It was lying. 


"|-hic- know, b-but | swear, | didn't do hic anything! | just opened up 
all the t-t-tabs on the page!" Gregory blubbered, words and tears 
gushing from his face. 


"Good work, Gregory. Now we're getting somewhere. See, all you 
have to do is cooperate and it'll be over quickly. Next question. 
Gregory, how exactly did you know that it was a coverup?" 


"It... it sniff just said so on the, the page," Gregory whimpered. 
"What do you mean it just said so on the page?" 
"It - it was just there on the p-p-page!" 


An arm popped out of the droid, brandishing a laser weapon of 
some kind. With the hand-cannon pointed at Gregory, the droid 
advanced. Gregory tried to cower, but only managed to topple onto 
his back. 


"Gregory, did it ever occur to you that perhaps there was something, 
oh, perhaps, unconventional about a coverup document explicitly 
stating that it was a coverup?" 


"| - | mean... | didn't... | didn't think about it. | assumed... | thought 
that, uh, | had been given clearance to view the full document to 
translate it." 


"You translated the entire document, word-for-word, coverup and all, 
into sixteen different languages across every single Foundation site 
on the planet. This was one of the biggest information breaches in 
Foundation history." 


The laser began to whine. The droid's voice remained as peaceful 
and monotone as ever. 


"In fact, this little disaster isn't even the concerning part. There are, 
of course, contingencies for this kind of... accident. The concern is 
how you saw the hidden writing in the first place. There was an 
extremely powerful antimemetic in place to prevent any human 
being from seeing it.” 


The barrel started to glow. 


"Gregory, there have been exactly fifteen human beings in existence 
who have been able to see past that antimeme. All of them, except 
for you, had to be inoculated against it first. Do you see where I'm 
going with this?" 


Unfortunately for Gregory, he did. 


"If only inoculated human beings can see past that meme, and you 
weren't inoculated..." 


The mammoth beam fired. 


Before it could cleave through Gregory, his skull did the cleaving for 
it. Gregory's head parted down the middle, with only faint tendrils of 
blood and brain matter in between. Then the two segments of head 
quickly grew little spindly legs of bone and uprooted themselves 
from his neck, taking some spinal cord with them and then relocating 
to Gregory's collarbone. Then they tried to look at each other - 
failing that, they settled on watching the droid nervously. 


"...I'd say you aren't human." 


Gregory was once more tied uncomfortably in front of a computer 
screen, helpfully provided on the front of the droid's body. The 
computer screen showcased the cause of his discomfort: O5-10. 
More specifically, O5-10's impressively toned physique, apparent 
even through the silhouette that was only present onscreen. 


"Happy, what am | looking at?" O5-10 asked. 


"A Dubbligand," the droid answered. "Didn't come through the pool. 
Hitched a ride to Earth through a dimensional crosslink. Banned 
under our interdimensional treaties, as you are aware. And then it 
got a job at the Foundation. Say hello to Dr. Gregory Plump, senior 
linguistics analyst at Site-42." 


"How did we find him?" 


"He'd been under surveillance for a few weeks. We caught him 
when he opened up the hidden files on SCP-354. He saw past the 
security antimemetic device. The full report should be on your desk 
in five minutes." 


"I'll have to talk to Wheeler about that. What do you suggest we do 
with Plump?" O5-10 asked. Gregory could feel the Overseer's gaze 
boring a hole into him. His parietal lobe started itching, and the 
halves of his mouth ached. 


"| personally suggest that we deport it. Kick it back through the 
crosslink. We need to set an example for any other... infiltrators. 
Prove that we are not messing around, as it were." 


"According to his most recent review, Dr. Gregory Plump has been a 
valuable asset thus far. Correct?" 


The droid seemed to sag. "Well, yes. Its primary duty at the 
Foundation had been translating archaic and extraterrestrial 
languages - a task at which it had quite a bit of success." 


Gregory could not for the life of him understand how the droid could 
convey so much hatred through two lights on the top of its dome. 


"And you reported earlier that after Dr. Feldman's... demise, 
communication with the pool had been stifled, causing a, it says 
here, thirty percent decrease in traffic flow," O5-10 noted. 


"Well..." 


"Dr. Plump. Get your head together. Happy still has some questions 
for you." 


The halves of Gregory's head carefully stood up, then maneuvered 


appear to be capable of feeding on most organic material, with a 
preference for cellulose and sugars. Mature specimens range from 
7 mm to 1.2 cm in length. Individual specimens appear to have a 
lifespan of 25 to 40 days. Unlike true termites, SCP-831 does not 
appear to be divided into castes with distinct morphology; all 
specimens are essentially “workers” and all females are capable of 
breeding with an extremely short gestation period. 


SCP-831 is a highly social organism and is found in colonies. The 
upper bound of the colony size is not yet known; the largest colony 
investigated by the Foundation to date consisted of at least eight 
million individual organisms. Individual organisms of SCP-831 do not 
exhibit intelligence beyond simple survival instincts. 


The colonies of SCP-831 that have been identified to date were 
located in (or originated in) dark, enclosed urban locations affording 
shelter, access to nourishment, water and materials appropriate for 
the construction of SCP-831's tools. In most cases, the colony was 
discovered in the basement, attic or walls of a home or other 
structure. If a colony is located within a structure, the colony will not 
consume the wood cellulose to an extent that would compromise the 
structure’s appearance or structural integrity. The organisms flee 
from light and their behavior suggests an instinct to avoid detection 
or observation by humans or predators. 


Colonies of SCP-831 construct and use tools from available 
materials, rapidly bootstrapping from simpler tools to more complex 
tools. See Site-36 observation log below: 


Day@Time Observation 

01@00:00 Commencement of observation of 
chamber containing 
approximately 1000 specimens of 
SCP-831. Chamber is airtight, 
consisting of painted steel walls, 
floor and ceiling (15 cm thickness) 
and C8-rated observation 
window. Chamber is unfurnished 
except for commode, three steel 
buckets respectively containing 


up his collarbone onto the portion of spine protruding from his neck. 
They promptly sat back down with a squelch. Gregory waited 
several seconds while his innards realigned, then rasped, "Ready." 


"You've been under surveillance for the past three weeks primarily 
for your interest in SCP-354. Tell me, do you know what it is?” 


"Some sort of portal that periodically soawns dangerous creatures?" 


"At least the cover story works. No, it's more like an inter- 
dimensional airport." 


"Excuse me?" Gregory spluttered. 


"Happy will give you a more detailed explanation, but the long and 
short of it is that the Foundation allows creatures from different 
universes, timelines, and dimensional planes asylum into our own 
universe -not planet, mind you- in exchange for information, 
resources, and technology. As you may realize, this runs counter to 
our... ‘public’ mission, hence the secrecy. " O5-10 enunciated. "So," 
he wondered out loud, "what do we do with you?" 


Gregory was still having some trouble digesting the information. 
Wisely, he chose to remain silent. 


"Sir, my official designation is H-4-P-P-Epsilon. As | said, | believe 
that it would be in our best interests to-" 


05-10 cut the droid off. "Happy, execute subroutine Omega 
Questionnaire. Dr. Plump, much as | would like to thoroughly 
interrogate you, | have to negotiate yet another deal with that 
petulant little troll Kim in fifteen minutes. Instead, | will ask you a few 
questions, and the droid will take care of the rest." 


"Sir, |am a highly advanced, multi-dimensional hive-mind quantum- 
computing artificial intelligence housed within a biomechanical 
interface, not a droid." 


As it protested, Happy sprouted another arm, with several sharp, 
probing instruments attached to the end of it. With swift, dexterous 
robot fingers, it began inserting them deep into most of Gregory's 


exposed orifices. This was unsurprisingly uncomfortable (and 
surprisingly arousing). 


These physiological beacons will measure your responses. First 
question: did you come alone to this universe?" 


"Erm... yeah. | mean no! No. Four others came with me but | didn't 
know them. Three of them headed off to Aloha Centauri. | think the 
fourth one is still on Earth somewhere but | don't know?" 


In fact, the fourth one eventually found fame and fortune beyond 
shklee's wildest dreams as David Bowie. 


Happy beeped, and the lights turned green. 


"Have you been sharing any information related to the Foundation 
with any other aliens?" 


"No! Definitely not!" Plump swore, his voice muffled by the probe in 
his mouth. 


"Happy?" 

"Well, not really-" 

"Not you." 

Happy beeped again, and its lights flashed green again. 


"How did you get to Earth and what did you do between that point 
and today?" 


"Erm," Gregory answered, wishing that he could scratch his head, 
"I'm not entirely sure. |, uh, paid someone to help me get through. | 
just remember being told... to lie down in a cryogenic harvesting pod 
which was very unn - unnerving by the way because those pods 
were usually used to gut, uh, animals, but | trusted the guy because 
of his references and | really just wanted a new start because | 
couldn't find any jobs back ho - back home because I'm not a bad 
person really | just wanted a job and - a job and maybe a fresh start 
and someplace my skills would be useful honestly that's the only 
felony I've committed and I've never even gotten a traffic ticket 


before and -" 
"That's not an answer," 05-10 noted. 


Gregory gamely stuttered out the pertinent answer. "I lay down in 
the pod and the next thing | know I'm on Earth, in this universe, 
somewhere between the US and Mexico. That was thirty years ago. 
| found a job as an accoun- as an accountant for a few years, forged 
some references, wrote a few linguistics papers and sent them to a 
journal, that landed me a position at the University of lowa for about 
a decade, and then | got hired by the Foundation. That was fourteen 
years ago." 


Happy beeped. 

"Are you entirely loyal to the Foundation?" 

"Yes - yes, of course!" Gregory proclaimed, pumping a fist in the air. 
Happy beeped again, and its lights flashed. 


"Would you lay down your life to secure and contain anomalies, and 
protect all mankind?" 


"Of course | would!" 
Happy didn't beep. Its lights turned red. 


"Processing," it intoned. The lights on its dome flashed for several 
seconds before it beeped again." "Personality determination 
algorithm complete. Dr... Gregory Plump has been classified as Low 
Risk, High Cowardice, Extreme Sycophancy, Moderate Intelligence. 
Primary recommended course of action is continued employment. 
Secondary recommended course of action is immediate 
termination.” 


O5-10 considered the information, mulling over it. He metaphorically 
gnawed on it like a stuffed grape leaf, investigating the flavor with 
his tongue and fermenting the idea into a plan. Now he'd made 
himself hungry, and when he was hungry he was testy. “Dear God, 
is this the best our screening protocols can do? Alright, Plump. We 
can't keep you in the regular Foundation, god only knows what you'd 


release next. We could shoot you, but that seems a waste of bullets. 
No, | have a better idea... Are you familiar with !|@%$%*&& Yo?" 


Act Il: Strung Out in Heavens High » 


Don Ferreiro's Lie-Katana 


Professor Ferreiro allowed himself another sigh as he swiped his 
access card across the barcode scanner. Today had not been a 
good day. Not that this was a particularly unusual experience for 
Professor Ferreiro. Ever since he had accepted employment at the 
SCP Foundation's spacious Site 19 complex he had been subjected 
to mountains of paperwork, casual abuse by his colleagues and little 
to no acknowledgment by his superiors. Of course, he mostly 
brought it on himself. Too timid to speak up every time someone 
else took credit for his work, Ferreiro had been consistently passed 
over for promotion and after 13 years of loyal service his co-workers 
couldn't even remember his name! He was simply the guy that 
everyone dumped their menial chores on and forgot about. 


It therefore came as no surprise when he entered his tiny, 
windowless office and saw yet another enormous stack of papers in 
his in-tray. As expected, his desk was plastered with the usual post- 
it notes basically telling him to "get on with it" and a couple of 
unmarked boxes had been dumped on top of his "World's 
Adequatest Dad" mug, chipping the handle. His heart having already 
sunk to its lowest depths untold years ago, he simply closed the 
door behind him, checked his chair for any thumb tacks his 
"hilarious" lab assistants might have placed, and sat down to do his 
job. 


Not feeling up to the task of sorting through his in-tray at that 
moment, he decided to start with the boxes. The first one contained 
a new, unclassified SCP in the shape of a thermostat. Pinned to the 
SCP was a hand-written note by Dr. Gordon telling him to deliver it 
to research lab 5a for experimentation. Ferreiro rolled his eyes. 
Research lab 5a was on the other side of the compound, right next 
door to Dr. Gordon's office. Well, that one could wait. Knowing better 
than to actually touch an unknown SCP, he carefully resealed the 
box and put it on the floor next to his desk. 


The second box was long and rectangular, and bore the stamp of a 
fully classified SCP with the words "SCP-572: FOR 
CONTAINMENT" printed on the side in large, intimidating letters. A 
small envelope was sellotaped to the lid and marked for the 
immediate attention of "Professor Donald Ferrari". A thin smile crept 
across Ferreiro's face as he plucked the envelope off and thumbed it 
open. They'd finally got his first name right! 


Doctor Fernando, 


SCP-572 has been reclassed as Euclid and therefore 
requires transferring to the special containment facility 
behind Research Laboratory 5a. As you are not currently 
assigned to any other projects and therefore have 
nothing else to do, | expect this to be done without delay. 


It is absolutely vital that you read the full containment 
procedures for this SCP before handling it. They should 
have been delivered to your in-tray a few days ago. 


DO NOT ATTEMPT TO HANDLE SCP-572 UNTIL YOU 
HAVE READ THESE PROCEDURES AND KNOW 
THEM INSIDE OUT AND BACK TO FRONT! 


Your performance to date has been lacklustre at best. 
Let's see if you can get this one right! 


Regards, 


Bernard Fulham, 
SCP Laboratory Assistant, 
Clearance Level Pending 


Not for the first time that day, Ferreiro sighed. 


"Don't let him get to you, Don - punk kid like that'll be assigned to 
Keter duty before he sees thirty!" 


Ferreiro nodded absently. He was probably right. Arrogant, abrasive 
types like Fulham did wind up on Keter duty more often than... 


Wait a minute... 


Who was probably right?!? 


Ferreiro looked around his office to see if anyone had entered 
without him noticing. He was all alone. Suspecting another practical 
joke of some sort, he began to check under his desk in case 
someone was hiding there. 


Nothing.