"That goddamn toaster is not a meme! It's a goddamn toaster!" Sorts 
snatched the containment papers from Schaffer's hands and read 
through them with a scowl. "We have no cultural references to that 
goddamn toaster. People who never heard about that goddamn 
toaster refer to... to it as if it was themselves. Memetics has 
absolutely no application here. Maybe I'm the normal one and you 
are all just goddamn idiots." 


"| notice that you have great difficulty referring to me. When you do, 
you only do so to damn me... to speak of me derisively. Do you 
suppose that it is your intense dislike of me that allows you to avoid 
my effect?" 


"| didn't say that goddamn toaster had no effect on me. Sure, it's 
hard for me - that's me, as in Johannes, | can use that word properly 
- to talk about that goddamn toaster any way | want. Clearly the 
mere concept of that goddamn toaster has the property of defining 
itself in the psyche of the individual who thinks of it. It's a glitch in 
logic. Where you can only refer to that goddamn toaster as yourself, 
| choose to refer to it as th—" 


"Yes, | get the picture, Doctor Sorts. Are you aware of my secondary 
properties?" 


"| don't care about your goddamn properties! Secondary, tertiary or 
otherwise!" Sorts flipped through the attached test logs. "You're 


doing a piss poor job of containing that goddamn toaster though, | 
tell you what. | could keep this goddamn thing in a box under my 
desk and do a better job. | sure wouldn't start thinking of myself as a 
goddamn toaster. I'm not replacing my concept of self with it." 


Schaffer hadn't thought much of the pudgy doctor before he started 
ranting, and he had to fight to keep his voice level when he replied. 
"Doctor, please calm down, you're becoming very agitated. This 
presents a unique opportunity for us to work together, to do some 
tests regarding our interactions and your ability to to avoid my 
effect." 


"| don't want to work with a goddamn toaster!" Sorts hung the 
clipboard back up on the door and reached for the handle. 


Schaffer put a hand on the Doctor's arm. "| meant me. | want you to 
work with me." 


Sorts whirled upon the agent with a furious grunt, shoving the larger 
man square in the chest with all his might. "That goddamn toaster 
should just stay locked up! I'm clearly not immune to the influence of 
that goddamn toaster. | don't want to have anything to do with ... 
with that goddamn..." 


Schaffer stumbled backwards for a moment but regained control of 
the situation as his training took over. He redirected the smaller 
man's momentum and whirled the doctor face first into one of the 
closet's bare walls with a metallic clack. "That's quite enough, Doctor 
Sorts. You don't really have a choice in the matter." The agent 
leaned in and growled with a sharp twist of the doctor's arm, "Do you 
really want to do this?" 


Sorts rolled his eyes back up at Schaffer over his shoulder. "Alright, 
alright." His words were slurred by the way his lips were rammed 
against the dirty wall. "I'm sorry. | get the picture." 


"Okay. I'm going to let you go now and you're going to deal with me 
like a rational adult." Schaffer released the doctor and took a step 
back, running his hands down the front of his black uniform. 
Something tickled the back of his mind, perhaps it was the way 
Sorts' eyes cleared of panic too quickly, or perhaps it was the 


absence of a familiar weight at his hip. 


Sorts whirled around, revealing the pistol he had yanked out of the 
agent's belt on his short trip to kiss the wall. Schaffer stepped 
forward and put out his hands but the doctor slid away, keeping 
himself out of reach. Sorts held the pistol low, aiming at the agent's 
unprotected groin and legs. 


"Doctor Sorts, that is my sidearm." 


"Listen to you! It can't have a sidearm. /t's a goddamn toaster!" 
Beads of sweat were thick on the doctor's brow. "You're talking 
crazy because you can't tell the difference between you and a stupid 
inanimate object. That goddamn toaster needs to stay in here and it 
would be better if everyone forgot about it." 


"If you do not stand down and return my sidearm immediately-" 


The toaster hit the ground after two shots, and the doctor kicked it 
into the corner of the closet for good measure. After using Schaffer's 
key card to lock the door to the goddamn toaster's containment 
chamber behind him, Sorts dropped the pistol into the pocket of his 
coat and wiped his brow. 


Taking a deep breath, he strode out of the empty storehouse, past 
the ever-present security cameras, and returned to his office to file a 
report on the incident. 


That'll Do Pig. That'll Do. 


Doctor Foster fiddled with his name tag. He'd always hated that 
picture. He paused for just for a moment to look down and frown at 
himself before he kept walking down the hall. Site-88 was coming up 
on rotation to retake their photos in December. Just in time for the 
Christmas party. 


He hated the Christmas party. Secret Santa always resulted in hard 
feelings. You'd think a clandestine organization would do a better 
job of protecting anonymity. Priorities, he thought. 


He stopped again. This was the right room. He'd read the skip 
description and he'd kept a straight face through all of it. He could 
be professional. But a talking pig? And a criminal kingpin that went 
by the name "Boss Hog"? This was going to stretch his capacity to 
the limit. 


He opened the door and the pig was already in the other room. A 
glass partition separated the two of them, and Foster walked over to 
his seat and sat down. SCP-4613 had already taken notice of him, 
and walked over to the microphone. 


"Aww hell. Who the fuck are you?" it said. Somehow. Foster wrote a 
note that its speech didn't align with its lips when it spoke. 


"Hello SCP-4613. I'm Doctor Foster." Foster knew that looking at the 
pig was going make it harder to keep a straight face, so he kept his 
nose down and took more notes. 


"Well ain't you a proper gentlemen. You oughta know right now | 
ain't sly." The pig stayed near the microphone, and sat down as well. 


"Uh. That's perfectly alright. I'm just here to interview you." 


"Oh for gods sake," The pig took a moment and raised it's snout into 
the air, but not towards Foster "Sorry. | guess | can chew the fat for 


a bit if you can forgive me losing my religion. My back hurts 
something fierce and | already talked to one of them other doctors 
for a bit,” 


"That's fine. | can't help but notice that you appear as a pig." Foster 
shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Can you tell me why that is?" 


"Whooooo. You ain't got the time for that story. I'm a... what you call 
it... collective unconsciousness of pigs." The pig finally took a 
moment to look in Foster's direction, "At first I's floating, growing in 
power while y'all killed my kind by the millions, and this one porker 
just happened to be in the right place at the right time." 


"So then, is your eventual goal is to stop the suffering of pigs in the 
world?" Foster leaned slightly forward. 


"How the hell you figure that?" The pig let out what sounded like a 
completely human laugh before continuing. "The longer and more 
them pigs suffer the more powerful | get.” 


Foster leaned back again, checked a box on his clipboard and 
asked another question, "Have you been in contact with any other 
entities like yourself?" 


"No. But | know they're out there. There's probably some Planet of 
the Apes monkey shit going on right now." 


"And can you explain why you decided to become a criminal? It 
seems like it would bring an unnecessary amount of scrutiny on 
you." As he finished the question he heard a snort. This one 
sounded more animalistic. And derisive. 


"Y'all ever try to get a job when you're a pig? My old owner was just 
fine with having a talking pig and he wasn't exactly dumb hisself. 
So's | come up with the plan to go into business. I'd tell him what to 
do and he'd act like it's all his idea." 


The pig had barely finished his sentence when a low rumbling in the 
distance began to build. Foster had just enough time to put his 
clipboard over his head before the left wall crashed down, and the 
lights flickered twice before going out. The dust from the wall began 


to fill his nostrils, and he leaned forward to cough. 


Foster waited for the emergency lights but after a few seconds he 
realized they weren't coming on. Whatever knocked down that wall 
must've damaged the whole system. He could hear the emergency 
PA system alert faintly in the distance, "Containment Breach in 
Sector Seven. Please find your designated safe zones," 


That would be a lot easier if the fucking lights would come on. He 
reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. No signal, but 
a little light. He shined it in front of him and saw that the glass 
partition was broken. At that moment he heard the pig's voice 
behind him. 


"Well. | guess that's all folks.” 


« The North Pole | Rammer Jammer Yellow Hammer Hub | 
Lending a Hand » 


That Ocean Scent 


| laid down on my comfortable mattress with an incurable headache 
and a need for sleep. Yes, | may have slept for seventeen hours, but 
that doesn't matter. | still have a need for sleep. 


I'm tired. 


| got these drugs from the local pharmacy. | didn't want to go to the 
doctor, so | just went on WebMD. | decided | needed some 
antidepressants or a boost of vitamins. It would make me feel better. 
Almost anything would make me feel better. 


| looked over at the nightstand. On top of it laid my lamp which I've 
owned for three years now. It broke a couple weeks ago, and so it 
didn't display any source of light. But that's okay. I'm used to the 
darkness, anyway. 


Beneath the lamp were the tablets. They came in an aesthetically 
pleasing casing, labeled Bahamas. 


| hesitated but then | sat up, moving my legs to dangle off of the side 
of the bed so | could face my nightstand. | took the pack in my 
hands, opening the packaging delicately. 


There were twelve in plastic packaging. The light hurt my eyes a 
little bit. | guess it had been a while since | went outside. | wasn't 
used to it. 


| opened the packaging and held one of the capsules in my hand, 
examining it. It was beautiful. And number one went in. 


| woke up on the second day feeling energetic. | looked to the alarm 
clock: 5:43 A.M., it read in a digital font. | went to open the blinds 
and realized that there wasn't any light outside. It was alright, 
though! | was sure to gain some sunlight today. 


| went over to my laptop, opening up Google and typing in plane 
tickets to the Bahamas. 


A vacation is what | needed, right? It would make me feel better. 
Plus, I'd never been. New experiences are always good. 


| ended up seeing an absolute steal of a deal regarding plane 
tickets, so | clicked it without hesitation. 


| got up from my office desk, walking downstairs. The walls were so 
bland. They could use some decorating rather than being painted 
this dull gray. | needed something to make my abode more 
appealing in a visual sense. 


| poured myself some cereal. | decided | wanted it dry today, and | 
could simply go with a side of Ou. 


| hopped in the shower after that and got ready for today. It was the 
start of my paid vacation, so | was going to make it count! 


| watched Saturday morning cartoons until it was about eight, and 
then | went outside to greet everyone. 


"Hello, Mr. Walker!" | shouted from the opposite side of the street. 


Mr. Walker looked over, a puzzled expression on his face. "Oh! 
Good morning, Mr. Jameson!" 


| started to walk over, noticing the beautiful way he had decorated 
his front yard garden. "I like the decorations," | said as | stepped 
onto his porch. He was sitting in a wonderfully constructed, green 
lawn chair, with another one which remained vacant next to him. 
"Mind if | take a seat?" 


"Why, of course! Make yourself at home out here." 
"Again, Mr. Walker, your decorations are absolutely amazing." 
"Thank you. | certainly took my time with them." 


"| can tell. It's stunning. | love the coloration." 


"Again, thank you." 


He invited me for dinner that day. | went, and it was wonderful! 
Delicious turkey with sides of anything you could ever imagine. It 
could be mistaken that they were preparing for Thanksgiving. 


But, | had to leave a bit early. Tomorrow was going to be a busy 
day. | needed to catch a plane in the morning. | thanked Mr. Walker 
and walked to my house. 


| packed my things and placed them all in a suitcase, as to which | 
left in my room. Once | was done, | laid down on my bed with a 
smile | couldn't get off. 


And number two went in. 


The plane ride was quite the experience. The flight attendants were 
so kind! | couldn't wait to get to my hotel. 


About four hours later, | arrived at the Sunny Skies Hotel, which was 
absolutely appraised by locals for being the best five-star hotel 
around. 


That ocean scent. |t was wonderful, and it filled the open air. My 
nostrils were wide open, able to comprehend and enjoy every 
particle of ocean breeze that gracefully entered and exited my lungs. 


| got to my hotel room. 555, the sign outside it read. Hah, not today, 
Devil! The sun's too kind for me to rent 666/ 


| unpacked my stuff and laid down on the comfortable bed. | thought 
| should order some room service, so | enjoyed an absolutely 
amazing yet standard meal of bacon and eggs. What a wonderful 
meal. 


Alas, after the meal, my stomach had started burning. Perhaps my 
stomach wasn't in the mood for the "Wakey Wakey, Eggs And Bac- 
y" special they had offered that today. It's alright, though. | was 
going to the beach soon, and | wouldn't get any burns there! 


Before | left, number three went in. 


| arrived at the beach with assistance from a Lyft driver who was 
quite the gentleman, if | did say so myself. | set up my beach chair 
and laid back, my sunglasses and hat on. A nice woman walked by 
and offered me a flower necklace. It would have been rude to 
refuse, so of course, | accepted! What a beautiful woman. She was 
nice, too. | hope she was as happy as | was. 


| was laying down, and | realized that | was really thirsty. Like, really 
thirsty. | got up and walked to a convenience stand and ordered a 
water. | chugged it down, but | was still thirsty. And God, it got hot. 
My stomach was still burning and | started to sweat profusely. | got 
back in the car and drove to the hotel, going to my room 555. It was 
so nice to be at home. 


| laid down, turning down the thermostat to a solid sixty. It was still 
so hot. 


Oh, God, it burned. My sides. My stomach. They both burned. | 
needed to lay down. 


And so | did. But, before | did, number four went in. 

And now I'm here, stuck in 555's bathroom, puking my brains out 
into the toilet bowl. It's too bright. And the light is off. What can | do? 
| can close my eyes. 

No, no. The darkness is scary. 


Pills! More pills, yes! | need more, seriously. The darkness is too 
much, and | can't handle going outside. 


| need more. 


And five goes in. 


What? 


It all stopped? 


SCP-951: When this game is over, I'll be dead. 
| don't know what happens after that but | do 
know that | die for sure. 


Dr. _: If you are aware that you are going to 
die, wouldn't it make more sense for you to 
keep me from winning? 


SCP-951: No way! That would make you sad, 
and | don't want that. Like | said, you're my 
friend, and I'm going to help you out however | 
can! 


Dr. : | see. | believe this concludes our 
interview for today, thank you SCP-951. 


SCP-951: You're welcome! Are we going to 
play now? 


Dr. :Notright now, SCP-951. 


SCP-951: Aww, okay. You promise we'll go to 
the Magma Caves later? 


Dr. _:...l promise.