05-3, impossibly weary, looking sick and unwell, every one of her 
sixty-eight years on display, nodded barely. She ended the call, and 
05-2 was left looking at her own reflection in the dark glass of the 
monitor. She studied her own face for a moment. She had more 
hope than Three did, but for all of that, she looked just as heartsick. 
Just as scared. 


| hope | know what I'm doing too. 


05-2 opened the message from Asian Subcommand, and read the 
latest developments. More of the same. 


A Night at the Movies 


TO: 05-7 

FROM: Pendergast, William 

RE: Planetary Survey Data - Relevant 
URGENCY: HIGH 


Sir, 


The latest data from Khevtuul 5 is in. We have two 
possible exoplanets that are theoretically suited for 
human life. In addition to being candidates for an 
eventual colonization effort, the preponderance of 
Goldilocks Zone planets points to an increased likelihood 
that an alternative site for human civilization can at some 
point in the future be established. 


It is also worth noting that our probes continue to find no 
sign of HEs, or any extraterrestrial life for that matter. If | 
may express a personal opinion, | find this surprising. 
Nevertheless, the longer we go without contact, frankly, 
the better. 


This seems to lend further credence to the human 
survival hypothesis. Consider releasing some of this 
information to help build morale among the operatives. 
They could use it. 


SIGNED 


General William Pendergast 
Lead, Project Heimdall 


TO: Pendergast, William 

FROM: O5-7 

RE: re: Planetary Survey Data - Relevant 
URGENCY: HIGH 


General, 


Appreciate your latest message. It looks like Two may be 
right after all. That's something, at least, while we're 
dealing with 001. 


Couple of things to remember as you look out there. 
We're beginning to believe that 001 resides somewhere 
out in physical space. Not like you needed any 
reminders, but look out for anything that might fit the 
description. That includes communications. It might try to 
talk to us again. 


The other thing you should know is that | was the one 
back in '54 that got the message from it. That message 
hasn't been declassified yet but you're likely to be the 
first that gets any other messages. So you should know. 


Some stuff that isn't in the file. Whatever it is, knows 
about the Foundation, because the message came 
straight to me. And that's because | was the man in 
charge of finding out what was behind the spike in 
anomalous activity. It's very familiar with us, General. 
And it knew enough about me to know | was a movie 
buff. 


It left me directions to some place out in the desert. Not 
so far that | couldn't get there in a few hours. So it knew 
where | lived. | drove out with a team in some jeeps, and 
in the middle of nowhere, there was a movie house. And 
| mean the middle of nowhere. No roads, no human 
habitation. There in a washed out gully was the movie 
house I'd gone to as a little boy. We were a little more 
wild in those days, and so | told my boys to wait while | 
went inside. 


It speaks to us in performance. It likes it better that way. 
lt could just tell us whatever it wants, really. But this is 
One more way to mind fuck us, | think. Anyway. Nice and 
air conditioned inside. Colder than hell. Soon as | sat 
down, the lights dimmed, and it showed me a movie. Not 


like any movie I'd ever seen, but it was most certainly a 
movie. 


The title was "Planet of Hands," in English. It didn't make 
a whole lot of sense. There wasn't a story, as such. More 
like a disjointed series of images. Some stuff was real 
famous and | recognized it immediately. A lot of military 
footage, scenes of large battles, aftermaths of bombing 
campaigns, stuff like that. | recognized Stalingrad from 
the news reels, and there were some scenes of what | 
assume was the Battle of Passchendaele. | didn't realize 
there were movies of that. 


Mixed in with that, though, were other things. Some were 
filmed scenes, same quality as the other stuff, of what 
had to have been other events from history. Mass 
starvations, a volcano eruption or two, villages of Indians 
being run through by Spanish conquistadors. Not very 
subtle. 


Then the scenes of the Sites started. Still shots of 
buildings and facilities, all of which | knew to be ours. 
Pretty clear message for us there. Are you with me so 
far? Strange stuff, but nothing we hadn't encountered 
before. That's when it got bad. 


At the next instant, | was no longer in the theater. | was 
in my seat, but everything around me had changed. 
Vibrant colors, oversaturated hues like a mad painter 
had conjured them, they were everywhere. People, 
things, places, swirling around me, all of it lit up like 
neon, so that | could see things after | closed my eyes. 
And it was just a mass of unspeakable acts. All of the 
rape, murder and pillage from thousands of years had 
been forced into the room, each act phasing into and out 
of others, moment to moment. | can't recall any image 
staying in the room more than a few seconds, except the 
scene directly in front of me. It was a Turk, | think, 
clothed in a resplendent robe the color of Technicolor 
blood, his face barely visible behind an electric blue 
beard. He was casually forcing people down onto a 


sharpened stake embedded in the ground, impaling 
them, over and over, the victim coming into and out of 
focus. First an old woman, then a soldier, then a child, 
back to another woman, each one after the other, bang 
bang bang. The blood would splash on his robe and he 
would glow brighter each time. He didn't look angry, or 
hateful. He looked like this was the most natural thing in 
the world, pushing someone down onto a stake until it 
forced its way up through their guts as they screamed 
until they bled out. If | had focused on another part of the 
room for any length of time, | think | would have seen 
similar things. 


How long this went on, | can't say. | was a younger man 
then, and I'm not ashamed to say that at a certain point | 
just covered my eyes and waited for it to stop. | would 
probably do the same today. When | finally looked up 
again, the theater was back around me, the movie still 
being screened. 


What | saw up there was myself, now a part of the 
movie. | looked obscenely happy. At my age | don't look 
into a lot of mirrors, but | tell you | have never seen a 
smile like that on myself, then or now. That, more than 
anything else, has stayed with me. You should never be 
surprised by an expression on your own face, it's awful. 
In the movie, | was boarding something; like a big 
wooden ark, | suppose. Something out of a kid's book 
about Noah and Flood, purely symbolic. | watched 
myself onscreen as | stepped into the ark. Some other 
people were getting on with me. A woman, a black man, 
some children, an old Chinaman, all walks of life | guess, 
no one | recognized. When we were all aboard, the ark 
lifted into the heavens, sailing through the cosmos. It 
even had the Buck Rodgers music in the background as 
the stars whizzed by. The ark came to what | assumed 
was a planetary system of some kind. A planet, looking a 
lot like Earth, blue and white and brown and green, at the 
center of a wild system of moons. | thought of an atom. 
The ark moved closer and closer to one of the moons, 


until it came into view. This wasn't like Earth. This was a 
darkened nightscape, illuminated by fires dotting the 
land. All that was visible was soot, smoke, fire, a few 
rusty scraps of metal twisted into big, man-sized shapes. 


You know how the music swells when the movie ends? 
That was happening as we all disembarked as the ship 
touched down on the night moon, all of the characters on 
the screen looking just ecstatic with joy. As | said, 
disconcerting when you see something like that on your 
own face. The movie was fading out now, but rather than 
the "The End" placard appearing like it does, some other 
text appeared, this time in Russian. "BMecTo Toro, YTOObI 
BepHyTbcA Aomon,” which we think was intended to be 
something like "come home instead." Why it started in 
English and finished in Russian, | have no idea. Maybe 
some smart-ass commentary on the Cold War. Which 
would be a point of hope in dealing with this thing. 
Fallibility. 


| have my suspicions as to why this doesn't show up in 
the main file. That doesn't matter, though. You need 
context for any future attempts at communication from 
001. Now you have it. 


Watch yourself. 


ai 


Standard Dream Report 66-Y 990.1 


Document 990-03: 

Dr. reported a manifestation of SCP-990 during a dream 
occurring seventeen hours ago. Per emergency orders distributed to 
all personnel regarding possible data on SCP-001, Dr. filed 
the following report and forwarded it on to the Director of Site-17. 
The report was subsequently transmitted to Overwatch Command. 


FORM 66-Y - STANDARD DREAM REPORT 
Personnel: Dr. 

Estimated Degree of Recall: 60% 
Anomalous Entity Present?: Y 

Likelihood of Actionable Intelligence: HIGH 


Description: SCP-990 is dressed in the same suit, 
looking the same as ever. | recognize him immediately. 
He's the clearest element in any dream he visits. His 
face changes a lot from dream to dream, but this time it's 
changing from one moment to the next. | attribute it to 
the high stress of the past couple days. 


He tells me he's going to show me some things. | feel 
apprehension, and | wonder what burnt out ruin he's 
going to show me, because that has to be what this is 
about, right? Our time has come and this is going to be 
what awaits us. | try to wake up, but | can't do it. And it 
feels like I'm sitting at the bottom of a pool, and | can't 
will myself to go to the surface. | don't think I've felt panic 
like that in a dream before. 


990 shakes his head. | can't tell if it's him keeping me 
here or if it's the dream itself. We've never been able to 


figure out what kind of control he has. He says, I'm going 
to guide you, . But | need something of you first. And 
he points at my left hand. 


It's a dream, right? Even with all of the things we've 
encountered in this field, I've never seen anyone harmed 
in that way. | hold out my hand. 990 nods at me, and he 
takes something out of his coat. It looks like a blade of 
some kind, it's got a sharp edge at least. Not a knife. 
More like something from a lawn mower, or some piece 
of industrial machinery. Before | have time to ask what's 
going on, he's brought the blade down through my wrist, 
lightning fast. | look at my hand, terrified, and I'm sure 
that it's going to fall off, and blood is going to start 
spraying any second. 


But nothing happens. 


| stare in shock for a few seconds. The pain is real, but 
I'm afraid to move my arm because my hand is going to 
fall off if | do. 990 looks sympathetic, and he tells me that 
| can move my hand, it's fine. Then he says that we're 
out of reach of 001 now, and we can talk. 


| wiggle my fingers, and they work like they should, but 
my hand is numb. The feeling is disconcerting. Yet the 
sensation of panic from earlier is gone. Things feel more 
like normal now. Except for my hand. 


He looks at me. He's got my face now. | get the 
impression that |am someone else now. Feels like a 
woman, but I'm not certain. Identity shifts a little as we 
talk. He tells me that he can give me three revelations 
before 001 finds him again. 


Suddenly we're sitting outside, in the night air, under the 
stars. There are nine moons in the sky. Varying sizes 
and phases. I'm in a child's body. He's still me. 


He speaks. Holding up one finger. You are not in your 
proper place, he says. | ask him what that means. Me, 


Addendum: SCP-524 was discovered during a major blackout in 
August of 20 . It had disrupted a large power plant by chewing 
through several reactors and was discovered nibbling on a large 
wire. 


« SCP-523 | SCP-524 | SCP-525 » 


personally? The Foundation? Mankind? He ignores me. 


He raises a second finger. O5-2 is absolutely correct, 
and she is disastrously wrong. The reference to specific 
Foundation personnel is unnerving. | start to speak, but | 
can tell he's not going to listen. 


The third finger, the third revelation. He leans in close to 
me. This is the trickiest one, he tells me. He asks me to 
commit this one to memory above all others, and so | 
have for this report. This is the last thing he said to me 
before | woke up. 


The primary mover behind what you know as SCP-001, 
above all other things, is love. 


That was when | awoke at my work station. 


After Action Report 2272" 


On 7 November 2016, 0430 Eastern Daylight Time, 
operatives with Local Mobile Task Force 352-Dalet 
received reports from Major League Baseball wire 
services that RHP Ellis Canastota had been assigned to 
the 40 man roster of the Cincinnati Reds franchise. This 
event triggered heightened alert notices to be sent to all 
staff assigned to SCP-2272. At 0445 Eastern Daylight 
Time, a second notice was sent through official MLB 
channels that Ellis Canastota had been called up to join 
the 25 man major league roster of the Cincinnati Reds. 
All available personnel, including the entirety of LMTF 
352-Dalet, were then mobilized. 


He lay on his side and continued staring at the bright green digits of 
the alarm clock on the side table. Every few seconds, at irregular 
intervals, his work phone would buzz, the flood of emails vibrating 
the half-empty water glass and moving the phone slightly closer to 
the edge of the table each time. They had sent him home to sleep, 
and that's what he was going to pretend to do for the next couple of 
hours, by God. 


The clock blinked suddenly to 4:29 AM. Bzzt bzzt. The phone 
continued its shuffle to the edge of the table. They probably thought 
they were doing everyone a favor when they sent the declassified 
info around. Like they were letting everyone in on a big secret. Who 
wouldn't enjoy that? Bzzt bzzt bzzt. He certainly hadn't. No one had 
said anything about mass distribution of cyanide ampules that he 
had ever heard. There weren't any rumors. He had been blissfully 
unaware. Before last week, his biggest headache had been the 
nonstop political advertisements on the car radio. Those were the 
days. 


The clock blinked to 4:30 AM. His phone started a lower, repeated, 
much more insistent buzzing now. The additional force of the 


vibrations carried the phone right off the edge, finally completing its 
journey to the floor with a thud. The buzzing of the waiting phone 
call persisted, muffled now by the carpet. He leaned down and 
groped for the phone, dreading what he knew he would see. He 
picked it up, the light from the screen hurting his eyes as he looked 
at it. 


"Calling: Regional Director Kate McTiriss." 


He shielded his eyes from the light of the phone, trying in vain to dull 
the throbbing in his head. 


"Allred-Smith here." 


The Director's voice chirped in his ear. He sat all the way up on his 
bed. So much for pretending to sleep. 


"They're going to call up Canastota? Huh. Well, figured we were due 
to catch a prime by this point. Okay, what're your orders?" 


The voice on the other end of the line provided a laundry list of 
instructions and available personnel. If the Director was more 
worried than normal, she didn't show it. Some things were the same, 
he guessed. 


"Got it. I'll go ping the clandestine IT guys to scrub all this. Is the 
office open yet?" 


He tried smoothing a deep crease in his shirt with the palm of his 
hand. The crease paid him no mind. Nor did his hair as he tried to 
smooth it back down with his fingers. Whatever. Let someone 
complain about him looking like he'd slept on a park bench and 
come into work. He could use some comic relief. 


"Because | need something out of there. Just in case."