue its movement. SCP-615 is also able to interpret its 
surroundings, even with its conspicuous lack of conventional sense 
organs. How this phenomenon is achieved is currently unknown. 


Observation of SCP-615 in the wild have shown that it feeds off of 
discarded and dead plant matter. As a result, SCP-615 tends to 
inhabit areas thickly populated with vegetation, such as forests and 
jungles. SCP-615 will roam its territory, absorbing discarded plant 
matter from the ground and adding it to its own mass. It also seems 
to act as a natural gardener, pruning and trimming existing trees of 
excess plant matter. This serves the dual purpose of feeding 
SCP-615 and increasing the lifespan of the plants around it. When 
deprived of plant matter, it has been observed that SCP-615 can 
indeed be starved. Extended periods of forced starvation have 
shown that the plant matter that constructs SCP-615 will eventually 
biodegrade, shrinking it until the point of death. If overly fed, 
SCP-615 will reach a stage of critical mass where it grows too large 
to support itself. This provokes a reproductive response, where 
SCP-615 will separate itself into multiple smaller entities capable of 
acting independently from each other. 


In terms of behavior, SCP-615 is no different from any other 
territorial organism. It will commonly patrol a several square mile 
area and will aggressively attack anything that attempts to intrude 
into its territory. Though SCP-615 is quite easy to avoid and outrun, 
it displays devastating strength and savagery if it manages to catch 
its quarry. SCP-615 attacks by completely engulfing its target and 
contracting its mass, crushing or suffocating the target. Lab tests as 
well as eyewitness reports have shown it is easily capable of 
crushing large trucks if it is of sufficient size. 


Due to the nature of its composition, SCP-615 is extremely 
flammable, making incendiary weaponry the items of choice to 
combat it. SCP-615 is seemingly aware of this and shows a marked 
aversion to open flames. It will attempt to avoid fire at all costs, 
making containment relatively simple. 


SCP-615 was found in the Forest, after it was caught disrupting 
logging operations there. Reports of missing loggers and destroyed 
logging equipment eventually tipped off the Foundation that these 


says "Look at yourself. You changed from a six-year-old kid into a 
hard-boiled chain-smoking gun-slinging thing that would make Sam 
Spade jealous!" 


| ask him how the hell he knows my pal Sam before deciding he and 
his friend need to get acquainted with the second-story window, and 
his good friend, the ground. After their meeting, | make a phone call 
to my source. 


"That's horrible!" Isabel gasped as she heard Calvin talk over the 
phone. "Are you all right, Mr. Watts?" 


"I'm fine, they're having a nap in the garden at the moment." Calvin 
put his hand over the receiver and looked at Hobbes. "Get out my 
cape." To Isabel, he said, "| need your help. I'm willing to throw in 
my time machine for free if you help me with this." 


"Oooh... in that case... how do you plan to attack them? Perhaps 
Stupendous Man could help?" 


"Exactly my thoughts," Calvin grinned. "I just need to get my cape 
and-" 


"Calvin, your mom took your cape away, remember? It's in the attic. 


Calvin frowned as he remembered this, and looked at Hobbes. 
"You're a tiger. What good is a wooden door against a 500 pound 
killing machine from Indonesia?" 


"I'm only 350 pounds, thank you very much." Hobbes crossed his 
arms and frowned. "But... they did mean you harm, so..." 


"Go get it," Calvin nodded, resuming his conversation with Isabel. 
"Sorry about that. So, where are they operating from?" 


Half an hour later, a red streak flew across the sky that nobody 
could see, heading straight for a location halfway across the country. 
"Stupendous Man flies at the speed of light, but faster!" exclaimed 
the blur as it smashed into an office building in a large city. Chaos 
ensued as the person at the closest desk was launched into the far 


wall. Bullets bounced off of Stupendous Man's steel ribs as he 
walked through the facility. "Stupendous Man walks through the 
facility, searching for those who would dare try to contain him! He 
throws open a door, to find himself confronted with-" 


Stupendous Man let out a shocked gasp. Before him was a blonde- 
haired teenager, sipping at a glass of wine and petting a white cat in 
her lap, a scar across her cheek and a monocle in her eye. This was 
Rosalyn, or as Stupendous Man knew her- "Babysitter Girl!" 


"...Calvin, what are you doing in my house?" 


"Don't play dumb! | know all about your Foundation that attempted to 
contain me!" With that, Stupendous Man flew up to Babysitter Girl 
and gave her a punch across the face, vanquishing her instantly. 
"Stupendous Maan is victorious! Stupendous Man... away!" 


Rosalyn groaned in her position, and got up about ten minutes later, 
rotating her stiff muscles. "...increase Class-A Amnestic input in 
Chagrin Falls. | want that twerp contained by any means 
necessary." The agents at her beck and call nodded, and she shook 
her head, lamenting the day she became the babysitter to Calvin 
Watts. 


Painted Lips, Unblinking Eyes 


David Rosen was not a happy man. Now, by all accounts, this was 
not an unusual occurrence, but today David had something beyond 
general misanthropy or a lack of proper nutrition to be glowering 
about. 


Somebody had abused an SCP to have magical video game 
adventures. 


Now, the people in charge, they hadn't called it "abuse". It was 
"heroic" and "worthy of a Foundation Star". Whatever. Everyone in 
charge was just too blind to see what was really going on around 
here. Bridge was just a loser who liked to play weird Japanese 
games. 


David glanced out his office window, as Bridge was carried by a 
posse of no-goodniks who celebrated his misadventure. 


What that Brugh-dge had done wasn't even that good! Pokemon 
was not a hard video game, and David totally could've done it if he'd 
been there. Plus all the objects he had at his disposal were wicked 
overpowered anyways. It was like playing with all the cheat codes. 


If he had been there... the thought wandered through David's mind 
again, and as it did, his curt lips curled into a decidedly non-curt grin. 


Yes... if Bridge could get accolades for such a thing, then so could 
he. 


David stood in front of 826, completely alone. He'd known that it had 
been super easy to do — after, all, if someone like Bridge could do 
it, anyone could — but this had been remarkably simple. He strode 
forward, confidently holding a gray cartridge in his hand. 


Who was going to be laughing now... Bridge? He'll be nothing. He's 


already, uh, nothing, but now he'll be more — focus, David. This is 
the big league. 


He blew on the cartridge, and stuck it in between the shelves. 


Too late, he saw that what he'd grabbed was not the badass 
adventure game he'd thought of, but was instead something else 
altogether. 


"So, uh, looks like 826 is live." 


"Ah, shit. | was afraid of that. Copycat kids, y'know? Some dipshit 
new guy, thinks 'o-o-oh | could one-up Bridge’ or something." 


"Whoa, dude, take a few steps back. We haven't even reviewed the 
security footage yet." 


"Yeah, well, I've seen this before. Happens probably... once every 
coupl'a years. Someone has a hero moment, and then some dipshit 
always tries to be the bigger hero." 


Pink. 


That was the first, second, third, and eighth thought that crossed 
David's mind. 


Four was "Why", five was "God", six was four, and seven was more 
of a wincing sensation as the pink floodlights descended from on 
high. 

Oh god no 

Thousands, quite literally thousands, of pink tennis balls were 
descending upon him. Behind that, little scotty dogs yapped and did 
flips, their pink teeth gnashing in the wind. Somewhere, although he 
couldn't see it, David knew a laundry chute was menacing him. 


Then they started hitting him. 


"... the fuck?" 
"What? Who is it?" 
"... Rosen." 

"... What?" 

"Yeah." 

"Like, the nerd guy?" 
"The same." 


"What the fuck is he doing in there? He's not a dipshit, he's like... 
he's almost 40. He knows better." 


"Apparently not." 
"Have some security standing by out there, | don't want this to get 


out of hand." 


David could feel that his face had swollen up to two or three times its 
normal size. His pants were shredded to approximately 5,678 
pieces, and his shins were bleeding profously. Stupid Dog. Stupid 
Barbie. 


But, as if by some miracle of design, the balls all stopped. For a 
moment, they were paused in the air, the 2nd most beautiful image 
of floating tennis balls mankind has ever developed. 


"PLAYER 2 HAS ENTERED THE GAME." 


"... oh god fucking dammit." 


INCIDENT REPORT A-1 204376 
Personnel involved: David Rosen, Django Bridge 


Date: 4-1-2013 


Location: SCP-826 containment unit 


Description: On 4/1/2013, David Rosen deliberately 
instigated SCP-826's effect, using a copy of the Nintendo 
Entertainment System game, "Barbie". After several 
hours, site personnel grew concerned for David's well- 
being. Django Bridge, having recently acted with bravery 
in a similar incident, was sent in to rescue him. David 
was recovered three minutes after Bridge entered, and 
SCP-826 was successfully recontained. 


The incident has been added to Bridge's nomination for a 
Foundation Star. Rosen will face an immediate 
disciplinary hearing once he recovers from his critical 
injuries. 


Addendum: He didn't even copy it right. No scips 
brought in with him or anything. He wouldn't have topped 
Bridge even if he'd failed to get his ass kicked by Barbie. 
— Dr. Taylor 


And Now, The We[EXPUNGED] 


The following broadcast was recorded on 10 December 2013 during 
the initial securing of Anomalous Location 3717-NV. 


Transcript of broadcast 


The eyes are the windows to the soul. The leg bone's 
connected to the hip bone, and the hip bone's connected 
to your blood supply. The mind is nothing more than the 
misfirings of an overcomplicated clump of tissue you call 
a brain. 


Welcome to Night Vale. 


Hello, my fine audience. This is Intern Andy, sitting in for 
Cecil. There was an... incident about an hour ago here 
at the station, and long story short, I'm the only one left 
here. It's a good thing that | was at the official StrexCorp 
anti-Euclidian water cooler and caffeine dispensanarium 
when those armed intruders stormed in and rounded up 
everyone, or they might have spotted me, too. But until 
the Sheriffs secret police can locate and rescue my 
kidnapped coworkers, I'm running the board for you 
today. This is my first time on-air, so please be a little 
patient with me. Thanks. 


First up, some astute listeners have called in and left 
messages to report that traffic is at a standstill on the 
highway leading out of town, as overnight there 
appeared a barricade across the road. It's manned by 
many large men in black paramilitary gear and scientists 
in clean white coats who say that Night Vale has been 
quarantined for public safety. A statement from the 
Sheriff's secret police says that they are not involved with 
this blockade, and that citizens should ignore the 


warnings of these interlopers, even if they are shot at. A 
StrexCorp press release also says that the roadblock is 
not their doing, as their paramilitary forces wear yellow 
gear. So be safe out there on the roads, my fine 
audience, and remember to wear all your riot gear on 
your commute today, not just your bullet-proof vests. 


Here's a reminder for everyone: next week is the first 
public debate between The Faceless Old Woman Who 
Secretly Lives In Your Home and Hiram McDaniels in 
their competing candidacies for mayor of our great town. 
The scheduled topics will include civic infrastructure, 
leash laws for the insectile monstrosities that our children 
inexplicably find cute and demand to keep as pets, and 
new business regulations. Current mayor Pamela 
Winchell has issued a press release stating that "All will 
tremble and fall before the burning cold of He-Who- 
Made-Dark. All will quaver and bow before He-Who- 
Made-Light. All will fear. All will fear. All. Will. Fear." 
Immediately after reading it, the press release burst into 
purple flames. I'm assuming that means that Mayor 
Winchell won't be attending the debate. 


Oh! Here's an update on that whole "everyone in the 
radio station was abducted except me" story! Someone 
slipped a note under the studio door which reads, "We 
are here for your protection. Help us secure and contain 
that which none should know. There is too much wrong 
to ever be set right." Now, | don't know about you, my 
fine audience, but | find it s/ightly suspicious that 
someone would claim that they're protecting you by 
abducting you from your place of business. Especially 
since everyone knows that it would be far easier to do so 
during the evening mandatory five minutes of staring 
blankly into the void of space that stares blankly back 
into you. In the meantime, I'm fearfully awaiting word 
from the StrexCorp representative who ousted station 
management as to whether or not | should come in 
tomorrow. 


And now, a word from our sponsors: mexi-skins. 
That was a word from our sponsors. 


| just found a pamphlet here from the Night Vale Better 
Business Bureau with a nifty little reminder that under no 
circumstances should we ever buy anything from anyone 
named Zachary Callahan. Just like they told us when we 
were kids, that Zack is nothing but a trouble-maker who 
wants to achieve world dominion through mind- and 
memory-altering enslavement and the strategic 
placement of strangely dense metals. Besides which, his 
products are shoddy and dangerous and probably made 
in some overseas factory instead of right here in the 
good old U.S. of A. Remember to buy in your community 
from locally owned and operated members of the Night 
Vale BBB. It's not only good for the community, it's fated 
to be. 


Fine audience, a woman in a blood-spattered lab coat 
has just walked up to the window to the studio and 
pressed a piece of paper to it for me to read. Let me get 
a little closer... it says "We are about to assume control 
of the broadcast. If you want to survive, turn off your mic 
and come peacefully. Otherwise, we will be forced to..." 
Oh my! That's... incredibly graphic! Well, | do want to 
keep my organs inside me, so | better do as she says. 
But before | go, my fine audience, allow me to present 
the weath— 


[AUDITORY COGNITOHAZARD DETECTED. 
MEMETIC AGENT EXPUNGED. ALTERNATE 
MATERIAL INSERTED.] 

approximately 30 seconds of classical music 
[AUDITORY THREAT ENDED. BROADCAST 
RESUMES.] 


Welcome back, my fine audience. It's Intern Andy again. 
| want to let you know that | really do like the station's 
new supervisor, Mr. Bjornsen. Apparently he was just 
transferred from the public relations office of StrexCorp 


Productions, and he has a TON of great ideas about how 
to improve your public radio experience, including a 
Helpful Citizens Tip Line where you can tell us all about 
the fun and interesting things you see around town.