Class H amnestics prevent the subject from forming new memories, 
blocking memory consolidation for as long as the agent is in the 
subject’s system. Duration is dependent on dosage, with 75 mg 
lasting for approximately 24 hours on average. 


Class I, Transient 


¢ For inducing a temporary amnesic state 


Class | amnestics induce transient amnesia by blocking the neural 
pathways responsible for long-term memories, temporarily 
preventing subjects from recalling their past. Duration is dependent 
on dosage, again with 75 mg lasting approximately 24 hours on 
average. 


Class W-Z, Mnestics 


¢ Protection against anti-memetic and other mnemonic 
anomalies 


Classes W-Z refer to mnestic drugs, or drugs that prevent/reverse 
memory erasure, and are most commonly used by the antimemetics 
department. Though in function they are the opposite of amnestics, 
they both work by targeting the neural pathways for memory, 
allowing for the creation of non-anomalous mnestic drugs. 


Class W mnestics allow the subject to perceive and retain 
knowledge of antimemes, in addition to general memory 
enhancement. Class X restores awareness of previously perceived 
antimemes or suppressed memories. Class Y grants the subject 
perfect recall for any memories gained during its period of effect, 
and a single dose of Class Z renders the subject biochemically 
incapable of forgetting anything for the remainder of their lives. 
Class Zs are invariably fatal, with death by seizure typically resulting 
in a matter of hours. 


Combining amnestic and mnestic drugs is not recommended. 
Report to Overseer Council Regarding the Ethics of Non- 
Anomalous Amnestics 


+ Level 5 Clearance Required 


Overseers 


Though | am well aware of the numerous ethical and 

practical drawbacks of conventional amnestics, | regret 
to inform you that a previously unforeseen complication 
of non-anomalous amnestics has recently come to light. 


The very fact that they are non-anomalous makes it 
possible for civilians to create their own crude amnestic 
drugs. How the formulas were leaked is still being 
investigated, but the fact remains that people are now 
cooking up street amnestics in improvised labs like 
crystal meth. 


Sexual assault is, as one would imagine, the most 
common crime it is implicated in, but it's no doubt used to 
cover up all sorts of abuse; criminal, corporate, and 
government alike. Some people take it willingly to try to 
expunge their own unwanted memories, but even then 
the strength of the street formulas vary wildly. Individuals 
who overdose will end up with enormous chunks of 
random memories missing, sometimes crucial implicit 
memories and are reduced to vegetative states. Bad 
batches are all too common, resulting in permanent brain 
damage or even death. Rumours of how they are being 
used by numerous Authoritarian regimes are rampant, 
but since | wasn't able to confirm any of these horror 
stories myself | won't bother repeating them here. 


The media has dubbed this outbreak of amnestics abuse 
"The Forgotten Epidemic", and it's our fault. We made 
this stuff, and it's because of our negligence it's on the 
streets. Surely we have some responsibility to ameliorate 
this abuse. | recommend that we delay the full 
implementation of non-anomalous amnestics until we 
have determined the source of the security breach and 
taken measures to prevent a second occurrence in the 
future. The Foundation should fund the efforts of law 
enforcement to track down street amnestic producers, 
and then administer Class-C amnestics to wipe the 
formulas from their minds. 


The old amnestics may not have been perfect, but the 


human cost of using them as already been dwarfed by 
their non-anomalous equivalents. If we make it a priority, 
we can get this stuff off the street and bring the 
Forgotten Epidemic to an end. 


~ Doctor 
Doctor 


Thank you for bringing this matter to our 
attention. As regrettable as this situation may 
be, the fact that these street amnestics are 
non-anomalous places their illicit use well 
outside the Foundation's authority. 


By unanimous vote, the O5 council has 
decided that the new generation of non- 
anomalous amnestics will be deployed as 
scheduled, and that no Foundation resources 
will be diverted to prevent or regulate their use 
among civilians. 


~ 05-4 


Upswing of Disorder 


May 4, 1998 


Any sort of lengthy journey always ends up in a destination far more 
bizarre than what was originally intended: home. The first few days 
home give rise to oddities. Details that had been seen a thousand 
times over were now clear and new and briefly unfamiliar. Details 
that had been passed over for years were noticed for the first time. 


This was the feeling Clef had as he walked out of the conference 
room. He had sat in on his fair share of board meetings and 
briefings, but the May 4th meeting of the Foundation Advisory 
Committee had to be one of the worst he had experienced. 


He felt like a broken puzzle piece, like he didn’t fit. Details that time 
away had smoothed over resurfaced. His friends were tired. Older. 
More grey hairs and glassy eyes and creases around the face. The 
smiles and the “welcome backs” rang hollow. Actions, 
conversations, people...everything was subdued. 


And then there was Adam. Or was he Kain now? 


He had been present at the meeting, but for the first time in Clef’s 
memory, had said nothing. It was not as if he could have: he was a 
dog. It had a sad sight to see him pad in, wobbling and slow and 
clearly in pain, and then struggle up into his chair. The others were 
saying how the tech department was working on a motorized 
scooter or walker to help him around, and a speech generator that 
would work for someone without fingers. He had spent the entire 
meeting in his chair, watching the others with bleary eyes. 


The only answer Clef had gotten as to why Adam now inhabited the 
body of his elderly guide dog had been “There was an accident’, 
and nothing beyond that. 


Had that much changed in just a year and a half? Or had he simply 


SCP-986 came to the attention of the Foundation in 1964, after a 
representative from Random House entrusted with examination of 
Faulkner's papers attempted to sell it to a literary auction house in 
Luxembourg. Initial analysis upon the recovery of SCP-986 
determined that the anomalous text manifested in SCP-986 was a 
series of encrypted messages. Cryptanalysts soon recognized the 
pattern of encryption as a book cipher, but lacked the key. In 1972, 
with the use of computer-aided mathematical analysis models, the 
Site-11 Cryptanalysis Office identified a passage in the 1942 first 
edition of Go Down, Moses as the key to the cipher. Messages 
appearing in SCP-986 have subsequently been decoded and 
transcribed. 


Research Log 986-1: Contents of SCP-986 
Pages 1-358 


Summary: A novel titled The Absent Willows, set primarily in rural 
Mississippi and taking place at three distinct time periods (the 
American Civil War, the 1910s, and the 1950s). The novel deals 
primarily with the experiences of members of the African-American 
Wilpher family at the Jesperson Plantation and the fictional town of 
Muskogee, Mississippi. Unlike many previous Faulkner novels, this 
work is not set in Yoknapatawpha County, nor does it utilize any 
characters from his established canon. 


Synopsis: Part One of the novel relates the story of Sunny Wilpher, 
a slave of the Jesperson family entrusted to oversee the domestic 
servants of the plantation manor. During the extended absence of 
Col. Alphonse Jesperson due to the American Civil War and the 
presence of Union troops in the surrounding countryside, Sunny 
assumes control of the plantation and its dwindling resources. A 
revolt against his custodianship by both black and white field hands 
eventually forces Sunny to acknowledge his paternity of Thomas 
Sooter, a mixed-race stable boy assumed to be Col. Jesperson's 
bastard offspring. 


Part Two is a first-person narrative told by Slumber Wilpher, an 
elderly African-American man in the present day (the 1960s by the 
book's chronology). Slumber (later revealed to be Thomas Sooter's 
grandson) relates the tale of a boyhood encounter with a traveling 


mis-remembered? The days before the accident were fuzzy. He 
knew the events, knew the people, but there was a certain 
disconnect. Like hearing someone else describe something in a 
completely different manner. He remembered the stress and the 
sleepless nights, but it hadn’t been this bad, had it? 


Or was that the Coalition talking? 


In the Coalition, the stress was passing. A new threat would arise, 
and then it would be dealt with, and that was that. Everyone went 
out and had drinks and a laugh and talked about the kids. The job 
was done. 


Here, the stress never ended. The source was never disposed of. 
There was never a release. It just kept building and building and 
building and wearing down any resistance until something broke. 


Clef felt a twinge of guilt, dimly remembering how he had been the 
one to suggest containment of the statue. Had he, in some little way, 
helped cause all of this? There hadn’t been that many items in those 
first few years, just enough to handle, but now...He’d seen the list 
on the plane back to America, and then found that his questions 
weren't the ones to be answered. 


Clef looked at his watch. The meeting had run over schedule by a 
good twenty minutes, which meant that he was ten minutes late for 
his next adjustment meeting with Able. 


He hurried down the hall. 


Sophia Light watched Clef turn the corner and walk out of sight. Ben 
stood next to her. 


“Is everything ready?” 
“Ready as it’s ever going to be.” 


“Good.” 


Able, once the god of war for an entire civilization, was still 
experiencing severe jet lag. He was also not wearing pants, but Clef 
thought it best to take these adjustment sessions one thing ata 
time, and getting him to keep his food down was more important at 
the moment. His stomach had a tendency to react violently to 
twentieth-century fare. 


The table and chairs that had been in the room were unused: Clef 
and Able sat in the center of the floor. The subject had drifted from 
behavior in public to the wonders of electricity. 


[So, these lights...] Able motioned to the ceiling. [...are created by 
lightning. ] 


[In a way, yes.] 


[And you then use this lightning to make your metal things move, 
yes?] 


[Yes.] 


[And it is not Daevas magic. The Daevas had some similar tool, but 
they were fueled by slaves. ] 


[Think of it as another kind of magic. We take the lightning, put it into 
copper, and then add switches to the wire to make it stop and go.] 


Able nodded. 
[There is less screaming involved in your way.] 


Clef was rather relieved at how easily Able wrote off modern 
technology as magic, a topic he had absolutely no interest in. Things 
worked because they did, and questioning them was pointless. 


[Now then, I’ve been talking with my other staff members and we are 
considering getting you an animal if you continue cooperating. If...] 


He was cut off by a siren and an automated voice over the 
loudspeakers. 


ATTENTION ALL PERSONNEL. SCP-953 HAS BREACHED 


CONTAINMENT. PLEASE PROCEED TO YOUR DESIGNATED 
SAFE ZONES. 


“Shit.” Clef jumped up and ran out of the room, his body moving on 
autopilot. The numbers scrolled through his head. Nine Fifty-Three. 
The kumiho. Very dangerous, limited polymorphic abilities, mind- 
altering abilities, generally in seduction and suggestion. Site 19 
had...seven blanks on staff, and he was one of them. 


Well shit. 


He ran into the hallway, catching up with a group of guards with Ben 
at the front. 


“Where is she?” 


“Tower one, level eight. She got the jump on the guy on feeding duty 
and managed to get out before the bulkheads closed. 


Clef nodded. A plan bubbled up in his head as he ran. Always 
running from place to place, that was the life of Alto Clef. Run here, 
kill this thing, run there, kill that thing, run back, here’s a list of things 
you might need to kill. Memorize it. Just run everywhere all the time. 


He had memorized the list, but in this one solitary moment, he did 
not remember that he had left the door unlocked. 


The woman was hunched over the body of one of the security staff, 
chewing out his stomach. The sound was terrifying, all the ripping 
and slurping and sloppy chewing. 


Clef approached. There were guards positions down all four of the 
hallways that lead to this chamber, but apparently they had all 
received the order that Clef was to deal with her first. 


“Easy, girl... 


The woman looked up at him, a scrap of liver hanging from her 
needle-sharp teeth. She smiled. 


Everything swirled in Clef’s head, all the possibilities milling about 
around the clear-cut lines of The Plan. Clef steeled himself, took a 
step onto the path, and let everything else happen naturally. 


“Well, let's get this over with.” Clef undid his belt and dropped his 
pants, revealing predictably ironic boxers. “Take me now, you sexy, 
sexy beast.” 


Still the smile. She stood up, face, clothes and hands stained with a 
great deal of blood. Something was said in Korean, the meaning 
bouncing around in Clef’s head without ever settling in. He was 
pretty sure the general gist was one of “I would love to, you easy 
idiot prey.” 


Time to turn the screws. 


“| was literal with that last bit. | am attracted to you because you are 
a fox. A nice Japanese fox girl with really big tits. | like that.” He 
made sure to motion suggestively, just for emphasis. 


That did it. She launched herself at him, claws drawn, screeching. 
From his perspective, the leap was in slow motion in slow-motion. 
Clef sidestepped out of his shed pants. 


“And that fur? Damn | love me that fur. Gets so soft between the 
legs. You have no idea how attractive that is. And the snout? Don't 
get me started on the snout. Snouts give great blowjobs.” 


Another swing, another miss. It was so easy. He barely had to do 
anything. His body just acted on its own, a step here, a duck here, 
just keeping out of the way, taunting and taunting until that one 
moment where the screws were in so tight that you just had to grab 
one and yank... 


“| have a raging boner right now.” 


He would have paid several million dollars for a photograph of her 
face as she leapt at him again. It would have been museum worthy. 
Duck low, shoulder into gut, knock her down, slam a knee down on 
her throat. Something silver appeared in his hand, the end shoved in 
the woman’s mouth. 


“Oh wait, no | don't. It’s an actual gun.” 
Clef smiled, his mouth just a bit too wide. 
“Never try to seduce a eunuch, honey.” 


He pulled the trigger, the gun barked, and the woman burst into 
butterflies. 


“Oh...well then. Shit.” 


The syllable drowned in gunfire. 


Able picked a tooth out of his chest and flicked it to the side. He trod 
over the bodies, one in particular being that of a man in a longcoat, 
his fedora rolled off into a little smear of blood. The body was 
impaled with a length of piping. The fat man backed against the wall 
looked as if he had soiled himself. His finger worked the useless 
trigger frantically. Able loomed with his full eight feet, bloody and 
pockmarked. 


“Where Epon?” 


Epon stood in her room, listening to the sirens blare outside. They 
had her locked in here for study, and she was fine with that, but 
now... now she felt like she should have been doing something. 
Getting Mother killed had given her a bad habit of activity. Things 
needed to be done, and she was going to be the one to do it, 
because no one else would. 


She inspected the door again. There was no handle of course, no 
breaks in the seal. It opened only from the outside. 


She kicked it. It didn’t move.