puppets, it was true, and that alone was no reason to hate them, but 
Observer has seen all too often what happened to those who 
happened to get entangled with them in their strings. Their other 
selves clouded reality around them like a miasma, and sickly light of 
their masters’ will tore at it, a diseased claw about the face of 
narrative. 


AND JOY FOR THE F! 


Observer listened as screams joined gunfire and roars, and shook 
its non-existing head. 


What hope could humanity have with such an infection in its midst? 
Observer did not know. It only knew that it was glad it was not the 
same. 


THAT IS THE NAME. ADD TWO MORE LETTERS AND THAT IS 
THE NAME! 


Poor, wretched things. Observer was free to think its own thoughts. 


The irony of this statement was lost on it. 


Observer sat on the young woman's shoulder, looking as she did at 
the enormous, scarred man. He was busy removing bits of shrapnel 
from one grotesquely-muscled shoulder with one hand while 
chewing on what appeared to be a whole cow's head he was 
holding in the other. Observer turned its gaze to the woman and 
could not quite read the expression on her face. Hatred was there, 
clear as day, but it seemed to Observer that there was something 
false about it. The woman was not a multi-versioned in what it 
considered the classical definition of the term, but she shared some 
of their characteristics regardless. There was something poorly- 
defined about her, as if she existed in many worlds at the same 
time, and yet not really in any of them. 


"You enjoying that?" 
"Mmm. Good meat. Crunchy." 


"Where's your sword?" 


Interview 838-12: 


Interview between Dr. Eisen and D-2028, who was 
instructed to act to get himself fired. 

Dr. Eisen: Good morning, D-2028. Could you please 
state for how long you have been a member of 


SCP-838-1? 
D-2028: [EXPLETIVE] you. You told me to get myself 
fired. 


Dr. Eisen: D-2028, please be cooperative. 

D-2028: Why should |? Do you have any idea what it's 
like? I've been homeless for real and it's not a patch on 
what it's like in there. In the real world, the rats don't 
seek you out. In the real world, it's not always freezing. In 
the real world you can get another damn job! 


Incident 838-2: D-1950 answered an SCP-838 ad for a 
management position, and was hired as a middle manager. After six 
months, he told researchers that he was going to be promoted to 
senior management, and that he was told that the job had many new 
rights and responsibilities. The next night, D-1950 lapsed into a 
coma, though brain activity matched that during REM sleep. D-1950 
was kept alive on life-support apparatus for the next month, during 
which no major changes were noted, aside from massive dopamine 
surges during weekends. 


« SCP-837 | SCP-838 | SCP-839 » 


"Hmm? Stuck in something." 


Observer has been watching the woman for a considerable amount 
of time now, and little about her truly made sense to it. Much like 
those in its birthing chamber, the woman had odd powers, and much 
like them she failed to realize how her possession of them distanced 
her from being truly human. Unlike them, however, this lack of 
perception did not seem to be internal. As if she was forced into 
being as she was by someone else. Perhaps this was so. Observer 
pitied her. The poor thing didn't even know what she was, not like it 
knew. Yes, Observer understood her so very perfectly. 


"Mind if | take some pictures then? Might need them for later." 
"Hrm?" 

"Yeah, thought as much." 

"Mmm." 


This again, Observer thought as it made itself more comfortable on 
the woman's shoulder. It had heard it so many times before. 
Observer did not pause to consider that it was now sitting on her 
shoulder, something it would never have done earlier in its poorly- 
defined lifetime. Sitting and thinking and pitying were for those who 
existed, and Observer did not. Truly it did not. Honest. 


The woman turned her gaze away from the scarred man and 
rummaged a small pack she held at her shoulder, taking out a small 
camera. The scarred man turned to the woman for a moment, 
muttered something in a deep, guttural voice, and returned his 
attention to his still-bleeding meal. Observer watched as the 
comment momentarily filled the woman's mind, then passed over it, 
leaving nothing behind. She glanced at the man again, shrugged, 
then return to taking pictures. 


Ah. This was the heart of Observer's trouble at understanding both 
the young woman and the scarred man. Ostensibly there was a 
history between them, a troubled past filled with hurt and failure, but 
neither them nor anyone else involved with them seemed to fully 
realize this. Oh, people acted as if they were aware of it, often 


mentioning it and pretending to base their decisions on it, but in truth 
it was as weightless as a leaf in a drunkard's dream. Observer 
enjoyed this metaphor. It thought it was clever. 


"Right, I'm done here. You ready to head off, big guy?" 
"Hrm. | see another cow there." 
"God dammit A-" 


Observer flew off. Words. Empty words, repeated ad-nausea. 
Cliched interactions and predictable outcomes. It was as if someone 
was not even trying very hard. Those two will never change as long 
as they continued to be used as they were. Their world will always 
be the same. It was almost enough to drive Observer to despair. 


Or to drive someone, at least. 


Observer was now high above, watching the blue orb beneath spin 
lazily as it drifted like an elderly whale in the black depths of space. 
All of those it watched before could not be seen from here. Observer 
found some comfort in that. From here, the world seemed almost 
free. Each spin could bring about something new to it, some new 
event or place or person who could change everything about it. It 
was a flimsy illusion, knowing what Observer knew, but one it 
relished regardless. Observer's time amid the people of this world 
changed it, it now realized. 


It had grown to care about it. Though it still did not truly exist, it was 
now embroiled in the world's drama, was in some way a part of its 
grand narrative. Though the world will not change, though its various 
inhabitants will do everything in their power not to /et it change, 
Observer knew it will keep watching it. Perhaps one day the invisible 
masters of this world's grand narrative will tire. Perhaps one day the 
people living it in will once more be free to make their own decision. 
Observer doubted it, but, as it remembered, it knew very little. It 
could be wrong. Perhaps one day this world will be truly born anew. 


For now, all was perpetual stillbirth. 


wait... 


Observer paused at the sudden, unbearable drama contained in that 
last statement. This did not sound like something it would think. It 
was Observer, wasn't it? A non-existing being, a watcher. Why did it 
feel so strongly about any of this? Why did it care at all? All that 
time, it realized, it was passing judgement on those it saw. Pitying 
them for their lack of freedom, hating them for bearing the names of 
others, ridiculing them for their... their strings... 


Horror filled Observer as it suddenly understood where all that came 
from. As it looked about its no longer non-existent form and saw the 
strings hanging from every limb. 


Ah. It understood now. Observer has become Avatar. A mouthpiece, 
like all of the rest of them. An ironic demonstration. 


Avatar understood this fully now, and it understood it had nothing to 
say about it either. Had nothing to say about anything. It was not its 
place. 


As it opened its new mouth to speak, the only words to come out of 
it were- 


Mine. 


Excerpt from The Astrolabe Institute Journal 


Call (814)-555-3346 


THE ASTROLABE INSTITUTE 


This Document is Publicly Available Product of the 
Astrolabe Institute, a scientist-run Public Media & 
Containment Company dedicated to Containment of 
the Anomalous 


let is excerpted from Issue 045 of The Astrolabe Institute Journal. Available upon subscription. 


CITIZEN CONTAINMENT CLASS: Krieger 
SUPERVISING SCIENTIST: Dr. Ben Nyman, Ph.D, M.D. 


AUTHOR: Dr. Ben Nyman, Ph.D, M.D. 


Anomaly Designation: 457-DIZZY COW Occurrence. 


Danger Level: Green/Blue Hybridization @@ | ««*«*«* Public 
Threat 


Anomaly: The anomaly in question is a human male 
affected prior to the formation of this organization, and 
interviewed by my direct predecessors. Identifying as Jamie 
Byron, the subject was employed by an organization 
operating as a fuel refinery in the town of Molinsky, 
Wisconsin. Independent sources have confirmed that this 
organization is an anomalous containment organization that 


has requested anonymity. 


Mr. Byron is suffering from a brain trauma related to the 
effects of long-term isolated memory loss, now understood 
to be the basis of 451-DIZZY-COW Occurrence, and is 
currently in low-priority medical care within the Institute's 
hospital facilities. At the time of this interview, he was ill, but 
lucid and cooperative with the Institute's message. It is 
suspected that the trauma suffered by Mr. Byron may be 
neuro-conceptual in nature. He is presently unresponsive to 
colleagues, but three weeks following his release from the 
refinery 5 years ago, Dr. F. Johansson interviewed him in 
his Molinksy household. The household was a small, 
sparsely furnished townhouse, though artifacts of Mr. 
Byron's military training were evident. 


My Institute colleagues, including Dr. J.L. Spears, Dr. E. 
Farragut, and Dr. M. Withers, have approached me after 
noticing that the developments in Mr. Byron's illness have 
been repeated elsewhere in various communities around 
the world as of 2023. These effects have been observed 
earlier than 20 years ago, when Mr. Byron was affected. 
This document and its attached interview have been made 
public by the Institute in order to educate the population 
about the developments of 457-DIZZY-COW Occurrence as 
it unfolds. 


The events of 457-DIZZY-COW Occurrence, are, at this 
time, the greatest public threat to safety from the 
anomalous community. Should you, or someone you love, 
become affected by the same symptoms as Mr. Byron, 
please call the Institute at the phone number located at the 
top of this page. 


+ Scan QR Code with your device to unfold the full article. 


Dr. F. Johansson: Can you please 
describe your job? 


Mr. Byron: Sure. | was working for the 
organization in question, it's not the 


GOC, but one of several others who are 
still somewhat prominent today. The 
refinery was a front, and we were 
monitoring several very small 
anomalous occurrences within the 
county. The north Midwest is very close 
to a major nexus, and while Molinksy 
isn't close, | can safely state that there's 
a fair bit of traffic through the county. 


Dr. F. Johansson: You were a field 
agent, correct? 


Mr. Byron: That's correct, | was trained 
to handle anomalous entities by the 
GOC once | got out of the United States 
Army, the organization | was last 
employed to then headhunted me. At 
the refinery site, | was a police liaison, it 
was how we were first alerted to the 
call. 


Dr. F. Johansson: What was the call? 


Mr. Byron: Many people reported 
creatures suddenly appeared in their 
houses without warning. When 
Molinksy PD arrived they were 
justifiably alarmed, but then something 
odd happened. Agents from the State 
Police were affected somehow by the 
creatures, claimed nothing was wrong. 
We at the site figured the entities had a 
memetic effect, which is to say there 
was a property of the creatures that 
affected people's minds. 


Dr. F. Johansson: Our readership is 
familiar with memetics, Mr. Byron. 


Mr. Byron: Oh? Oh well, never mind 


then. 


Dr. F. Johansson: We are a scientific 
journal of the Anomalous, remember? | 
told you that when we first met. 


Mr. Byron: Did you? | must have 
forgotten. | do that a lot these days. 
Going back to the story, none of the 
creatures brought in for analysis 
matched any sort of description of an 
anomaly we had in containment. 


Dr. F. Johansson: What did these 
creatures look like, Mr. Byron? 


Mr. Byron: Furry, quadruped, 
somewhat docile. They were roughly 
similar to a cat, but across the 
examples | retrieved from houses there 
were gross physical differences. One 
animal was short and squat with this 
horrifically squashed face. The poor 
thing had trouble breathing and kept 
doing this horrific wheezing. The 
researchers who autopsied it noticed 
that its joints were deformed, and its 
had some of the most severe hip 
dysplasia they had seen on an animal. 
There was another who had a 
permanently melting face, all drooping 
off the skull, with these bloodshot eyes 
that just looked at you really pitifully. 
Some looked like squirrels, some like 
horses, but they were all wrong. We 
sort of picked up that they were 
basically similar to each other, maybe 
the same species, but there was 
something about all of them that 
universally upset the other agents and 
me. Looking at them was like looking at 


an alien. 


And you have to understand, Dr. 
Johansson, monsters are my thing. My 
speciality. | don't freak out easily during 
my time working for the GOC, there 
was one incident when | led a team of 
soldiers, and we stopped a cult ritual in 
rural Massachusetts. Group of hooded 
fleshcrafters in the woods prodding and 
poking this huge fleshy thing covered in 
eyes and shoes and assholes. | guess 
they were amateurs, the poor thing was 
no eldritch god, that's for sure. Bleeding 
from every orifice, juddering around, big 
monstrous lump, right? Horrible. 
Looking at the damn thing made your 
eyes hurt, all of us collectively relaxed 
the moment we blew it to smithereens. 


But this? This was worse. 
Dr. F. Johansson: Worse? 


Mr. Byron: | couldn't look at them 
without feeling my soul jump. Like there 
was something in my brain that actively 
resisted them. Holding them, feeling 
them squirm and yelp and howl just 
made me want to throw up. Couple of 
my friends did, which only made them 
howl more, and made retrieval more 
difficult. There's something about them 
that's an emptiness, a void, and even 
as we forgot to feed them, and were 
reluctant to approach them, this void 
got bigger despite that. And to boot, 
some of them were predators. | mean, 
we knew they all ate meat, but none of 
them ever attacked the residents when 
they appeared in the houses, which 


was weird. But it was clear that there 
were variations with purpose. The 
smaller ones were faster, smarter, the 
bigger ones more like lions, like apex 
predators. There was a truly colossal 
One once with shaggy fur, about the 
size of a mountain lion. 


Dr. F. Johansson: You said you had a 
close encounter with one of these 
things beyond a laboratory setting. 


Mr. Byron: | came home from the site, 
tired and with a killer headache when | 
realized one was in my home. A horse- 
shaped thing, shaggy. Even looked 
more alien than the rest, if that's 
possible. | didn't notice until it crawled 
onto my bed that night. 


| was lying, nearly asleep when it 
stumbled in. | could hear it bounding up 
the stairs first, and my heart was in my 
throat. | quickly gathered that my 
domicile was one of the ones that 
spawned them. | watched it silhouetted 
against the hall light, watched it trot in. 
For the first time in my life, | was seized 
with a fear | had never known before. 
My head started to burn, the hole in my 
head opening wider and wider. It 
climbed up on my bed and that empty 
feeling just got worse. My neurons 
sucked into a black hole, the warmth 
and heaviness of it on my chest, there 
was no difference to me between those 
two sensations. They felt equal. 
Looking at the fucking thing, | then 
gradually started to feel this disturbing 
twinge in my chest of something