of me. But even without the thrusting and grunting, | still feel the 
immense satisfaction of helping another escape their self-inflicted 
bonds, and become what they were truly meant to be. 


It is the feeling of being truly and properly alive. 


But once we are finished, it must happen. As is always the case with 
pleasure, it must be associated with pain. 


It is another thing | do not understand about them. Though they lock 
away their pleasure, they also lock away their pain. Reflection has 
taught me that they think of it as a harmful thing, something to be 
actively avoided. They cannot see that it is a necessary counterpart 
to pleasure. If they do not want to live in pleasure, and they do not 
want to live in pain, then what do they want to live in? | simply 
cannot answer. 


However, | can help. As with the pleasure, the pain is not something 
| choose to do; it is simply something | cause to happen. Torment 
and suffering unlike any other they have ever experienced 
overwhelms them, and they fall to the floor, gasping and shrieking in 
agony. On rare occasions, it has occurred to me to help them, but 
then | realize | would be taking away from the proper experience. 
Men and women alike beg to be saved, and men and women alike 
die. 


| regret none of this. By showing those who have spent their whole 
lives in a haze of nothingness the ultimate pleasure and the ultimate 
pain one after another, | help them live as | do. It is only fora 
moment, but is a moment of perfect understanding not enough? 
Does that not allow one to be connected with all those around them 
before passing on, having finally seen the light? Is this not the way 
things should be? 


Such is my lot in life. | bring pleasure, and | bring pain. Once, long, 
long ago, | regretted it; manipulating one only to take their life 
seemed to me a horrid, ugly thing. But now, after who knows how 
much time, | see that it is the way things are to be. So | accept it. | 
wait in this dark cell, waiting for whoever comes to me next. 


And then | deliver them into the light. 


Conversation 1: Omicron 


“| had the d-d-dream again.” 


Dr. Skinner dutifully jotted this note onto her pad. “Was it the same 
as the others?” 


David squirmed in his seat. “Roughly, y-y-yeah.” 


“Can you tell me about it, David?” Dr. Skinner looked plaintively 
across the coffee table at the subject, then back at her initial notes. 
Thirty-one year old male, one of the only researchers recruited from 
a non-scientific civilian job. Level 3, but very provisionally, and only 
because nobody else wanted the Site 38 job. Fairly big fish in a very 
small pond, before his...accident. Now he’s a psych case. 


“It was the same. Not much different.” 


“You have to tell me, David. What did he say to you? Start from the 
beginning.” 


“Okay, it was during the breach, like it always is.” He paused. 


“It's okay, David, you’re in a safe place. You can talk about it. He 
can’t hear you.” 


“He says he can. Every time it happens, he says he hears me. | 
think it’s real.” 


Dr. Skinner sighed. “David. Look at me.” The researcher turned his 
head. “The entity you encountered is fully contained. You have 
never come into contact with it. You hit your head during the breach 
and experienced severe hallucinations. Nothing you saw was real. 
Now, with that understanding, what did he say in this dream?” 


David took a deep breath. “He had me against the wall, and he was 
talking to me. | can’t remember what he was saying for a lot of it; | 
don’t even think | could understand him in the dream. He kept 


showing me these s-s-scenes, awful, horrible scenes. P-p-people 
being cut down and eaten alive. Skips were breaking out 
everywhere, in every hallway. Everyone else was running around, 
fighting, dying. Some people were even breaching containment on 
s-s-skips themselves, trying to use them to fight off...whoever w-w- 
was attacking us. Isn’t that insane?” 


Like you were, dammit, Dr. Skinner thought. But David didn’t 
remember any of that, and it wouldn’t help to bring it up again. “It 
really doesn’t sound very realistic, but it’s just a dream. Go on.” 


“He showed me all of the dead and dying, and | just kept laughing.” 


Dr. Skinner paused, pretending that she was hearing this for the first 
time. “What do you mean, laughing?” 


David shrugged. “I...1 don’t know. It just...! couldn’t help it. | know 
how horrible it s-s-s-sounds, but at the time...it just seemed 
hilarious. Something about the way he smiled when people died.” 


Dr. Skinner had this note in David's file already. It was very 
disturbing the first time she heard it, but that was two rounds of 
amnesiac drugs for David ago. Every time he was back in this room, 
he told her about the same dream. He always had the same dream. 
Horrifying or not, it got old. 


So far, though, it looked like the therapy was working. The 
researcher would be traumatized for life, of course, but who wouldn’t 
be? O5 hadn't ordered her to oversee David's therapy because 
there was any realistic chance of actually curing him. Something 
slightly more serious was at stake here. 


“Did you see anything else?” Dr. Skinner asked. 
“Well, he s-s-show—* A knock at the door interrupted the session. 


“I’m very sorry, David, excuse me a moment.” Dr. Skinner rose and 
walked to the door. A messenger outside slipped her a note. She 
glanced at the words on the page, then returned to her seat. "Now, 
then, where were we?" 


"He talked for a long time. He took me to this room, deep under Site 


19, and he kept talking the whole way there. | just remember..." 
"Go on." 


David squirmed. "He just kept saying 'Omic-c-ron.’ And | don't know 
what that means, but...at the same time, | think | do. It's so...it 
seemed so familiar." 


Dr. Skinner straightened up. "What does Omicron mean? Or what 
do you think it means?" 


David glanced at the psychiatrist with curiosity. Dr. Skinner wasn't 
always as subtle as she intended to be. "Wait, what d-d-does that 
note say?" 


"Hmm?" She looked at the note. New directives from Overwatch, it 
said. New intelligence required. Focus on following keywords: 
omicron class, apollyon, reverser, holzman, hollis, numberless, 555. 
Presence of any words indicate operation failure and will require 
additional amnesiac treatment. "It's a message from my daughter's 
school. Nothing relevant to this. Please continue." 


"He...he kept taking me further and further down. | saw things, 
horrible things, people being ripped to pieces. He showed me 
rooms, | guess they were SCPs. | think he let s-s-some of them out, 
| can't be sure. But he took me to the bottom. The bottom of Site 19. 
D-d-do you know w-w-what's d-d—" 


"David, please remember, none of what you saw is real. It was all a 
dream. But whatever you saw might tell us something about the root 
of what's disturbing you so much. Please, feel free to talk about it.” 


"There was a bottom. There were d-d-doors, locks, but he opened 
all of them. He took me inside and s-s-showed me what was there." 


Another pause. "David, you need to talk about this. What did you—" 
"| was different,” he whispered. 
"What was that?" Dr. Skinner. 


"| was different before. There was a world before this, and | wasn't 


SCP-822 was first discovered at a military proving ground near 
[REDACTED]. SCP-822 was reported to the Foundation after 3 
personnel were killed when they drove a vehicle near a large patch 
of SCP-822 and a fourth managed to return to the base before 
expiring. Subsequent investigation of the infested area turned up 
hundreds of specimens of SCP-822 as well as the corpses of 
dozens of animals that had wandered into the area and been killed, 
some of which had SCP-822 growing directly from their bodies. After 
sample specimens were collected, the entire area was subjected to 
firebombing, incinerating all remaining SCP-822 in the area. 


Experiment Log 822-1: 
Record of experimentation performed to determine limits of 
triggering mechanism for SCP-822. 


Date: / / 

Subject: D-9912 

Procedure: Subject equipped with a military-grade bomb suit and 
instructed to approach SCP-822 

Results: 

SCP-822 detonates as Subject approaches within precisely 3 
meters of specimen. Shock sensors record blast as equivalent to the 
detonation of a land mine. Subject suffers injuries consistent 
with being in close proximity to high-explosives detonation, such as 
ruptured eardrums. 


Date: / / 

Subject: Robotic rover, approximately 20 kg in mass 

Procedure: Manipulation of specimen of SCP-822 using rover 
attempted 

Results: 

Subject successfully approaches SCP-822 and successfully uproots 
SCP-822 specimen. However, specimen is dropped while moving 
away, Causing specimen to detonate. Rover badly damaged. 


Date: / / 

Subject: D-9989 

Procedure: Subject is restrained completely as to prevent any 
movement, specimen of SCP-822 is moved towards Subject via 
robotic rover 

Results: 


like this then." David's voice had changed subtlely. Dr. Skinner had 
seen hypnosis before, and the person in front of her had clearly 
gone under. It wasn't just the stutter disappearing. It was something 
else. 


"How was it different, David? Please, stay on the couch—" 


David stood up and stumbled forward, looking dazed. "There was a 
different world. There was a Foundation, but it wasn't called that. | 
don't think we had a name. It was smaller, much smaller. | think it 
was just Site 19 and a few outposts. And | wasn't called...no, | was 
still myself, but | wasn't a researcher. Or a landscaper. | had a 
different title..." David was pacing around the room now, muttering 
frantically. "Omicron Class Defense Marshal. That was what they 
called me. | was at Site 19 when it happened." 


He's losing it, Dr. Skinner thought. "What happened in your dream? 
What did you see?" 


The look David gave Dr. Skinner chilled her to the bone. "Knock it 
off, doctor. You know it wasn't a dream. Just like | know that memo 
has nothing to do with your daughter. And like | know that button 
under the desk is about to call someone who's going to make me 
forget about this." David paused. "For what definitely feels like the 
third time." 


"Just stay calm, David." Her finger twitched in a practiced motion. 
"Nothing you're thinking is real. Focus on the sound of my voice—" 


"I'm not going to hurt you, Martha. But time is running out. Holzman 
didn't finish the job he started. Something that isn't supposed to exist 
is sitting in the basement of Site 19, and it's waking up. There's an 
SCP that doesn't have a number, in a room that isn't on any map, 
and it wants to start running again. | don't know if Bobble woke it up 
or the other way around, but somebody has to stop it." 


Two Agents burst the door down and knocked the researcher to the 
ground. As one restrained him, the other plunged a syringe into his 
neck. His eyes fluttering, David muttered a few final words, then lost 
consciousness. The Agents lifted him up and began to carry him out. 


Dr. Skinner followed them to the door. "Wait. What was that he 
said?" 


One of the Agents paused. "The trang knocked him out, ma'am. He 
wasn't making any sense. I'm sure you'll see him after the next 
round of amnesiacs." They kept moving. 


"But what did he say? It might be useful." 


The agent looked over his shoulder as he kept walking. "He said, 
‘Please close the door behind you." 


Conversation 2: Numberless 


"Jesus, the food is getting worse by the day," Agent Lee said. 


"Tell me about it," Agent Eastman said. "I think this is another 
immortal-lizard sandwich. And from the taste..." Eastman took a 
bite. "...I'd say this was removed with a leaky blowtorch. From the 
dark-meat side." 


Lee chuckled. You had to bitch about the food when you couldn't 
deal with whatever else was wrong. "So who else is coming to this 
bountiful feast? Allen's got lunch right now, doesn't he?" 


"Yeah, Allen should be here any minute. Milton shouldn't be far...oh, 
shit. Never mind." Eastman looked down darkly. 


"Yeah. He caught it yesterday." Lee leaned forward and whispered, 
"He had an errand to run...downstairs." 


"Shit." Eastman took another bite. "How far down?" 


"Not as far as you'd think." Lee glanced around to see if anyone was 
listening; he had heard that RAISA had started putting "morale 
officers" throughout the Site, making sure that people stayed upbeat 
while their friends kept disappearing. Other than the cafeteria being 
a bit sparser than usual, nobody seemed to be taking particular 
interest in them. "Barely halfway through the Keter levels." 


"That's at least eight floors from the bottom of the site," Eastman 
said. 


"The bottom of the site that we know about," Lee said. "We have to 
know now that there's something down there that they're not telling 
us." 


"Obviously, we don't have to know," Eastman said, "or else we 
would know. | don't want any amnestic treatments that | can avoid." 


"Have you ever considered..." Lee glanced around again. "Have you 
ever considered that maybe we have a right to know things that our 
current employers might not want us to?" 


Eastman blanched. Leaning forward, he whispered, "No, and neither 
should you. We got good fucking jobs, that just happen to be for 
people who like to keep secrets. And who keep secrets the 
Benjamin Franklin way. Y'know, 'three can keep a secret if two of 
them are dead'?" 


"Listen," Lee whispered back, "| know you know something. | know 
there're some people who have...who have a different idea about 
what people like us should know. Especially when it's our asses on 
the line." 


"Our asses are always on the line," Eastman said. "What the fuck 
does it matter if we get our neck snapped by a statue, or stuck ina 
desert behind a mirror, or if we just...disappear? Dead is dead. And 
for all we know, O5 could be sending a team down to the basement 
as we speak. | don't get paid to think. | get paid to shoot shit." 


Lee sighed. "There's a big difference between an assigned job, a 
posting, where they tell you what you're getting into, give you a 
fighting chance to make it back, and a big-ass death trap in the 
basement of Site 19. Something powerful enough to shut down 
security cameras, unlock doors, make one of us disappear, without 
letting us shoot back. I've talked to some people who checked out 
the scene of the disappearance, okay? No signs of struggle. No 
bullet holes, no scrapes, no blood, nothing. People just vanishing 
into midair. And yeah, that scares the shit out of me." 


Eastman looked at Lee for a long time. "You're sure this is what you 
wanna do? Risks or no?" 


"Hell yes." 


"Okay. Come with me." Eastman checked his Grayberry. "My phone 
says we have an hour before anyone comes looking for us. If you 
want to do this, now's the time." 


"You sure you want to have your Foundation phone on you when 


we're about to...to do this?" 


"It'd be more suspicious if we didn't carry them. I've got the tracker 
off, though. You might want to do the same." 


"You can turn it off?" Lee was shocked. 


"Yeah, give me yours." Lee handed it over to Eastman, who put an 
SD chip in the back and handed it back. Lee looked at the screen, 
which showed a skull-and-crossbones logo with the words "| 
SOLEMNLY SWEAR | AM UP TO NO GOOD" below it. 


"You ready for this? There's no going back now," Eastman said. 
"Absolutely," Lee said. 


They walked to the nearest elevator. Eastman pushed a series of 
buttons, and the elevator began to move. 


"Okay," he said to Lee, "here's what we know. There's an SCP that 
doesn't have a number, something that isn't supposed to be here. 
Some people have been having some strange dreams, the same 
one, about a room at the bottom of Site 19." 


"Yeah, | had one a couple of nights ago," Lee said. 
Eastman looked at him. "What did you see?"