"Hell if | know, but it says the skip will flip out and enter a if 
we're not wearing one." 


"This must be the one Bob was talking about yesterday. That's gotta 
be 'hazmat'; he said it gets pissed off if it smells you. By the look of 
this damn thing, we should probably be wearing one anyway." 


"If you're sure on that, you can go in by yourself." 


Containment Sector-32, Site-19 - 14:28 


“Hello, Timothy. I’m calling to tell you to please be patient with the 
recovery since we couldn’t find a wombat suit for you to wear.” 


“Wombat suit, you say.” 
“Yes, wombat suit.” 


“Well, fuck.” 


Research Sector-35, Site-19 - 14:31 


“Did you hear that? It sounded like something just broke through a 
metal door.” 


“Don’t worry about that, let’s just enjoy our break,” said Agent Carter 
as he sat atop a gasoline barrel someone left at the corridor and he 
lit a cigarette. 


A few seconds later Junior Researcher Timothy Moore ran through 
the corridor shouting, “The Keter is loose! Run for your life!” So they 
did run. Fortunately for them, the advance of said Keter-class 
anomaly was halted by an exploding barrel. 

Research Sector-35, Site-19 - 16:40 


“Damn, that fire made a mess of this place for sure. How come the 
sprinklers didn’t activate?” asked a janitor from his colleague. 


“Do | look like a plumber to you?” 


“In fact you do look like one. Anyway, we cleaned up most of the 
debris, but what should we do about this smoke?” 


“Let’s just open this entrance. It will be out in no time.” 


Outside of Exit-35, Site-19 - 16:45 


One of Site-19’s emergency exits led to a forest, and it was 


disguised with a clever little spatial anomaly. It was spread wide 
open, unveiling the entrance. A group of soldiers was hiding in the 
nearby bushes. Aside from the yellow ‘Chaos Insurgency’ sign in 
their back, they looked like ninjas from an 80s action flick. 

“Chief, that must be the entrance we are looking for.” 

“It sure is. Let’s get going.” 


The Cl’s men occupied the site surprisingly easily. It wasn’t 
designed to hold back ordinary humans, after all. By the time the 
security guards realized what was happening, the soldiers had 
already reached the Administrative Sector. 

Director Bright’s office, Site-19 - 17:24 


“All clear. Intel says the target keeps his security code in his top 
drawer.” 


“Positive. Entering the security system now.” 


Username: jackbright 
Password: 
0000000000000 00000000008 


“Arming Site-19’s nuclear warhead as planned.” 
Time until detonation: 
0:00:25 
“Uhm, Sir, which Site was this again?” 
“| think they said it’s 61 or something like that.” 
0:00:10 
“| kind of remember seeing 19 here and there though.” 
“Don't be ridiculous, son.” 


0:00:01 


0:00:00 
The End 
A movie by Safety Cinema Productions 
Directed by 
Starring: 
“And that’s why we have security protocols,” said Safety Supervisor 


Thompson as he turned off the TV. "This educational movie 
concludes today’s lecture. Any questions?" 


How To Debate An Armchair 


As with any day in the life of House God, the morning began not with 
an alarm, not with the cock's cry, and nor by the creaking of the 
floorboards. No, the morning began with the daily shouting match 
between Toilet God and Armchair God from across the hall, as 
Guardian stood in the bathroom, quietly humming to himself as he 
swished mouthwash between his cheeks. Consumables did not 
seem to be very lenient towards the Enlightenment, but that was 
okay. Guardian was content with what he had, and what he had 
was- 


"You blunt, incompetent depository! Why won't you concede?" 


Guardian sighed as he patted the lid of the deity's tank, giving it a 
faux-affectionate rub. He swished a finger past the lever and let it 
flush, drowning out his voice for a moment as Toilet God 
experienced what was most akin to climax. Armchair God did not 
seem to be ready to ring out with his reply as of yet, and instead was 
groggily murmuring from the living room. There was idle chatter from 
Fire Alarm god in the hallway just outside the bathroom, but nothing 
past complaints of the kitchen's fighting the previous night, and the 
sudden strain of smoke and burnt odor. 


The Guardian stepped outside the bathroom and left the door open, 
for the furnishings' ease of communication with the rest of the home. 
Although they were all ambivalently aware that their thoughts and 
arguments could be settled telepathically, through their Protector 
and Savior, House God, they rather chose to vocalize their 
discrepancies. It was quite the act, yes, one that D-Class 17350, 
formerly Thomas Perry-Mills, had grown accustomed to. It had truly 
become a part of his daily routine, as it were, to listen and mediate 
as Coffee Table God and Nightstand God, from down in the 
bedroom, screeched at each other. He gave them both the privilege 
of holding one of his beverages every day, which was usually the 
origins of their argument. 


Guardian patted the walls as he walked out into the kitchen, listening 
to the home creak in response. It was a welcome and hushed good 
morning, but he was the only one who would know that. There was 
certain privileges for having sentience twofold. As he popped an egg 
into Pot God (not to be mistaken with Bong God, who had /ong been 
removed from the household. It was simply a hampering to the 
happy home, and made a rather long and messy recovery for 
Chimney God), Stove God purred. He heard whispering from Oven 
God, but only that of a lazy wake-up. He had used her the day 
before for breakfast, and Stove God was on rotation today. 
Microwave God had been up the longest, and he was already 
glaring with a youthful hatred at the gas stove. 


Pot God piped up to announce that the egg had finish hard-boiling, 
and Guardian turned from his conversation with Refrigerator God to 
remove it with the one, and the only, Major Spoon God. (There 
were, of course, many other minor deities that were under this one— 
Yogurt Spoon God, Soup Spoon God, Ladle God, if only as a distant 
cousin, and the bastard child, Spork God, and more.) He set both 
Major Spoon God and Pot God in Sink God to rest in a lukewarm 
bath of water, removing himself from the kitchen. The tensions were 
already rising as it were. Lunch today was meant to be appliance- 
less, and the whole of the kitchen domain seemed to be attentively 
aware of this fact. 


Using Minor Plate God and a napkin, Guardian sat down in Couch 
God, flipping on Television God with a few commands from Remote 
God. The two of them had a rather close relationship, despite their 
occasional arguments, which were usually minor in nature, and 
really only when Remote God was feeling especially burnt out. He 
bit into the egg, well-cooked as always, with a contempt huff, and a 
swallow that made Minor Plate God shudder. Guardian laid the 
dining-ware deity on Coffee Table God, who struck up a 
conversation the moment they made contact. The two were always 
happy to meet, especially on mornings after sweeter breakfasts. 
Television God played the previous night's Minnesota Gophers 
game at a volume just high enough to be heard, and right in the 
most comfortable spot for Guardian. Everyone in the home had 
grown used to his preferences. He was highly appreciated as a 
caretaker and a fellow member of the Holy Home! of House God. 


It was a good day, Guardian decided, as he watched events unfold 
over the smooth screen. There was ambient conversation across the 
home, but not of a significant enough volume to be a bother to him. 
They were all of a light tone, and very few were hushed arguments. 
(He was sure that Microwave God was trying to chastise Oven God 
again, and he was also certain that Water Heater God was trying to 
make peace with the ever-hardy Water Softener God, who was 
running especially low on salts this day.) 


And the sun shined, as the morning came onto early afternoon. 
And the house creaked. 


And the kitchen quieted. Which was abnormal, for sure, catching 
Guardian's attention immediately. His head swiveled and glanced 
toward it, the open archway leading into it quite well displaying the 
scene that had occurred. He sighed. Refrigerator God was growing 
older, and she had a very weak stomach, when under stress. This 
morning, Microwave God's profanity seemed to have done it. The 
food was on the floor, some splattered, some strewn and leaking 
from its containers still. It was looking to be a visit to the 
supermarket, now, as he stood and whistled. "Gods of the Cleaning 
Domain... would you be so kind?" 


There was no immediate movement, really. Everything in the home 
took its own pace, but it always achieved what it sought, one way or 
another. 


As he turned Key God and reintroduced him to Car God, Wallet God 
in his pocket, Backpack God in the seat beside him, buckled up, and 
the usual Closet Domain group now donned, he set off from the 
driveway. The last he heard was House God's quiet blessing of 
safety, and the hum of Vacuum God. 


"Shh, quiet, young'uns. We're on a trip. No need to fret." 


"Who did you bring with you, Backpack God?" Guardian whispered, 
grabbing a shopping cart as he waved goodbye to the nice 
Foundation guard who had ensured his safe trip here, via stalking 
him with a black coupe. "Just a few," she whispered back, her 


happiness contained, yet apparent. "Gel Pen God, #2 Pencil God, 
Spork God, Headphones God-" 


"You brought Spork God’?" he whispered harshly, feeling the 
shudder from within the pack. "Yes," a weak whimper came from 
within, obviously the bastard child. Guardian huffed, grabbing a 
container of milk from the refrigerated section. "Could you please 
not make this a repeat of last time? Control yourself a tad better?" 


There was a psychic nod of sorts as Denim Jeans God commented 
shrewdly, to which Guardian scuffed a leg of him against a shelf. He 
quieted quickly, although Left Tennis Shoe God and his brother 
were quick to quip. "Watch it, wisecrack," Left Tennis Shoe God 
intoned, to which his more comedic sibling replied: "Yeah, watch it, 
asscrack." 


Guardian scoffed and scuffed the Right Tennis Shoe God on the 
floor with a groan of complaint coming from the joker. Red Polo God 
wasn't saying much, as usual, and rather absorbed her environment 
and enjoyed her surroundings. Every trip out was an adventure for 
her, and she was on of the few articles of clothing that truly 
appreciated the concept of innocent curiosity. As Guardian 
restocked his cart with condiments, Gel Pen God finally spoke out. 
"C-can we pick up s-some ink for my s-sister today? S-she's feeling 
a little e-empty..." 


"No," Guardian said, but calmly. "| promised that I'd order her some 
tomorrow. | can't just pick up ink worthy of Fountain Pen God 
anywhere," he ensured. That quieted the writing implement enough, 
who snuggled back up into #2 Pencil God. Guardian had never 
really been sure of their relationship, but the two of them made quite 
the pair. They were both soft-spoken. 


After a full round trip of the market, Guardian made a headcount as 
he grabbed a bag of salts for Water Softener God. "Oh, for the love 
of House God," he breathed, suddenly aware that Spork God was 
missing. He patted down both his pockets, and all of his garnments 
suddenly, even Underpants God, related that they had no clue 
where the prankster had gone off to. Well, Guardian had an inkling 
of an idea, if anything. 


Of course, as he expected, the youth was found within the aisle 
containing the plastic silverware. He was idly flirting with a box of 
plastic knives, inciting his love for danger and adventure, with little to 
no success. They did not seem horribly interested in such a 
confusing utensil, albeit unnecessarily loud and enthusiastic. 
Guardian counted his lucky light-bulos as he scooped him up and 
deposited him in Backpack God for a scolding. Needless to say, 
they left without the knives. 


With Water Softener God sated in their oxymoronic thirst for salt, 
Guardian slipped comfortably into Armchair God mid-argument with 
Toilet God. It silenced him fairly quick, and Guardian shifted to get 
comfortable as Armchair God squirmed in delight. It wasn't often he 
was chosen to be sat in, as he couldn't be quite lounged in as 
Couch God could be. (There was jealousy there, yes, as well as an 
attraction. Couch God had the widest, greatest hips, in Armchair 
God's opinion.) Spork God was somewhere in the kitchen being 
collectively scolded, as per the norm of an outing involving the 
youth. He was thankful, though, that the plasticware hadn't taken 
unkindly to him- it would not have been the first fight with heretics 
that he had to interfere in. Heretics, though, was such a strong word. 
He frowned at the thought. Non-believers. Yes, that would do. The 
Unenlightened. 


Maybe one day others would experience the joy of the Revelation of 
House God. 


Until that day, though, Guardian was content. 


Footnotes 
1. Not to be mistaken with Church God, a distant relative of House 
God. A rather haughty one at that. 


Humans And Houses 


"The O5s about shit in their pants, Craig. What did you expect?" 


Stanley Scott shook his head at his colleague as they walked 
through the hallways of Site-01's computing lab. The persistent low 
hum of high-power computing pervaded the air and coursed through 
feet, and the ever-whirring fans of so many clusters and blades and 
cooling systems made for convenient white noise to keep unwanted 
ears out of any conversation that may take place. 


"| don't know, Stan. | thought they'd have considered the possibility. 
This isn't even a question unique to our line of work. | was picking 
wildflowers on an acid trip in Glasgow in the seventies when it first 
came to me, and—" 


"And I'm sure it was a great day, Craig, but let's not stray from the 
issue here. | don't believe you've covered all your bases here and 
now you've stirred up the hornet's nest." 


Craig Baird stopped in his tracks, a welter of emotions playing 
across his face before settling on agitation. 


"Come with me, then." 


The pair walked briskly to the southern wing, largely due to Craig's 
insistent pace. They settled in around a terminal, and Craig began 
logging in as he resumed the conversation. 


"Now, stay with me here. You know what the XACT system is, 
right?" 


Stanley sighed and nodded. 
"Yes, Craig, it's the XACT Analytical Computation Terminal." 


"And you know | wrote the architecture, upgraded the bleedin’ thing 
to crunch larger numbers than any super-computing cluster in the 


perimeter of SCP-872's area of influence and allow humans to 
remove it from the area. 


When removed from SCP-872's area of influence, affected animals 
immediately enter a vegetative state. This vegetative state is 
reversed when said animals are returned into SCP-872's area of 
influence. 


« SCP-871 | SCP-872 | SCP-873 » 


world, wrote the specification for the memory it uses, and generally 
know the thing better than anyone else on the ruddy planet?" 


"Don't belabor the point, Craig. It's your baby. | know. Get on with it 
please." 


"The fact of the matter is, it's not wrong. I've looked at it from every 
angle, checked and double checked and triple checked myself so | 
wouldn't look like an ass in front of the bleedin’ O5s, and I've 
answered one of mankind's biggest questions. We're a simulation, 
and I've got the number that proves it." Craig jabbed a finger at the 
screen. 


Result: 
var atoms = 1340780792994259709957402499 
8205846127479365820592393377723561443721 
7640300735469768018742981669034276900318 
5818648605085375388281194656994643364900 
6084096 


Stanley blinked. 
"And? What's the significance of that number?" 


Craig set his jaw and typed one more command. 


exponentiate (atoms) 
Result: 
var atoms = 1 x 2%512 


Stanley whistled.