From the time of SCP-1935's discovery and for the five years 
following it, any person within the structure would experience 
hallucinations, coupled with sense of temporal and spatial 
dislocation, at inconsistent intervals. Said hallucinations always 
consisted of a view of the Earth as seen from a moving point in 
space. This point is located at height of approximately 370 km above 
sea level (i.e, in orbit) and moves at a speed of approx. 27,000 km/ 
h. Hallucinations typically lasted between five and thirty minutes. 
The intervals between hallucinations grew increasingly long during 
the time SCP-1935 was active, from one occurring approximately 
every hour in the time immediately following its discovery, to 
hallucinations occurring only about every two weeks in the period 
prior to its neutralization, following Incident SCP-1935-Atropos. 


Additionally, SCP-1935 was found to be resistant to changes in its 
local reality; SCP-1935's interior repeatedly altered itself in an 
attempt to return to the way it was prior to being contained by the 
Foundation. This anomalous quality of SCP-1935 manifested in 
natural phenomena such as the patterns in which dust gathered and 
a significantly lowered rate of growth for flora found within the 


structure, as well as in the apparent discarding of litter left in the 
premise of SCP-1935. Larger items and people seemed entirely 
unaffected by this secondary effect of SCP-1935, and it is not 
currently known if or how it related to the primary phenomena. 
Surface similarities have been found between this secondary 
anomalous effect of SCP-1935 and that of SCP-1915, though due to 
the general nature of the phenomena and the inherent difficulty of 
conducting research in SCP-1915's vicinity, establishing more solid 
connections has proved unsuccessful. 


Addendum-1935-A: Incident-1935-Atropos: following a period of 
three weeks without activity in SCP-1935, Foundation personnel 
within the structure experienced the following hallucination on / / 

. This hallucination diverged significantly from the previously 
established pattern of SCP-1935 in that it included an element of 
speech. Speaker was identified as male and spoke for seven 
minutes and fifteen seconds before ceasing. 


<Transcript:> 


First of all, | want to let you know that you don't have to 
listen to this. What | have to say isn't really all that 
important. Hell, I'm not even sure it's interesting. You 
could walk away right now, and nothing bad is going to 
happen to you or to anyone else. But if you're willing, and 
you have some spare time I'd like you to listen. It's the 
last story I'm ever going to tell, after all. 


When | was little, | wanted to go to space. 


Not as an astronaut, mind you. Even as a boy, | knew | 
didn't have what it took to be someone like that. | didn't 
really know how | would get there, or when, or why, all | 
knew that at least once in my life | wanted to leave this 
planet behind, if only for a few moments. To be above 
everything | Knew, unrestrained, without worry, without 
fear. To be... uncontained. 


You know these kids that get bullied in high-school? 
Those awkward, geeky, unattractive kids who get picked 
on by those bigger or prettier or more popular than them, 


who get pushed around relentlessly, without mercy, until 
they have no choice but to turn to each other for 
company, simply because no one else would have 
them? The kind of kids that adults always say would 
grow up to be scientists or venture capitalists or some 
other great thing just so they could feel better about 
doing nothing for them? | wasn't one of those kids. | 
never got my head stuck in a toilet, was never humiliated 
because of the TV shows | liked or the books | read or 
the fact | wasn't really interested in sports or because | 
looked weird or had a strange accent. Do you know what 
| felt when | watched those poor bastards being 
tormented, for no real reason, sometimes brutally? Why | 
never once said anything? 


It's because | was jealous of them. | saw them hang 
around in groups, in pathetic bunches of the miserable 
and downtrodden. | saw the bonds building up between 
them, nurtured as much by mutual suffering as by their 
common interests. | saw those kids slowly transforming 
each other into grown men and women through their 
suffering, watched how they hardened and stuck closer 
to one another, like carbon molecules making a 
diamond. And me? 


| stayed as | always was. As | said, | was never picked 
on by bullies. Hell, my existence was rarely even 
acknowledged by them. | seemed to drift through my 
years in school like some sort of half-corporeal 
apparition. | didn't have any friends, but not because of 
anything | was. No, it was because of this odd sense of 
lethargy that always seemed to weigh down every 
decision | made, like... an anchor to a drowning ship. | 
wanted to go out and hang with the other kids, to go 
do... | dunno, whatever kids do. Ride bikes, play video 
games or smoke or get drunk and caught by the cops 
and spend a night in jail until your parents come and 
drag your crying ass home. But | couldn't. | couldn't get 
myself to do anything at all. At first | told myself that it 
was just me being lazy, and that was probably true, to an 


extent. There was something more to it though, 
something that fed my laziness until it became a bloated, 
obese thing. | was scared. 


Of what? Fuck if | Know. My parents always tried to get 
me to try new things, to go out there and live, to just do 
something, for heaven's sake. They tried their very best. 
| was their only son after all, born late in their lives, and 
they only ever wanted what was best for me. They told 
me they didn't care if | got in trouble or didn't do too well 
in school or anything like that. They just wanted me to be 
happy, and | loved them for that. They were the only 
thing in the world | loved. But | couldn't do it, not even for 
them. So | drifted, on and on, until school was done. 
Twelve years, and | don't think | spoke more than a score 
of words to any of my classmates. I'm not even sure 
most of them knew my name. 


Am | boring you? Sorry if | am. I'm getting to some sort of 
point with this, | promise. It's just hard to keep focused, 
the way | am now. 


You see, | used to watch a lot of movies about college. 
They all promised that it was a time to party nonstop, to 
meet girls, have a good time. | wasn't stupid enough to 
buy that, but | thought that maybe living on-campus 
would force me to interact with people, and that maybe 
that way I'll finally get over myself for long enough to 
actually meet someone. My parents thought so too, and 
so they sent me to the best college they could afford, 
even though my mother was already not well at the time. 
At first, | thought it worked. | met a few people | didn't 
mind hanging out with in between classes and during 
meals, and | learned to talk a bit more and to joke around 
and be... social, | guess. But it was quickly becoming 
apparent that all of this was an illusion. Sure, | was 
talking to people, but | never actually got to know any of 
them. We would talk about this or that class or some 
show on TV or what an asshole that politician was and 
how he dared propose this particular law, and that was 


that. The moment | was out of their sight | was out of 
their minds, and sad as it is to admit, it was the same for 
me too. Once | was alone | crawled back to my old 
habits, became just the person | was in high school all 
over again. | didn't do any partying, needless to say, nor 
was | having a particularly good time. And girls... 


There was one girl. She was a year above me, took 
some of the same classes | did since she had to take 
some time off during her first year. We'd talk sometimes 
before class. She was nice, intelligent, god damn 
gorgeous, and never anything but perfectly polite to me. 
Our conversations were never about anything of 
substance, just like with all the others, but | liked her a 
lot. Maybe even more than that. She was the only one | 
kept thinking about. | never did anything about it, of 
course. The thought of asking her out terrified me 
beyond reason. So | waited, though for the life of me | 
don't know for what. Maybe | dreamed she'd ask me out 
herself or some other stupid notion like that. Needless to 
say, nothing like that ever happened. At the end of my 
second year, she left. There was no drama, of course, 
because as far as she was concerned, | wasn't anything 
more than a casual acquaintance. She left, and that was 
that. I'm not sure if | cried because of it. | might've. 


After that, well... you know how there are all those songs 
about having your heart broken, how bad it hurts and 
how the pain won't go away and all that? | guess that 
what | felt was the exact opposite. Not happy, obviously, 
what | mean was that | beginning to sort of go... numb, 
maybe? | don't really like using the word because it 
implies something deep and dramatic, some plunge into 
the depths of despair or something. It wasn't anything 
like that. | lived my life, | did alright in school, | worked, 
and most of the time | didn't even think about it. | 
functioned. But sometime, usually when it was late, | 
used to think about this... lack in my life, and it was then 
that | knew | should stop hoping. | realized that this is all 
I'm ever going to get. That what was is what is and what 


will be, until I'm gone. That the girl going away wasn't 
some great tragedy that would scar me for life- because 
she's only going to be the first among many to leave 
without ever even realizing | cared. And that someday, 
I'd stop caring altogether. You know what the strangest 
thing is? | began hoping that day would come sooner 
rather than later. 


A year after | graduated, my mother passed away. Her 
back has been real bad for a few years by that point, and 
she really couldn't function anymore. My dad was worn 
thin trying to take care of her, but in the end it was 
decided that the only chance she had was an operation. 
You know, it's strange. Medicine has improved so much 
these last few decades, but most of that improvement 
has to do with the stuff in the front of the body. As far as 
back issues are concerned, you're about as likely to die 
on the operating table as you are to walk away. And my 
mother... she didn't. | told myself that she was in pain, 
that maybe she was better off now, wherever she was, 
but | just had to look at my dad to know it was bullshit. 
After everything taking care of her took from him, he 
just... he couldn't handle it anymore. He couldn't handle 
that it was all for nothing, that she just ended up... yeah. 
Six months later, and he was gone. Doctors said it was a 
sudden aneurysm, but | was never really sure. Doesn't 
matter anyway. Gone is gone. 


Not much longer now. Heh, not like | have a choice 
anyway. 


Without my mom and dad, my last real connection to 
other people was gone. | was working as a cashier ina 
local drug store at the time, since | never really found the 
motivation to seek work in my chosen field after college. 
My life began to sorta shrink, like | couldn't see anything 
past my register. | could vaguely comprehend there were 
people behind those hands that handed me credit cards, 
but they weren't really there. If you asked me, | honestly 
couldn't tell you how | felt during those days. | mean, by 


that point | was used to living like this. It was all | really 
knew. And it was paying work, good as any other, so 
there was no point in complaining. When | came home, | 
used to go to those group support forums. Not really to 
talk to anyone, because the few times | tried it never 
really did anyone involved any good. No, | was there to 
look at other people's stories, and convince myself that 
my situation wasn't as bad in comparison. And it really 
wasn't. Some of those people had terrible shit happening 
in their lives, and | mean real stuff, real pain. |... | didn't 
want to help though. Not at all. It's fucked up, but | 
needed them there, just the way they were. Their pain 
kept me afloat, kept me sane. 


One day, when | got off from work, | didn't go home. | just 
couldn't bear the thought of going back to that empty 
place, to sit alone in front of a screen and pretend that | 
care about the trouble of people | never met and will 
never meet. To take their dignity away as | secretly 
rejoiced in their suffering. So | just walked, | walked until 
there was no more streets to walk, and | was outside the 
city. It was the first time | left the city in years, and out 
there, in that point just before the mountains start, the 
light was low enough to allow you to see the stars. 
Swirling patterns of them, beyond count. Beyond reason. 
So many. I'm... not sure what | felt. It was wonderful. It 
was terrifying. |... 


I'm making no sense. It's the fading, you see. Not much 
longer now. I'll try and keep myself together though, just 
for a while longer. Heh. Together. 


| was watching those stars, but not only the stars. | 
began looking at the empty places between them, and 
my legs began carrying me, like that mountain road was 
going to take me up there, to the heart of the void. And | 
wanted to go, desperately wanted to go. But no. No road 
to the stars, just a building, this building. It was as you 
see it now, two floors, four rooms each, and the pools. 
Ah, but | forget, something was different. The pools, 


those dry indents right there, they were full. Full of 
nothing. Nothing made manifest. A nothing with... with 
teeth. 


Did you know there are people out there who can create 
something from nothing? As my legs carried me to that 
pool, it spoke to me about those people. They can look 
into the empty places that are between things, and bend 
them, fill them with their will, and so, from nothing, 
something. But those empty places that they fill... they 
have to go somewhere, right? Yes, the pool told me, and 
| could hear it so clearly now, | was touching it, you see, 
the pool told me that most of those people just threw the 
empty places, that entropy, they just threw it away. They 
didn't care what happened when an empty place, a place 
that should be hidden, was exposed. They didn't care 
that when that happened, the empty places weren't 
empty anymore, because things from other places began 
to fill them, and people... people died. Most of those who 
could create didn't care at all. But he did. 


| could feel him there, in the empty places he left behind 
him. He didn't throw them away, no, he made a place 
where they could be safe, where people would be safe 
from them. And he didn't even know it. He didn't even 
know he had the power to create in the first place. He 
was... he was just like me, but it was worse for him. | 
was trapped because | had no power, but he was 
trapped because he had too much. He was... stuck, 
because he believed he was stuck. He was unhappy 
because that was the reality he made for himself from his 
empty places, from his personal entropy. He didn't even 
know that all this power was there, that | was touching it, 
that | was holding it. But unlike him, | Knew that this was 
power. That this was... real. 


For the first time in my life, | had power. Not to create, of 
course, because this was the power of the empty places. 
No, this was the power to unmake. To erase everything. | 
began to shiver, as the empty places that the unknowing