| begin this entry with new found life. It’s felt like 
centuries since I’ve taken a breath with my own lungs. 
For the past twenty-odd years, if you can really call them 
that, I’ve been nothing more than a number, a blot of ink, 
a mechanism used by the Foundation, like so many 
before. 92-61-41. That was my official name. You'll never 
find a scrap of paper with anything more than that — 
provided the Foundation did their job, and they a/ways 
do. 


There were ten of us when we started: Rachel, Israel, 
Jean, Ralph, Brendon, Youssef, Michael, Tae, Stephen 
and Sophie. It’s funny, even after we’ve come this far, 
those words hardly carry a thought with them. Our 
names, our past, our lives, they were all taken from us — 
No, perhaps taken is the wrong word. At the time, we 
were willing. We were naive. We sold our identities for 
trite sentiments; pride, glory, comfort, respect. Hah! To 
think we valued such things as we did! Nothing could 
amount to what we lost as we shoveled those failures 
and paradoxes into depths of oblivion. But | believe I’m 
getting ahead of myself now... . 


Operation: Undertaker. That was our first and only 
assignment. | doubt a single one of us could even begin 
to understand the extent of what we were getting 
ourselves into — and how could we? We were drunk 
with the ambition of Youth, stumbling into the shadows of 
theory, hired by the Foundation to assess and correct 
temporal anomalies, whether they were the product of 
failed experiments or dangerous scips. 

This was no great honor achieved from years of 


fades from view (presumably by shifting into the IR or RF range) 
when closely investigated. 


SCP-640 is carnivorous. While it is capable of deriving sustenance 
from all known Earth animals, SCP-640 shows a marked preference 
for humans and apes, especially children. It consumes its prey by 
inflicting burns of varying severity and depth. For as yet unknown 
reasons, SCP-640 tends to target the face, legs, and forearms of its 
prey. It also often feeds on the same prey repeatedly, allowing it 
time to heal between attacks. The entity prefers to attack sleeping 
prey, though if angry, hungry, or frightened, it will not hesitate to 
attack prey while awake. When it wishes, it can inflict fatal burn 
injuries to an adult human in approximately 120 seconds. 


An attempt to destroy SCP-640 using a reflective room and a 25 
GCd flashlamp has failed. However, testing revealed that a reflective 
room is effective in disrupting the entity's feeding. 


As multiple specimens of SCP-640 have surfaced, an effective 
means of neutralization is being sought. The Foundation does not 
currently believe it necessary to contain more than a few specimens 
in light of the resources required. 


Recovery Notes: The first SCP-640 specimen was recovered from 
the home of in , Japan, in 1984, after both his 
children were admitted to a local hospital with severe burn injuries. 
The Foundation was alerted by an anonymous source believed to be 
working for [REDACTED]. Foundation agents discovered the entity 
after several weeks of probing, during which time one of the children 
was killed by the entity. Agents managed to capture it using [DATA 
EXPUNGED] and transported it to Site 17 for containment. 


A second specimen was recovered in ; , United States, in 
1999, and another in 2006, both in the same neighborhood. 


Addendum 640-a: Reports from Australia suggest there is at least 
one SCP-640 specimen in the wild somewhere in and likely 
another in . Agents are currently attempting to locate and 
contain the entities. 


dedication or any tribulation to treat capital defiance: We 
weren't courageous heroes. We weren't ground-breaking 
theorists. No, we were utterly average, despite our 
education. | guess that’s why the Foundation chose us. 
We weren't zealous enough to exploit our findings, nor 
were we as defiant as the D-class personnel. We were 
honest workers, nothing more than that. 

And so we accepted our task with grace. 

Our families were treated with the strongest amnestics at 
the Foundation’s exposal. Our birth records, transcripts, 
everything was expunged — not that there was much to 
it anyway. It’s as if we never cried out to this world, 
drenched in blood, scared out of our minds, screaming 
with life. From that moment on, we were units of vague 
maths, waiting for the day they'd be computed and 
erased. 


Some of us weren’t ever going to make it that far, 
though. The few O5s that knew about us did a damn 
good job at blotting out the miscalculations: 

Israel took the best subway ride of his life. Rachel 
decided that she never wanted be “back again.” Jean, 
Ralph, Brendon and Youssef, they all took a long walk 
on a historic pier... They all made use of their times, | 
suppose. 


As for the rest of us, we buried on. We grabbed those 
shovels and continued to pile up those travesties. Until 
one day, the handle snapped, and we were no longer 
capable of digging...it was the day we found it...though | 
can hardly remember which. 


We were passing by a small town , en route to another 
researcher's regret, when Stephen saw it. 

On the outside, it was just a shitty little chemical factory. 
Nothing special, but maybe that’s what caught our eyes. 
After all, Narcissus had a captivating gaze, and we 
ourselves found a reflection. We notified our superior 
responsible for us, telling him that we we came upon the 
temporal abscess a little unexpectedly, and that we'd 


relay information accordingly — Tae’s idea. 
We were all enthralled with the factory. 


But something was just off about the entire place. At the 
time, | couldn’t quite explain it, but there was something 
alluring about the whole thing. Like coming home after 
years away. 

Sophie was the first to find it. A huge generator below 
the observation room, in mint condition, letting off a faint 
glow. Naturally we grabbed the necessary equipment 
and scanned the object. The Foundation had taught us a 
lot along the years, including how to operate their nifty 
gadgets. Maybe that’s where they went wrong? They 
trusted in our inclination to be average. They never 
thought we’d create anything for ourselves. Hell, we 
were used for just the opposite! 


Our equipment found a questionable amount of radiation 
emitting from the generator. Michael, our barely- 
engineer, began investigating in the hardware of the 
generator. This was our, maybe any one’s, first 
encounter with this SCP. The one that would go 
unreported, unnoticed, along with us. Further inspection 
concluded that the generator was physically incapable of 
creating the radiation present. Something was definitely 
wrong. Stephen confirmed our suspicions; we had been 
in the factory for at least four hours, yet our watches 
indicated that only twelve seconds had passed. No 
matter what we checked, the conclusion was the same. 


Time wasn’t working right, not that it ever did. We were 
used to that, crazy enough as it sounds. But this enigma, 
it was different. It was beautiful. It was so foreign to the 
eyes of the Foundation, it was ours. We decided not to 
leave the factory. Instead, we invested ourselves into the 
generator. It might've been memetic at first, but I’d like to 
think it became willing. There were many resources in 
the factory that emitted a similar radiation that seemed to 
alter the scip and contribute to its functioning. It was as if 
we were just meant to be here, to finish this machine. As 


Michael and Tae did just that — though none of us could 
even conceive what we fell upon — Sophie and Stephen 
noticed the other capabilities of the generator; it didn’t 
just alter the relation of time around it. It altered the 
property itself. Forward, backwards, sideways, anything 
we could imagine! It was pure control. It was the 
collection of strings that bound us to the puppeteer's 
hold. 


Our experiments, our obsession with this device, 
nurtured our nostalgia. 

| was first to propose the idea. See, we grew tired of 
shoveling, that was for sure. We felt it in our bones, in 
our hearts. We missed our past, our parents and our 
family, however mundane they were. They were ours. 
That’s all that mattered. And now we found a way to 
climb out of the pit. 

We hypothesized that if we got the calibrations just right, 
we could go back to that day that we whored ourselves 
out to the Foundation. We'd have a chance win our lives 
back. 

We'd be given amnestics to redact their visit and we’d 
have our world again. 


Well, our efforts have paid off. Five burning souls — 
that’s all it took to destruct time, to correct our mistakes, 
to completely rework everything! Michael is calling me 
now. | suppose | should rap this up, and let Sophie have 
her turn. We'll keep these last logs as security, should 
anything happen 


Soon, we will begin our trip 
Soon, we will breathe again. 
92-61-41 


Michael primes the machine, Tae checks the math. Sophie finishes 
her final log on the computer. Stephen stands in the corner of the 


room, praying. Sophie turns, calling out my name. 


We're prepared to shed our numbers and don our flesh. 


Four men rush in. I’m shot in the back of the head for the 
176,680,132nd time. Again, Stephen is shot as he prays. Again, 
Sophie cries as she dives underneath the desk. Again, Tae and 
Michael plummet to the ground, filled with metal. All of this | 
witness, once more, as blood pours from the back of my head. 
A stray bullet damaged the equipment. The task force begins to 
fret, but there’s no saving it now. They found us out. It was only a 
matter of bastardized time. 

They thought they could stop it. How wrong they were. Now we're 
trapped together 


Four men rush in. I’m shot in the back of the head for the 
176,680,133rd time. Don’t they see? Our task was complete the 
second we stepped into that factory. Stephen bleeds as he recites 
his prayers. No longer would we reach into the backend of time, 
fixing others’ mistakes, others’ misfortunes. Sophie shrieks, Tae 
and Michael fall. We abandoned our numbers. They'll never 
change that. 

176,680,134th time. 

We're free. We are alive. Bullets fly through Stephen’s faith and 
Sophie sings her fears at the top of her lungs. We aren’t afraid. 
We're happy. We have control. Tae and Michael snow onto the 
linoleum floor. We have our lives. We have our names. 
176,680,135th times. 

lts ringing endlessly through my mind. 

Stephen is enlightened with lead. Sophie called it out to me, 
before we embarked on this journey. Tae and Michael sink into 
floor. 

What was that chime? How did it go? 

176,680,136th. Psi. 

176,680,137th. Psi Syhus ... My boulder to bear ... 
176,680,138th. They'll never take that from me. 


Playing God 


To whom it may concern, 


First and foremost, | would like to offer congratulations to each and 
every member of staff working here. When | set out upon that gravel 
path, | never once thought we could break space and time in such 
ways as we have. The amount we have created is something | once 
believed unthinkable, and yet there is still more we can bring into 
being. Our work is far from complete, and there are many steps 
mandatory before we can even consider the notion of quitting. Over 
the course of our experimenting, we've discovered possibly 
innumerable ways in which the universe can be destroyed, and 
ways in which we can contain the fragments. Everything we’ve 
done- from the Hateful Star to the Telekill Alloy- has been a 
complete success. Through all this, | wish the Foundation many, 
many years of success to come. 


However, that is not the point of this letter. The point of this letter is 

to inform you all of the success of my latest experiment. Yes, | have 
continued my research into the unknown. Before | tell you about this 
one, however, | must delve into my reasoning for this experiment. 


The idea for this particular line of research came to me about six 
months after we’d started. | was worried. Yes, | know, that’s out of 
character for a man with so much power, but | was worried. You 
see, we'd been creating all of these wonderful things, but we had to 
be secretive. We had to make sure that no-one would know. As the 
months dragged by, this worry festered. It's always going to raise 
suspicions when you disappear almost entirely and reappear several 
months later, as the head of a huge company. Every time | heard a 
rumour that a certain SCP was man-made, it sent a shiver down my 
spine. | paced up and down in my lab, wondering how to best cover 
my tracks. | didn't want to be punished for advancing human 
knowledge. | wanted to keep a firm grip on this control until | died, as 
did all of the others. We worked together. We arranged for some of 


the entities to be found, and we wrote the reports for the others. This 
was not enough. | had to find a way to ensure that no-one could 
ever find me, or anyone around me, out. | soon hit upon an 
incredible idea. 


What if | could erase myself from official existence? 


| know that | make it sound like | wanted to kill myself. | wasn’t 
planning on ending my life, | was planning on wiping myself from 
official documents, making it seem that I'd never existed at all. The 
best way to cover my tracks was to destroy them entirely. 


It took a few months of solid, hard work, but | finished. | found a way 
to make it look like I’d never officially existed. It was dangerous, | will 
not lie. | constructed a Faraday cage around my lab for protection, 
due to the potentially volatile nature of the experiment, instructed 
everyone to stay clear of my room, and got to work. 


It worked. It worked far too well. 


My suspicions were first raised when my own brother walked into 
the room, and was surprised to see that | was there. | was confused, 
but | assumed he just forgot that | was there. | went to the cafeteria, 
and found people trying to work out ‘when we built that Faraday 
cage.’ | ignored them, as | hadn’t told many people that | was 
building it. 


When | found an official document detailing the room that | was in, 
that’s when | realised that something was wrong. I'd been classified 
as an SCP. 


| didn’t erase myself from official documents; I’d erased myself from 
existence entirely. People came into my lab to take photographs of 
me, to converse with me, to figure out what | was. High level 
researchers, my friends, my brother didn’t recognise me anymore. 
No-one could remember me, even hours after the fiftieth visit. 


| continued with my work. | made more of these things, and put them 
in containment. Almost immediately, | noticed that people had no 
idea where they came from. Not the official documentation, of 
course, I’d handled that, but more specifically Thomas and my 


brother were discussing, in hushed tones, how they hadn’t created 
those ones. At that point, the realisation of what I’d done really hit 
me. 


My reason for creating the Foundation and what it contains, at first, 
was discovery. To discover what we could do if we bent reality. To 
see if we could improve lives. Now, of course, it’s a different story for 
the others. Some of them are in it for personal gain, some for more 
of that discovery we yearned after in the beginning, even more for a 
chance to create the impossible. However, even that does not 
explain my reasoning.