"You never see ‘it’ happening because my organization contains it. 
‘It’ being anything anomalous. Things regular government and law 
enforcement don't know how to handle. One such anomaly is here, 
in our ocean, with our largest research facility situated a few 
hundred kilometers offshore." He points out the balcony at the 
smooth, moonlit surface of the Atlantic. "And that one is flaring up. 
Badly. We need more personnel to staff that site, and if necessary, 
explore the anomalous structure under-" 


You throw your hands down, splattering water. "Okay, and why are 
you telling me this? Are you going to have to kill me afterward, or 
something? | don't know why you people won't listen when | tell you 
that | don't want to know. |'m done with government work. And you 
say you're not government, okay, fine, but you act like government, 
with all this sneaking around and hiding phone numbers and not 
speaking over the phone, and I'm ready to leave that part of my life 
behind." 


"| understand. What you need to understand is that ‘that part of your 


life’ is not ready to leave you behind, so to speak. Due to your 
history with the FBI, you have been selected for mandatory service. 
At least temporarily." 


You freeze and slowly move around the kitchen, trying to keep your 
panic under control. You just saw two figures flit past your porch 
window. You wince and look for your phone. It's still in your pocket. 
You breathe a sigh of relief and take a microwave meal out of the 
fridge. 


"Okay, well, I'm not going to be okay with that. So go have a nice 
night and I'll take you to court about it, | guess." 


"We do not function that way, I'm afraid." 


You swallow. "What do expect me to do, then?" you ask, slitting the 
overwrap on the meal with shaking fingers. 


"We expect you to come with us." 
"...Right now?" 


"Eat your dinner and pack your things and leave within the next 
hour, yes." 


You feel a little anger rise over your nervousness, slamming the 
microwave shut. "Look, Agent... Rogers, right? You seem like a nice 
guy. You're nonthreatening, you're well-spoken, you're just doing 
your job, | get it. | was you once, just without, uh, all of... whatever 
that is that you guys do. And that's where I'm not you, you know? I'm 
not your type. | don't think I'd function well around 'anomalous' 
things. | barely functioned around real human criminals. This work 
isn't for me, man, and | just want to enjoy this new apartment and 
my new life." 


"Like | said, this can be temporary. And the organization will pay 
your rent while you're gone. Plus some, obviously." 


"| don't want to go. I'm not going." 


He raises an eyebrow. "Look, I'm really trying here. You have the 
background to know how these things work. Are you absolutely 


certain that you want your official response to be refusal?" 


"Okay, you know, you're making me so nervous. Please get out of 
my apartment." 


"I'm not going to leave, but I'm also not going to hurt you. If you 
would just let us talk about this a few minutes more, | really think 
you'd be pleasantly surprised with the opportunity." 


"I'm sure it's great, really. And | do mean that. | get that there are 
people who are good at this sort of thing. But it's not for me." 


"The Foundation disagrees on that. Your history shows-" 


"And does your Foundation know me better than | do?" You start 
moving toward the door to lock it. You do so slowly, not breaking 
eye contact with Rogers. He doesn't do anything in response. You 
shuffle back over to the microwave and take out your food. 


"No, | do not think we know you better than you do. But we do know 
what your previous government employers have told us about you, 
and you are a perfect candidate for this assignment." 


"Or so your superiors have told you. How do | know — how do you, 
the agent the higher-ups send to do dirty work, know that that's the 
truth? Like | said, | was you once. You're not always operating for 
the purposes they tell you that you are." 


Rogers sighs. "| have not seen any reason to doubt that the 
Foundation's motives for contacting you are truthful." 


"Right. You haven't seen any. I'm not going with you. I'm really, 
really not. You can leave now." 


A pained expression crosses Rogers' face. "I'm not going to leave. 
This can be done the easy way." 


A lump rises in your throat. The microwave meal suddenly seems 
inedible. You seat yourself next to the agent at the counter and eat 
slow, methodical bites. The two of you sit in silence for a few 
minutes. 


"...Are you going to comply?" 


You cough and sputter on a bite of meat and reach for your glass of 
water. "I'm actually kind of panicking right now,” you say quietly, 
looking to the side. 


"| understand." 


"Please just help me understand, then. Why does my history with 
the FBI give some agency I've never heard of the power to demand 
that | work for them? What happens if | refuse?” 


"If you refuse, which you have been, | will continue to explain-" 


"No, | mean how is this going to happen? I'm saying no. What's your 
response?" Your pulse is pounding in your head. 


"Our response is that this will be easier for you if you don't resist." 


"Hooooly fuck, okay. Okay, | can't believe this is happening right 
now." You put your head in your hands, grasping your hair with 
sweaty fingers. You shoot a glance at Rogers. He looks somewhat 
sympathetic, which somehow makes the situation even more 
unsettling. 


"So, again, if you want to eat, shower, change clothes, that's fine. 
But I'm expected to return to the facility with you sometime tonight." 


You look from the balcony to your food to Rogers' holstered pistol 
and back again. "...Okay. Well, uh, this killed my appetite, so | 
guess I'll... go get in the shower? Is that okay?" 


"You'll come willingly, then?" 


"Um... no? | mean, | would not call this willing. You're just making it 
pretty clear that it's not really an option, so I'm kind of still processing 
this." 


"Alright. Go ahead and take a shower, then. | don't recommend 
changing into anything too nice, because we'll give you new clothing 
when we get to the Site." 


"Okay." You duck into the bathroom and brace your head against 
the wall. "Uh, feel free to get a drink or snack or something if you 
need. | guess." You don't know how to be polite in a situation like 
this, or if it even applies. 


You walk into your closet and take out a plain black T-shirt and 
pants. 


You'll take a shower to get the grime off, leave the water running, 
and then climb off your bedroom balcony. That's what you'll do. It'll 
be a 30-second sprint to the bar, where you can tell the bartender 
what happened, they'll call the cops, and you'll be back in the real 
world. That's all it takes. In 15 minutes this will already just be a 
crazy story. You just have to get there. 


You turn on the water and wash yourself in a four-minute blitz. When 
you're out and dressed, you leave the water running against the side 
of the tub, turn the bathroom vent on for extra noise, and begin 
sneaking through your closet and into your bedroom. There's one 
part where the hallway is visible from the open bedroom door, and 
you wince as Rogers almost looks at you, but he misses you by a 
split-second. 


The fresh air hits your open mouth and eyes in a salty blast. You try 
to get your bearings as you put your hands on the weathered wood 
railing. It's only 15 feet down. What's one uncomfortable fall into 
some bushes in exchange for avoiding kidnapping? You brace 
yourself to jump over, taking one final look toward the lights of the 
bar on the other side of the wall of thick foliage by the parking lot. 


You're glad you notice them before they notice you. Two people 
dressed in all black just like Rogers, standing on the sidewalk by 
your car. Fuck. lf there are still two of them on the porch, that means 
these people sent five agents to come get you. Maybe it actually is 
important. 


Think, think, think. 


Maybe it's the action of Rogers standing up and walking toward you 
that does it, or maybe it's just the panic all spilling over at once, but 
something compels you to swing over the railing anyway. You crash 


into the bushes and take far too long to roll out of them; by the time 
you're on your feet, you can hear the two agents that had been 
standing outside running a few meters behind you. You make a 
beeline for the bar, unsure of what's going to happen once people 
see you, but desperate to reach that point anyway. 


You're sprinting down the sidewalk, relieved by the glow of the bright 
streetlights, when one of the men tackles you from the bushes and 
puts you in a choke hold. You scream into his palm as he clamps it 
over your mouth. "You are going to walk back to your apartment with 
us calmly and slowly when | let you go,” he mutters, "or | will inject 
you with a sedative more powerful than horse tranquilizer and you 
will be unconscious for twelve hours. Is that clear?" 


You nod against his hand, tears flooding your eyes. He lets go of 
you and you stumble out of the other side of the underbrush and into 
your apartment parking lot. The two men follow a few meters behind 
you as you walk up to your porch. You left your door locked. You 
curse under your breath and knock. Rogers opens it with a less 
sarcastic expression than you expected. 


"Now that we've made it clear that this is non-negotiable, | will ask 
again: Are you going to comply?" 


"Fuck. Fine. Yes. Whatever answer you wanna write in your fucking 
paperwork,” you mumble, wiping your eyes and nose. 


"Noted." 


You sniff and stumble into your bedroom to pack whatever they'll let 
you take, and as slowly as possible. You turn the water off in the 
bathroom and take out your phone. No service. Go figure. 


June 5 
Date: June 520 14:45 


From: Mallory Wickerford (of.pcs.ces| 
drofrekciwm#of.pcs.ces|drofrekciwm) 


To: Eric Radford (of.pcs.nimda| 
drofdare#of.pcs.nimda|drofdare) 


Message Subject: Re: Request Approval 
Attachments: dclasstrainingregimen.pdf 
Message Body: 
Good afternoon, 


Thank you for your assistance in acquiring 
subjects for the planned series of manned 
excursions into SCP-3069. As you are aware, 
3069 is large beyond comprehension and we 
estimate that unmanned excursions will 
continue to yield inconclusive results; we are 
already in Stage II of containment procedures, 
with an Innova-Exonera Event imminent, and 
we simply do not have the time or resources to 
approach this with anything other than raw 
human numbers. The explorations will be long- 
term, lasting months, and personnel will be 
exposed to environments and influences that 
could be lethal or worse on the regular. 
Obviously you gather why we could not use 
Foundation employees for this, and Site-42's 
supply of D-class personnel was going to be 
far too few. Thus, I'm thankful that the Ethics 
Committee approved the Civilian Use Protocol 
request; I'm told that approximately 250 of the 
500 individuals selected from the surrounding 
coastal area are from government and law 
enforcement fields, which should lead to 
significantly less infighting among personnel 
than the typical behavior for D-classes. 
Beyond that, I'm told that full amnesticization 
of the subjects was also approved, which will 
make everything so much simpler moving 
forward. 


I'm hopeful that these excursions will reveal 
key information about the internal mechanics 
of SCP-3069, and potentially even reveal a 


way to prevent the incoming Innova-Exonera 
Event(s). Our research director admits that 
while she has never conducted explorations 
with this high a number of personnel, she feels 
confident that efforts — and lives — will not be 
wasted. Too much is at stake when it comes to 
3069; | can only hope that these efforts will be 
enough. 


With respect, 


Mallory Wickerford 
Site Security Director of Site-3069 


"What is the date?" 

"June 5th." 

"What is your designation?" 
"D-104-E." 

"To what facility are you assigned?" 
"Sites 3069 and 42." 


"Okay, thank you. You may proceed to the deck. We'll be leaving 
port in about an hour." 


You nod silently. 704-E. 3069. 42. June 5th. Numbers are all that 
can occupy your head. Numbers and data. You're smart enough to 
know there used to be different things in your head, but attempting 
to articulate what they were gives you a throbbing headache, and 
you prefer to focus on the numbers. 


"104 of 500 cleared," the interviewer says into her microphone. You 
shudder and zip up your jumpsuit against the harsh winds as you 
walk out across the deck of the aircraft carrier and toward the 
endless Atlantic horizon, a sour chemical taste on your tongue. 


Glass x Diogenes 4 Life! <3 


Disclaimer: This tale uses the word "fuck", and not as a curse word, 
as meaning what it means in the dictionary. 


The doctor gazed into the looking glass. In the looking glass was the 
looking Glass, reflected by their own glassy look into Glass's looking 
glass. Looking, Glass made their looking glass show Glass's ass, 
the looking glass showing a crooked ass as Glass crooked to move 
Glass's ass's crack away from the glass's crack that made Glass 
look aghast. 


"How's the ass?" asked Glass, unsure whether that Glassy pass 
would pass as ass. 


"Eh," said Diogenes. "I've seen worse." 


The two of them were doctors, and not the "let me write you a 
prescription" kind of doctor, or the "invented a soft drink" kind of 
doctor, or the MFA kind of doctor, although Diogenes might have 
liked art. Glass probably didn't. But there was one masterpiece that 
they both enjoyed equally, and it was found in Diogenes's bedroom. 
It was the poshy French poster for some movie or a street or 
something that hung above Diogenes's bed as they fucked each 
other until the air was unhealthily thick with fuck-smells. 


They were not the most prominent faces amongst the senior staff, 
not to everyone else. If you asked someone about them, they might 
not be able to describe their appearances, or their personality 
quirks, or what genders they are, even if that person was writing a 
story about them. But those things don't matter when you're in love. 
Which they were, with the idea of frequent animalistic sex between 
shifts. 


They had toys, only to be used with each other, or maybe with 
themselves if the other wasn't around, but with the agreement that 
they'd think about each other or maybe role-play like the toy was the 


835 After Action Report, Uncensored 


NOTICE FROM THE FOUNDATION RECORDS AND 
INFORMATION SECURITY ADMINISTRATION 


This document requires Level 4 Clearance and authorization for 
Need-to-Know under CODE TRITON VICTOR BLUE. If you do 
not possess the necessary security clearances, please close this 
document immediately and report the security breach to the 
Records and Information Security Administration. 


Thank you. 


— Maria Jones, Director, RAISA 


Addendum 835-01: First Draft of After Action Report by Mobile 
Task Force Zeta-Niner: Circumstances of Retrieval 


On -- at :: hours, Mobile Task Force Zeta-Niner (Mole 
Rats) conducted an investigation of SCP-835. At this time, SCP-835 
had a mass of only four tons, and only one large polyp at the north 
end of the structure (designated Polyp Alpha), Polyp Bravo not yet 
being in existence. 


As per standard procedure, four team members were chosen for the 
initial investigation. Standard isolation suits (underwater variant) 
were worn by all four team members: Lieutenant C took point 
as team leader, while Sergeants L andM _ served as support. 
CorporalH ,arookie team member, accompanied the team as an 
observer. A standard Underwater Remote Vehicle, or URV, was 
used for initial investigation.