Description: SCP-3001 is a hypothesized paradoxical parallel/ 
pocket "non-dimension" accessible through the creation of a 
momentary Class-C "Broken Entry" Wormhole.! While believed to 
be an infinitely extending parallel universe, SCP-3001 is almost 
completely devoid of any matter and has an extremely low Hume 
Level of 0.032,2 contradicting Kejel's Laws of Reality with the 
relation between Humes and spacetime. This phenomenon causes 
matter inside it to decay at an extremely low rate, and damage that 
would otherwise prove fatal does not impede any biological/ 
electronic function; simulations suggest an organism can lose more 
than 70% of their body's tissue and still operate normally, as long as 
at least 40% of the brain remains. However, prolonged exposure will 
cause said matter to gradually approach SCP-3001's own Hume 
Level, resulting in severe tissue/structural damage as the matter's 
own Hume Field begins to disintegrate. 


SCP-3001 was initially discovered on January 2, 2000, at Site-120, 
a facility dedicated to testing and containing reality-bending 
technology. Dr. Robert Scranton and his wife Dr. Anna Lang were 
Head Researchers at Site-120, and were developing an 
experimental device, called the "Lang-Scranton Stabilizer" (LSS). 


Dr. Scranton was transported to SCP-3001 after unexpected seismic 
activity damaged several active LSS in Site-120 Reality Lab A. 


Initially presumed dead, Dr. Scranton has survived in SCP-3001 for 
at least five years, 11 months, and 21 days. During this time, he was 
able to record his experiences and observations within SCP-3001 
through a somehow still functioning LSS control panel, which was 
also brought into SCP-3001 with him through the Class-C "Broken 
Entry" Wormhole. These recordings were later recovered upon the 
panel's sudden return, an unexpected side effect from testing 
improved reality-bending technology; these logs are the basis of 
SCP-3001 study. Despite new technologies being developed, 
retrieval and re-integration of Dr. Scranton has been unsuccessful. 
His current physical and mental states, if he is still alive, are 
unknown. [Further information on Dr. Scranton's possible retrieval is 
under Ethics Committee review.] Transcripts of Dr. Scranton's logs 
are below. 


+ Access, File: Scranton SCP-3001 logs, Section 1. 


[No discernible/coherent dialogue can be 
heard from Dr. Scranton for the first eight 
days. He cycles through periods of panic, 
confusion, and anger throughout, and it seems 
he was attempting to navigate SCP-3001 to 
find a way out. He finally moved close enough 
to the recording log on the eleventh day, 
though did not notice it was operating for 
several more hours.] 


Name, Robert Scranton. Age, 39. Birthday, 
September 19, 1961. 


Favorite color, blue. 
Favorite song, "Living on a Prayer." 
Wife... Anna... 


Anna... 


Name, Robert Scranton. Age, 39. Birthday, 
September 19, 1961. 


Favorite color, blue. 

Favorite song, "Living on a Prayer." 

Wife, Anna. She has green eyes. | love her 
very much. 


Name, Robert Scranton. Age, 39. Birthday, 
September 19, 1961. 


Favorite color, blue. 

Height, 178 cm. 

Weight, 85 kg. 

Wife, Anna. Anna, I'm sorry. 


Name, Robert Scranton. Age, 39. Birthday, 
September 19, 1961. 


Favorite color, blue. 

My wife's name is Anna. We got married 
August 12, 1991. 

| hope she got out okay. 

Please let her be all right, please let her be all 
right. 


Robert, Scranton. 39. Anna, blue, wife. 
Please... please, God, please... 


Anna... Anna... Anna bo banna... Anna bo 
banna... 


What the... what the hell is that? /It is 
assumed at this point Dr. Scranton noticed the 
flashing light of the recording module. ] 


What the fuck, this thing's actually recording? 
[Metallic clang heard.] 


[Voice is highly agitated and panicked.] My 
name, is Robert Scranton. Yeah, yeah, my 


name, is Robert Scranton, former researcher 
at Foundation Site-120. It has been... | don't 
know, actually, |... | can't remember. I... | 
estimate it's been ten days, but, I-I-I don't, | 
can't... Oh God, can anyone hear me?! I-I-I 
don't know what's happened, I-! don't know 
where | am, and-and, please, please is anyone 
there?! Hello?! Anyone?! ANYONE?! 


No one can hear me. Oh God, oh God, oh 
God. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK. 


Why the hell is this thing even working, it can't 
be working, it SHOULDN'T be working, so 
what the hell?! | need to — God, | need to, | 
need to... see, how... long can | talk here, | 
think there's a-a-a cap or something on the 
recording log, and I-I-| can't see anything, | 
can only see the red light blinking on and off, | 
can't see any of the switches next to it... 


I'm really hungry. 


Thirsty, too. | think | should be dead from 
dehydration by now, but... | don't know. 


Hi, little red light. Can you talk to me? Can you 
talk to... Anna, for me? Hello? 


| found the controls. 


Two weeks, three days, forty-seven hours, and 
fifty-eight minutes. 


Two weeks, three days, forty-seven hours, and 
fifty-eight minutes. 


Two weeks, three days, seven hours, and fifty- 
eight minutes. 


Two weeks, three days, seven hours, and fifty- 
eight minutes. 


Oh... Jesus. 


ERROR WITH PLAYBACK, ERROR WITH 
PLAYBACK. ERROR WITH PLAYBACK. 


Wherever the hell | am, I'm pretty sure now 
that... | don't need to eat to stay alive. It 
hurts... a lot, but... at this point | don't think I'm 
gonna die... So... I'm gonna... I'm gonna take 
my time... | guess. I... Maybe some sort of 
miracle will happen and I'll get out. Heh. Keep 
dreaming, Robert. Yeah, I'm... I'm tired, I'm 
gonna sleep. 


Three weeks, four days, nineteen hours. 


| have a picture of Anna in my pocket. | almost 
forgot. Little red light, let me see her face, 
please? Just a little bit, | just... | just want to 
see her a bit. 


Hi, Anna, I'm still here, I'm still here. I'm 
coming back, okay? 


Two months, four days, three hours. 


... Hi. Robert here. Yeah, I-l haven't really 
recorded much to hear in the past few weeks. 
Ha. Hahahaha... Hahaha... huh... huh... 


Sorry, gotta keep it together. Breathe. 


I've been... I've been busy. Trying to learn 
more about the place I'm in. My prison. My 
kingdom all my own. Heh, King Robert. God, | 
stink. Is there even air in this goddamn place? 
Stinky King Robert, king of GODDAMN 
NOTHING FUCK. 


... sorry, sorry. I, | gotta keep this professional. 
I'll... I'll come back when I'm feeling rested. 


... Okay, here goes. [/nhales then exhales 
deeply. ] 


My name is... Robert Scranton. | am a former 
Head Researcher of Site... 120, a Foundation 
facility dedicated to studying various reality- 
bending SCPs, for the purpose of developing 
more advanced countermeasures towards 
such threats. 


For the last... red light, speak to me, 
Two months, eight days, sixteen hours. 


What red light said. | have been trapped in 
what | believe to be an empty pocket 
dimension. Alone. Yeah... alone. All alone. 


I'm calling this place SCP... | don't know, | 
can't remember where we are, screw it. | don't 
know what's happened in the past... red light, 
please, again. 


Two months, eight days, sixteen hours. 


But... no one else is around to argue, and at 
this point... I'm just talking into this control 
panel to keep myself together. I... | need to 
keep a record. There might be some poor 
bastard in the future who ends up like me, 
and... if this ever actually makes it out... 
maybe, maybe | can help stop that from 
happening. That's all | have going for me right 
now, and | really need something to go for, 
hahahaha... 


...90, yeah, Robert... Scranton... documenting 
a new SCP for... future research purposes. 
That'll have to do. Here we go! 


+ Access, File: Scranton SCP-3001 logs, Section 2. 


Two months, eleven days, ten hours. 
Item number, SCP | don't fucking care. 


Object Class, Euclid, | guess, but | don't know, 
| might update this in time. | need to explore 
more. 


Special Containment Procedures, god | sound 
so much like a shrink right now... Um... | don't 
know if we could... contain wherever | am. 
It's... definitely not on Earth. To be honest | 
don't know where it is. I... | think it has do 
something with the Stabilizer prototype... I'll 
explain that more later. Okay... um... yeah, 
wherever | am, | don't think it can be contained 
much as... created. No, no, that's not the word 
I'm looking for. Um... entered. Yeah, entered 
is better. | came into this place because of 
some really bad reality-bending accident 
and... no, no, Robert, don't be like that yet, 
you don't know if there's no exit yet. Ooooh... 
livin' on a prayer... halfway... there. Ahem. 


Two months, eleven days, eighteen hours. 


So... wait, no, Description, Robert, stick to the 
format... This place... It's some sort of reality 
gap, | think. It's dark. Really dark. As in, this 
little red light that shows my words are actually 
being recorded is the only visible light in this 
entire place. | can't see my hands, and | can 
barely see the control panel here. I've had to 
basically use the light as a center, and 
remember how many steps | take and in which 
direction. | haven't gone past a hundred yet. 
I'm too... I'm too scared to. Heh. | wonder if my 
hair is turning white, right now? | can't even 
see what color it is anymore. Speaking of 


which, my head has been a bit itchy recently. If 
| don't concentrate on it, it's fine, but | feel 
this... tingling all over my face. I'm not sure 
why. 


Two months, fifteen days, four hours. 


Okay... hoooo... I-l need to relax for a minute, 
Jesus, god, shit. Holy... shit, shit, shit... |... 
just discovered a new property of this place. 
All this time, I've been thinking | might be 
walking on... some sort of... flat ground, if you 
will. | kept eye contact with little red as far as | 
could see, and it seems | could walk ina 
straight, flat path. Jesus, my head is buzzing 
right now, | think the adrenaline is still 
kicking... But, if my hypothesis is correct, and 
this really is some sort of reality... void, then 
there shouldn't be anything to walk on. Now 
that | think about, the whole time I've been in 
here, it's felt like... I'm walking, but I'm also 
swimming through something. And this 
something is thick, and form-fitting, it has 
this... pressure, which | know isn't the correct 
term, but goddamn it, this place makes no 
damn sense and I'm doing my best to 
understand it, okay?! 


God... Sorry. 


So, the best analogy | can come up with is... 
it's like I'm walking through really thick black 
gel. There's enough tension to keep me on a... 
"surface", but if I... imagine myself pressing 
down hard enough, | can descend. Wait. Wait, 
wait, wait, wait, wait, | think... | think | need to 
test this more, I'll be back. 


Two months, seventeen days, two hours. 


Navigation is largely affected by... conscious 


impulses to travel in a certain direction. So, 
this definitely isn't a complete reality gap, at 
least according to mine and Anna's theories. 
If-if it were | wouldn't have been able to move 
at all, since space wouldn't have existed. Holy 
shit, okay, okay, this makes a lot more sense 
than it did before, great, great job, Robert, 
you're getting there. ...Come to think of it, | 
should've realized that sooner when | was able 
to move in a flat plane to and from little red. It 
also explains why I'm not dead from 
dehydration or hunger yet, time barely passes 
in here. Okay yeah, so, | stood right next to 
little red, and went straight... "down." Okay, 
from here on out, imagine little red as the 
origin of a 3D space. | went straight... down, 
right, yeah, and then... and then | was then 
able to come back "up" to little red again. I've 
also been able to "fly" above red. Movement in 
here is slow, like | said, gel analogy, best | can 
describe it by. 


Two months, twenty-two-days, three hours. 


Reporting back for another update, red, SIR! 
Hahaha, come on red, lighten up. Ha! Pun not 
intended... Come on red, crack a little smile, 
it's funny! 


... Fine, whatever. Ahem. 


This place still seems like it barely follows 
Kejel's Laws of Reality Parameters. And by 
barely, | mean, really just barely. I'm pretty 
sure my math is right, but... hold on, I'm gonna 
check again... 


Jesus. Yeah, yeah, pretty sure it's good still. 
Okay, this place... if we're using the standard 


Hume scale, I'm pretty sure I'm in a reality 
where the Hume Field is... point zero... four... 
ish. Yeah, really, really, really fucking low, 
so... Like | said above, space-time exists on a 
very minuscule scale, so my biology is not 
getting shot to hell and back because of any 
malnutrition, but that also means... I... I'm 
actually not sure what that also means... 


Adding on from the last entry. I'm... I'm not 
sure how my biology will react in such a low 
Hume concentration, actually. | mostly worked 
with higher than average Hume Fields, and the 
reality benders we tested never had a Field 
lower than 0.8. This... this is gonna be a first. 
An all-time first. | remember Site-133's 
"Prommel Killer", they called it that because it 
broke the previous theory about the lowest 
limit of Hume concentration. Really expensive, 
really weird machine that brought down a 
small area to 0.4. 0.05 is... yeah. 


| was lying. | was lying, last log... |... I'm lying 
to myself. My own body, and... little red here 
too... We're about the realest things in this 
place. And that means... over time... the 
Hume field's going to want to... equalize, 
and... I'm... I'm gonna go for now, | have 
some... some calculation to do again. Red, 
Anna, take note I'm using Kejel's Second, 
Third, and Fourth Laws, got it? Use... use 0.05 
as the surrounding, my external field as... 
somewhere in between 1 and 1.4, use the 
Second Law's error estimation correction, and 
my internal as... as... as... shit. I'm not done 
yet. 


| am real. | am super-real. Super duper real. 
Ultra real, the realest guy in a world of no-real. 


SCP-362: A Cool T-Shirt 


Item #: SCP-362 
Object Class: Safe 


Special Containment Procedures: SCP-362 may be sealed ina 
polypropylene bag and stored in an indexed box on-site within Vault 
2b. 


SCP-362 is to be stored in a polypropylene bag and kept ina 
standard lockbox. This lockbox is to be kept in a dedicated room 
with no materials pertaining to other SCPs, including handwritten 
and/or typed files, smartphones, PDAs, Post-It notes, memos, etc. 
Electronic devices with access to the Internet and/or on-site intranet 
are forbidden from entering and/or accessing said room. 
Containment chamber should include non-relevant books and 
magazines along with blank notebooks, for observation purposes. 


Only persons possessing Level 1 clearance or lower may receive 
authorization to enter the containment chamber and wear SCP-362, 
which shall be done for research purposes and for said purposes 
only. Dr. and O5- possess keys unlocking SCP-362’s lockbox; 
no other copies may be made without O5 authorization. Two 
security personnel must bar access to anyone not possessing the 
required clearance, and at least one surveillance camera must 
monitor each of the following for both research and security 
purposes: exterior of chamber entryway, interior of chamber 
entryway, lockbox, and the chamber itself. 


Description: SCP-362 is a light blue T-shirt bearing the logo of 
[REDACTED], a children’s “Saturday morning cartoon” television 
program popular in the late 1980s and early 90s. It is a size M 
(medium), with short sleeves. Its color appears to have faded, and 
was likely a darker shade of blue. Its tag states the T-shirt is made 
of 100% cotton; testing has confirmed this statement. Despite its 
apparent age, it is in good condition apart from said fading: its collar