Blood drained from the O5's faces. Murmurs rose. Alistair was 
escorted out of the Council meeting room. After he was left alone in 
the corridor, he sat right on the floor, wiped the sweat from his brow 
and reached for his pill box for some validol. He managed to wriggle 
out of it this time, so he had several months of quiet life ahead - 
unless Clef finds out who slandered him, that is. It's better that way, 
anyway. Dr. Alistair could not have told them that he did not conduct 
any tests of 447-2 on dead bodies. He couldn't have done it, and 
laughed his colleagues' questions off. Hence all this zombie shit, 
because he never said anything specific. 


Alistair did not conduct any 447-2 tests on dead bodies because he 
was mortally afraid of them. 


The Truth Ils Out There 


Gilbert Buchs had a little game that he played in his free time lately: 
he sat in front of his computer, played one of his old New World 
Order Exposed videos, opened a bottle of bourbon, and then took a 
shot whenever he was right. Gilbert watched Video Gilbert stand in 
front of a dry-erase board. He had drawn a rectangle on it; it looked 
like someone had chewed off one corner. Suspenseful stock music 
played in the background. 


"Something... is happening... in Kansas." Video Gilbert drew a circle 
in one of the edges that hadn't been gnawed at. "Last week, | caught 
word that there was a man out west who was struck by lightning and 
survived. If you think that's strange, you haven't been watching me 
long enough. What really matters is what happened afterward. | got 
to interview him, and you're about to hear some of the audio | taped 
from the encounter." The screen faded into black with the caption 
"THIS HAPPENED RIGHT IN OUR BACKYARDS". 


"Okay... what can you tell me about the days between the accident 
and when they showed up?" 


An old man's voice responded. "Well, uh... nothin’, really. | just went 
along, building." 


"Describe the encounter, then." 


"| think | went to the door. | was in the middle of... | was holding a 
wrench. And | opened the door. Then | was sittin’ down, like | was 
about to watch TV, but | didn't have one. | think | had thrown it out, 
or hooked it up to somethin’, but everything | had been putting 
together was gone. Basement was clean." 


"You have memories missing." 


"All of it. | only Know about the lightning 'cause of my health 
insurance, and ‘cause of the lightning flower." 


"What's that?" 


"When you get struck, it can leave a mark on your skin that... oh, 
here, take a look." There was a pause and some rustling; the old 
man had turned around and lifted up his shirt. 


"...Yeah, | see it. It looks like a huge tree tattooed into your back." 


"It's faded now, but it was a lot worse back then. And | only 
remembered what to build because one of the bits was hid out back. 
| made one of them... electric eels, like, out of some computers the 
middle school threw out." 


Then there was a crashing noise. "Good golly— | gotta see what's 
goin’ on down there." Then there was some mumbling. and the old 
man said, "No, no, no. You ain't allowed down there. | think you 
better be—" The audio cut off and Gilbert showed up again. 


"Now, we can see two things are immediately apparent: one," he 
counted on his fingers, "the lightning strike caused some sort of 
change in him that can't be explained by science." 


Gulp. Gilbert downed a shot. 


"Two, he's being used to create some sort of machines, and 
someone is taking those machines for their own uses." 


Gulp. Close enough. 


"You know what | think. That lightning was more than just bad 
weather. It was a beacon. Someone was teaching him." 


Gulp. 


"Someone alien. And that memory blank was them coming to 
collect." 


Clink. He set the shot glass on his desk. 


"There's something among us, folks! Something that's using us for 
its own ends, then wiping our memories of the experience!" 


Gulp. 
"Something inhuman!" 
Clink. 


The rest was contact information; Gilbert cut it off. Then he looked at 
the bottle. Damn, he thought. / should have been better at this. 


Gilbert stopped over at the used book store the next day. Cathie had 
wanted him to meet her there, and he felt like picking up something 
to read. There was a wiry kid in front of him in line who could have 
been Gilbert ten years ago. The boy was looking for something in 
particular. 


"It's got a bright red cover with sort of a, | don't know the term... Art 
Nouveau? Pop Art? It's got a design on it, and the title is 'Star' 
something." 


"Sorry," the girl at the counter said. "| know what you're talking 
about, and I'm pretty sure we sold it yesterday." 


The boy went to check Self-Help, and Gilbert rang up just as Cathie 
walked in. Cathie was middle-aged, was God's warrior on the 
frontlines against the encroaching Satanic movement, and wore a 
kitten sweater. She handed Gilbert and the counter girl a Xeroxed 
flyer. 


DEMONIC DANGER TO 
CHILDREN 


The SATANIC CHILD PAIN FOUNDATION 
HAVE KIDNAPPED AN AMERICAN GIRL 
FOR THEIR SICK RITUALS & SHE 
HAS GROWN UP AS A DRUG- 
CONTROLLED SLAVE DRONE FOR 
THE EUROPEAN SCIENCE CULT!!! 


THEY CALL HER SCP-23-1-9 
(TWENTY-THREE IS 
AN ANCIENT BAVARIAN 
ILLUMINATI MAGIC NUMBER) 
AND THEY TEACH HER PERVERTED 
HARRY POTTER UNDERAGE 
MAGIC IN NEW YORK! 


IF YOU HAVE ANY CHRISTIAN LOVE, 
RESIST THE NEW WORLD ORDER 
666CIENTIFIC KIDNAPPING PROGRAM 
AND THEIR 
"KETER" HEBREW LIZARD MASTERS 


The pair sat down. Cathie set the stack of handouts on the table. 
"Gil, why did you want to see me?" 


"What? | thought you asked me to come here." 
"No." 

"Oh." 

"Well?" 

"| guess | just wondered what you've been up to." 


"Up to?" She tapped the flyers. "I don't think my feet have touched 
the ground all week." 


Gilbert leaned over to scratch his head. "It's all true, Cathie. All of it." 
"| don't know what you mean." 


"This. The truth isn't out there anymore. It's right here." Gilbert held 
up a copy of Newsweek. The cover photograph depicted a dark- 
skinned child holding up a crude but accurate drawing of the Pepsi 
logo. 


Virus Culture 


What are "memetic hazards", how are companies using 


them legally, and why has one convinced this boy that 
this is what faces look like? 


"Newsweek has the scoop on me. My job is pretty much over." 


"You're just giving up on fighting the conspiracy?" Cathie pointed at 
the flyer in Gilbert's hand. "I'm trying harder than ever." 


"What's there to fight? According to the Times, Two-Three-Nine is in 
US custody, and they've told her that whatever 'magic' they tried to 
teach her doesn't work. Two-Three-One was someone else, and the 
Guardian says that she was handed over to the GOC because she 
wasn't actually human, or isn't anymore, or something. | don't even 
know who that is in the photograph." 


Cathie cringed at the mention. "The Global Occult Coalition." Both 
"occult" and "global" sounded like profanity coming from her. 
"They're the evil army of the one-world government. Like the Peace 
Corps and FEMA combined. Times ten." 


"What? No, they aren't. That SCP thing is being cut up and served 
to governments like a... like a sheet cake, and the GOC is trying to 
keep this stuff out of their hands. They're doing the right thing here." 


"Gilbert, everyone thinks they know the truth now. But we know 
better. At least, | thought we did." 


A thought crossed Gilbert's mind: was she in denial? He stopped 
himself from saying it; instead, he tapped the stack of newspapers 
and magazines. "It all adds up. Proof positive. You don't have to rely 
on..." 


"Conspiracy theories?" 
Gilbert turned paler. "That's not what | meant." 


"Yes. It is." Cathie picked up her flyers. "| should go pick up the kids 
from soccer." 


"Still homeschooling?" Gilbert tried to change the subject, but Cathie 
wasn't having it. She stood up, went to leave, then turned around for 
a last thought. 


"What happened to you, Gilbert? You're reading mainstream media. 
You're just like them!" She waved an arm in no particular direction. 


"Or maybe they're just like me." 


That night, Gilbert sat down and read everything he could from all 
his old favorite sites. It was nothing he didn't know already. He 
wanted to get excited. He wanted to find something. But... it was all 
true. All of it. 


Gil opened YouTube and scrolled through his account playlist until 
he found it. "Forget Everything You Know — Bigfoot Is REAL". 


Gilbert was about to get wasted. 


The Undoing 


A TRAILER 


0:00-0:05: 
Darkness. Short, gasping breaths. 
Close up on DR. OBROV's flickering eyes. They snap open. 


0:06-0:08: 
Dr. Obrov stands rigid next to his bed, looking at his sleeping wife. It 
is dark outside. 


0:09-0:12: 
ERIN storms into the office of ELLY, her superior. She slams a black 
and white photograph of a group of men and women down on the 
table. 


0:13-0:20: 
Pan down a row of battle weary soldiers standing in a muddy trench. 
They are dressed in filthy cleric uniforms, holding rifles. A giant, 
sentient piece of origami stands behind them, cocking its head. 


Voice-over, an old man: "So from what we can see, he was killed 
right before starting his work." 


0:21-0:25: 
Dr. Obrov is making coffee in his neat bare kitchen. Then, he is 
driving along a dark highway in a truck, looking intense. 


0:27-0:31: 
The truck pulls off down a dirt road surrounded by fence. A sign 
warns of trespassing on private land 
Voice-over, old man: "Not that that matters, now." 


0:28-0:31: 
Erin jabs at a man in the photograph. 


She says "Now | want an explanation." 


0:32-0:34: 
Elly photographing SCP-173. 


0:35-0:36: 
A gloved hand slips a pill in a percolator. 


0:37-0:43: 
DIANA OLIVIER hurries through a Church of The Second Hytoth 
office, panting. She carries papers in her arms. 


Voice-over, Erin: "If this is him in the photo, then he would have 
been eighty at the time of his death." 


0:44-0:47: 
Something heavy and just out of view drags itself around a 
containment chamber. A canine howl. 


0:48-0:50: 
Dr. Obrov, USB stick in hand, grabs a cup of lukewarm coffee before 
returning to his desk. 


0:51-0:52: 
A camera flash. 


0:53-0:55: 
Close-up on Dr. Obrov's lips as he takes a sip. 


0:56-0:57: 
A second camera flash. 


0:58-1:07: 
A crowd of Foundation investigators crowd around Dr. Obrov's 
corpse. 


Voice-over, old man: "So it was cyanide poisoning, was it?" 


1:08-1:15: 
Diana is praying. 


Voice-over, a younger man: "Yes, but who cares? He was a 


nonentity." 


1:16-1:20: 
Members of Mobile Task Force Psi-9 burst in on a Sarkic masked 
orgy. Distant laughter. 


Voice over, the younger man again: "Nothing matters." 


1:21-1:26: 
Elly, Erin, and a Japanese doctor are setting up an experimental 
camera in a field. The laughter builds. 


1:27-1:31: 
Dr. Obrov's wife is sitting in a room, weeping violently. The walls drip 
blood. The laughter gets louder. 


1:32-1:35: 
Researchers look through glass at some sort of wounded animal. 
The laughter gets more manic. 


1:36-1:40: 
Erin stands in a suburban kitchen, slowly turning to look at an air 
conditioner. The air conditioner twitches. The laughter is now loud, 
whooping, and completely deranged. 


1:41-1:42: 
Continuing laughter. A building on fire. 


1:42-1:43: 
Continuing laughter. A doctor peeling off his face. 


1:44-1:45: 
Continuing laughter. A bare foot steps on concrete. 


1:46-1:47: 
Continuing laughter. A man in an orange jumpsuit chained to a chair 
in a concrete room, watching something on a television. 


1:48-1:49: 
Laughter builds to an insane peak. A camera lens in close-up, 
filming something it is not meant to see. 


arrived at the site expecting to meet Dr. , and the 
alarm was raised 15 minutes later when he could not be 
located. A search operation was launched, concluding at 
0904 hours when Dr. 's cries were heard. Dr. 

was located near the corridor of his initial disappearance, 
and was subsequently brought into Site- for 
questioning. 


Dr. reported being unaware of having left the known 
parts of the site for several minutes after having taken a 
wrong turn. The doctor claims to have been unable to 
recognize any landmarks when attempting to retrace 
steps, and was unable to give an accurate estimate of 
length of time spent searching for a way back to the 
known site. During this period, Dr. recounted 
experiencing periods of intense paranoia, as well as 
making multiple attempts to contact the Foundation by 
means of security cameras present in every room. As 
these cameras were not manned at the time, this cannot 
be corroborated by Foundation recordings, although Dr. 

stated that the cameras did track his movements. 
Although Dr. described the corridors as silent, he 
also reported several incidents of believing to have heard 
faint or distant sounds, or observing changes in room 
layout. These may, however, have been a result of 
fatigue or paranoia. Air pressure also reportedly changed 
at several irregular intervals. 


After an unknown amount of time, Dr. reported 
coming across a distinctive corridor, leading to what was 
described as a room very similar to the security station 
used to monitor SCP-977, although otherwise bare. The 
two stations reportedly shared a similar setup, both with 
two distinct groups of monitors viewing unconscious 
subjects and corridors. However, during Dr. 's 
examination of the new station, a monitor observing what 
appeared to be the security station used by Foundation 
staff was described in place of where one of the three 
darkened monitors would be in the latter. After a period 
of exploration, Dr. reported then observing a dark 


1:50-1:51: 
SCP-2006, in its Robot-Man form, jumps out from behind a door. It 
says "Boo!" Cut to black. 


1:53-2:01: 
Title slowly fades in: THE UNDOING. 


Voice over, Elly: "You can see the outlines of it now, can't you? 
Something lurking at the edges. He tried to unmake himself, you 
see? 


2:02-2:15: 
Cut to Elly entering her house. She turns and sees DIRECTOR VAN 
TURNER standing in the shadows. He flashes a brilliant smile, his 
eyes hidden. Elly screams in absolute terror. End trailer. 


HUB: Glittering Horizon 


The Urge that Betrays 


"It all started when stingrays started spewing from the air vents." 


Dr. Daniel Horatio Aeslinger, Psy.D., the psychologist currently on 
temporary assignment at Site-82, tapped his pencil against his lips. 


"Go on, Agent Bouchard." 
The man in front of him hesitated. 


"Well, at first we didn't even notice. | mean, when you have a 
permanently PMSing giant lizard-thing and a homicidal immortal 
freak in a stone giftbox in lock-up, stingrays aren't exactly high on 
your oh-shit-o-meter. | guess | registered a kind of wet flopping 
sound as | chewed my way through my lunch. 


Aeslinger cleared his throat. "So, you were eating lunch and 
stingrays started emerging from the air vents?" 


"Right. So, at first it was just stingrays. Then came the sharks." 
"Sharks, you say?" 
Aeslinger started scribbling notes. 


"Sharks, yes. Of course, most of them didn't fit through, so they got 
stuck. | swear I've never heard a sound like it. Kind of like Emerson 
trying to get up the stairs to processing, up on level 14. You know 
Emerson? He's this morbidly ob-" 


"| know Emerson, yes. | work with him occasionally. Back to the 
sharks please." 


"Uh...sure. So now there's stingrays flopping around, sharks 
bellowing from the air vents, jaws snapping continuously, and we're 
just sitting there, looking around at the mess. And that's when it 
happens." 


"Yes?" 


"A tiger shark manages to wriggle free and drops right down onto 
Helen Stapel, you know, from accounting?" 


Aeslinger looked horrified and for a moment professionalism was 
just another word in the dictionary. 


"Oh my god, it must've been a bloodbath."