"| WILL SHOOT ONE OF YOU EVERY MINUTE UNTIL | AM TOLD 
WHICH ONES OF YOU IS REND FIELD." The group parted like the 
Red Sea, leaving a smug looking young girl standing alone in the 
center. Dmitri's teeth shone as he growled at her. 


TWO HOURS LATER 
"SON OF THE BITCH, JACK. GOD DAMMIT." 


"Dmitri, you can't just shoot whoever is holding the monkey and 
expect to get it. That isn't a prank." Bright's wheelchair bumped into 
the back of Dmitri's leg as he manhandled it around. "And get out of 
the damn way." 


Dmitri jabbed a finger at Bright. "IT IS A PRANK. | HAVE DONE 
THIS PRANK SEVERAL TIMES BEFORE, IN BOTH WARS." 


"It's not a prank, Dmitri." 
"YES IT IS!" 


"Dmitri. It's over. You're out of the competition now, for good. Now if 
you'll excuse me, | have to go deal with Renfield in the 
infirmary....smug little bitch. You could have at least killed her." 


Strelnikov sighed heavily and returned to the quiet of his quarters, 
trying to reconcile himself to the fact that 050 would never be his. 


Agent Lament whistled quietly to himself, glancing down at his 
watch, nodding amiably to the nurse as she walked into Renfield's 
room carrying an IV bag of saline. Lament smirked slightly and 
started walking down the hallway, heading toward his extremely 
messy office and waiting outside the door. 


Renfield moaned in her sleep, the drugs having her knocked out 
completely. The nurse hooked up the IV bag, checked the prone 
woman's vitals, and left the room. Within three minutes Renfield's 
skin started to develop large, round hives, then her neck and throat 
started to swell as a severe allergic reaction set in, followed by her 
eyes shooting open as the stimulants hit her bloodstream. She tried 
to scream but couldn't, her throat beginning to close as she 
desperately hit the call button again and again and again... 


Lament opened his door, looking into his office and smiling slightly 
at the statue. Now... How the hell could he get rid of it before 
someone noticed that he had it? 


Few people had a true appreciation for just how ingrained 
computers were with every single aspect of modern society, and the 
Foundation was no exception. Despite all the hard copies, every 
report, every researcher's note, every field log and every file photo 
was logged into a computer database somewhere. Every personnel 
transfer, every requisition form, every security feed, all set up in little 
O's and 1's on a hard drive somewhere. When the transfer of Site 
19's backup set off some alarms, he knew it was time. Kap - aname 
adopted because he was sick of people mispronouncing his full 
name - was sitting and typing away deep in the bowels of the Site. 
The coders and hardware gurus had a whole, unique set of 
regulations and security clearances, and the amount of information 
you were exposed to above your classification level was directly 
proportional to your time on the job. The guys that ran the networks 
and made sure the workstations functioned knew more than most of 
the researchers, though maybe not as much as that one janitor. 


Once he realized that a mixed batch of saline and known allergens 
could only be used for the ever-escalating prank contests, a few key 
strokes were all it took to set retaliation in motion. A series of 
embedded programs ticked off other protocols which activated 
further batch processes. The sheer array of false IPs and bogus 
addresses would take the average user months to back-trace, and 
any of the other computer staff were already well-bribed with beer, 
pizza, and the promise of a neat and orderly work area. Lament 


identification method. 


SCP-936 is monoecious, and during flowering, specimens can be 
recognised by an unusually high male to female flower ratio - there 
are only several dozen female flowers, usually growing directly on 
older wood. Out of those, on average, less than six continue 
development, and it is rare for more than a single fruit to reach 
maturity. 


The resulting fruit, classified SCP-936-1 is covered in a green 
cupule, and rapidly grows towards its ripe mass of app. 85 kg; 
SCP-936's foliage grows denser in order to cover for the energetic 
expenditure. Dissection has revealed the inside of SCP-936-1 
contains a length of stem wrapping around a structure closely 
resembling a human body, designated SCP-936-2. Tissue samples 
obtained from SCP-936-1 physiologically resemble human tissue, 
possessing functionality in most aspects', with the exception of ‘ 

and which contain a mass of brown-black seeds 
approximately 3cm in diameter. 


As SCP-936-1 reaches maturity, the stem thickens considerably and 
the cupule wilts, eventually breaking, and causing SCP-936-2 to 
descend, hanging from the stem which in most cases wraps around 
its cervical region. 


The appearance of SCP-936-2 produced by a single SCP-936 
varies in size, visual appearance, and apparent gender with no 
discernible pattern. 


The seeds within SCP-936-2 have a thick skin, and take 
approximately sixteen months to germinate. However if exposed to 
an acidic environment (pH < 2), germination occurs within weeks. 


Recovery Log: SCP-936 was first discovered near , Finland, 
after reports of an unusually high reported suicide rate. Intelligence 
agent's report has revealed this to be due to the statistics 
including a number of nude hanging victims being periodically 
discovered on trees inthe nearby forest, and the local cemetery, 
their identity being impossible to determine. 


Suspecting a cognitohazard, a perimeter was established around 


opened the door to his office, seeing a single, solitary box laying 
there, carefully gift-wrapped and tied with a neat bow. It wasn't even 
close to his birthday, but there was no way any sort of bomb or other 
device could have made it that deep into a secure Foundation site, 
so he took it inside and opened it up. 


Kap was as surprised as anyone when the little monkey appeared 
on top of his computer tower, and sighed slightly at the poor devil 
who was going to have to treat Lament and clean up the hundreds 
of tiny insects from his office. After all, the present was bees. 


INCIDENT 2011- 


T-330 minutes 
Researcher Eisenberg seen carrying a set of mechanic 
tattooing equipment, origin unknown 


T-310 minutes 

Researcher Eisenberg seen entering the enclosure of 
SCP-1006, carrying a bucket, a stack of papers, and his 
personal copies of Assorted Writings of V.I. Lenin, and 
History of VKS(b). 


T-260 minutes. 
Researcher Eisenberg seen leaving the enclosure of 
SCP-1006, carrying a bucket. 


T-245 minutes 
Researcher Eisenberg enters SCP-786's secure room in 
Site-19 storage. 


T-0 

Junior System Administrator Kap seen entering medical 
wing, distraught, lacking vestments, and covered in 
spiderwebs. A 1:3 greyscale full body portrait of V.I.Lenin 
can be seen on his back, and a text later identified as the 
entire text of "State and Revolution” in 8 pt. font covering 
his chest, abdomen, and both thighs. 


T+20 minutes 


Desk of Researcher Eisenberg [REDACTED], markedly 
improving the filing order. 


Dr. Los E. R. checked the sign again. Eisenberg's office was room... 
321? No, wait, 312. He set off at a brisk pace down the hallway, 
hoping to get there before anyone else did. 


309, 310, 311... There we go, 312. Los E. R. gave a quick knock and 
pushed the door open without waiting for a reply. Researcher 
Eisenberg visibly balked at the sudden intrusion, his eyes darting to 
the statue on his desk before reaching for the top drawer. 


"Whoa whoa whoa! Calm down, I'm not going to do anything!" Los 
E. R. held his palms out. "See? Sorry, didn't think you'd be so 


jumpy." 


Eisenberg stopped, eyeing the doctor warily, but kept his hand 
resting on the top drawer. "What do you want?" 


"Word around the site is that you got 1006 to net Kap. Just wanted 
to say, that's brilliant! No one ever expects nets!" Los E. R. chuckled 
to himself. "Oh, don't worry about me. I'm not going to pull some 
horrendous prank. I'd probably end up in the hospital, I've never 
been really good at elaborate pranks." 


Eisenberg seemed to relax slightly at Los E. R.'s reassurance, but 
wasn't totally swayed. "No, it wasn't nets, exactly...| had them tattoo 
Lenin on him." 


Los E. R. burst out laughing, leaning on the desk for support. "You 
had them tattoo a portrait of Lenin?! That's genius! How does 
someone come up with something like that?! Oh man, I'd never pull 
something like that off, I'm no good with those elaborate pranks. Did 
you actually talk to those little commies yourself?" 


Eisenberg smiled and chuckled nervously. "Yeah, it wasn't too hard 
to get them to agree. | mean, it was Lenin after all. Talking toa 
bunch of spiders though...that was kinda creepy. They were all over 
the place." 


"| can tell. You've got a cobweb on your coat, here let me..." Los E. 
R. reached forward and scratched at Eisenbergs lapel. On instinct, 
he glanced down to catch a glimpse of the bit of silk wafting from his 
collar, only to get a flick on the nose. 


"Gotcha." 


Stunned, he watched as Los E. R. laughed one more time before he 
scooped SCP-050 from his desk and exited the room. As he 
disappeared around the door frame, Eisenberg heard him chuckle. 


"Never was any good with those elaborate pranks." 


"Hey, Los." 


Los E. R. felt a chill run down his spine at the voice. "Oh no," he 
whimpered. "Not HIM..." 


He turned around, clutching the monkey statue to his chest, as a 
breathtakingly ugly middle-aged man walked down the hall towards 
him. "Relax," Clef said. "| don't want that statue. I'm already senior 
staff, and | have no interest in Bright's games. You're safe from me." 


Los E. R. sighed in relief. "Oh, thank god," he said. "I really did not 
want to be subject to a prank by you." 


"Hey, don't worry about it. I'm beyond that sort of bullshit anyway. | 
always thought that stuff was kinda stupid. In fact, as a sign of my 
goodwill, I'll escort you back to your office." 


Los E. R. quickly followed Clef down the hallway. It was amazing, he 
thought, what the presence of that man could do. A researcher 
leaped out from around the corner holding a giant creme pie, which 
he rapidly put down and walked away from. A man wearing a 
hockey mask and holding a machete took off his costume and had a 
sheepish talk with the Senior Researcher. It was wonderful. 


"Well, here we are," Clef said. 


Los E. R. looked up at the door and frowned. "This isn't my office,” 
he said. 


"What? Oh, oops. Sorry. 571, not 517. Let's go." 


Clef led the junior staff member to the other side of the floor, and to 
his office. "Well, here we are... again," he said, a few minutes later. 


"Thanks a lot, Dr. Clef," Los E. R. said. "| really appreciate it." 


"No problem. Oh, Los? Remember when | said | had no interest in 
Bright's games?" Clef grinned, a huge, evil, sinister grin. "I lied." 


That was when the door of Los' office exploded outward, and five 
thousand gallons of compressed shaving cream flooded the hallway. 


Clef watched Los being carried away in the avalanche of white 
foam, and wiped a little spot off his jacket. "Go get em’, Adams," he 
murmured. 


Ed from Accounting (everyone thought of him as "Ed from 
Accounting" — including himself after 14 years at the job) hated the 
prank wars. A waste of staff time, the building maintenance budget, 
and the cost of injuries, if you asked him...which no one did. The 
usual threats — paperwork, budget cuts, audits — never seemed to 
work. More creative means were called for. 


Ed called Junior Researcher Johnson. "Is it ready? ... really? Good! 
Bring it around to my office." 


Fifteen minutes later, Johnson was in Ed's dingy, cluttered office, 
handing him a small brown bag. Ed looked in the bag and smiled. 
"How long will it stay that way?" 


"Weeks" Johnson replied. "at least, if no one touches it." 


Ed put the bag in his briefcase, along with a small stack of papers. 
12:20? Good. Adams would be off to lunch. He headed up to her 
office. 


Ed knocked on the door, then let himself in. Good, no one there. It 

was easy to swap the item on Adams' desk for the one in the bag. 

He slipped the Form 1661-G under the inner door for Dr. Clef. That 
would excuse his visit; the auditors really did need it next week. 


Back downstairs in his office, Ed opened a file cabinet and dropped 
SCP-050, still in its bag, next to the 2004 Operating Budget reports. 
It looked like someone's long-forgotten lunch. He didn't care the 
least bit about "winning" it — he just wanted it out of circulation. 


No one would guess that he had the wit to obtain it. 

No one would guess that he had pulled this particular prank, since 
he wasn't supposed to have any access to SCPs. 

No one ever came down to Accounting if they could help it. 
SCP-050 would be there for a long time. 


When they found the fake, they would blame Johnson, who had 
shown some real success in training SCP-157. 


Research Assistant Reject was having a nice, calm day, sipping his 
coffee and skimming through his newest batch of paperwork while 
strolling down the hallway to his office. He was called Reject for a 
very good reason: although he had been a member of the 
Foundation for ten years, he had been the same rank for over seven 
of them. He even called himself Reject. His bachelorhood had 
hopelessly dragged on much longer than he had ever hoped. He 
was used to being a reject. That was, until he spotted a man in a suit 
walking into Dr. Clef's office. 


Reject was never known as an especially observant person, but 
today was different. He had heard about some pranks going on, but 
he didn't really care about any of that. He was determined to work 
his way up the ladder without shaving cream or explosives, just with 
hard work and dedication. Until he saw a very happy man running 
out of Dr. Clef's office, his arms crossed upon his chest. Reject 
could see a brown paper bag bobbing slightly above and below the 
man's arms. His interest piqued, Reject decided to follow him. 


The man never turned around as he walked. Reject didn't have any 
trouble following him. Ten minutes later, Reject realized just how far 
they had walked. He turned his head. "Accounting —>" was written 
on a sign, pointing in the direction that he was going. After another 
couple of minutes, the man turned sharply into an office. Reject 
peeked into the room to see another man converse shortly with the 
man he had followed and take the bag. Reject ducked behind a 


corner as both men exited the office. 


Reject attempted to follow the man with the bag, but lost him in the 
maze of cubicles and offices in this unknown sector. Reject turned to 
leave, but decided not to let this go. This chance was his. He called 
up an old friend from Sector 28 with a favor to ask. His friend 
agreed, and in an hour, Reject knew that he would have the chance 
to become a Senior Staff member. He went to his office and placed 
an empty coffee mug alongside a mostly unread folder of 
paperwork. 


One hour later, Reject met his friend in the cafeteria. Reject's friend 
handed him a bag with two words written on it. "DON'T LOSE." 
Reject smiled, and walked briskly down towards the accounting 
offices. Once there, he took the item out of the bag. Staring ata 
sentient calculator was a new experience for him. After befriending 
SCP-168, he asked his new buddy a favor. The calculator agreed in 
return for the ability to see the rest of the prank war. Reject dropped 
SCP-168 in the office he had seen before as soon as the man 
inhabiting it left. Reject admired his handiwork. He took a seat ona 
nearby chair. When the man returned, he gave Reject a questioning 
glance, but dismissed it. After five minutes in his office, a scream 
was heard. When the man exited his office, his face was pale white. 
In his hand was SCP-168.