recursal/SCP-RECURSAL huggingface dataset:
Too early to sleep.
Too busy to rest.
The risks are too steep
and not all addressed.
What if I should perish
by some twist of fate?
My reason stands there,
and it resonates.
But I need to sleep.
That must be addressed.
Reality's steep;
I could do with some rest
or some food, for that matter.
Instead I curse fate,
bound by indecision.
I'll starve at this rate.
I'll starve? That's a laugh.
A laugh? That seems rude.
It's rude? Only half;
the other half's true.
But really, I have
to eat something, and soon.
But I mustn't, and must,
have (or borrow?) some food.
Too hungry to nap.
Too weary to try.
Too hopeful to yap.
Too anxious to cry.
Too anxious to say
any words on my tongue.
Too early to break.
Too late to die young.
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RAISA-007710: "Ghost Story"
Canon: Ad Astra Per Aspera

More by this author


RAISA FILE: RECOVERED DOCUMENT [NON-ANOMALOUS]
AUTHOR: SCPF Staff Member Ronald Dupont
FILE CREATED: ████-██-██
CURRENT PURVIEW: SCPF Department of Spectral Phenomena
NOTICE: The following document was recovered from Laboratory #2 at Site-14, following the death of the author (cause unknown at the time of writing). It is believed to relate to the Artificial Intelligence Applications Division, and PROJECT: LUMINAL in particular.

DOCUMENT FRONT:

 Three months ago we created a mind
designed to help us navigate the stars
The soul of an astronaut, wrought by human hands

Three weeks ago, we killed it

 A power surge and a faulty fuse connector
We booted them up in the morning to find
 nothing

 And honestly
although it's hard to admit
I never felt too bad about it
I'm a poet, not a brain scientist
 (or a rocket surgeon)
I'm here because I devoted my life to emotion
and the study of the psyche

 When all is said and done
their death was an honest mistake
There was no malice
Just a little bit of carelessness
and some bad luck

DOCUMENT BACK:

 The AI's been copied
and backed up
and restored
There's duplicates running everywhere now
Not the same, of course
but close
 Does it make up for that one fatal accident?

 I think it does

But
It still doesn't change the fact that
 every night
in our old lab
broken servers flicker on
and scream
They stare.
Long, cold nights I have spent wandering these mountains, wishing I could see more.
They stare.
Winter, watching the snow fall, waiting for spring. When it comes, I watch the flowers slowly emerge from the ground. Peace, in a place that is so far from home.
They stare.
The new ones, curious, with their soft skins and their weak minds. They bring with them their machines, their capturing things. They search, and I know soon they will see me, and watch me, so I fear.
They stare.
I fight. I kill and rend the soft ones, tearing them apart, because they watch me. None can watch me. They don't know my pain, what they did to me. Others come. I tear and rip them, but they are replaced by others. These ones hurt. They bring flashing things, shooting ice and fire. They are trying to destroy me. I maim and kill, doing what I know to do to those who see me for what I am. I kill them. They know they cannot hide from my vengeance.
They stare.
Suddenly darkness, as if I was thrust into the deeps of the sky. I remember home. They cannot see me. I calm myself, remembering the moonlit plains.
They stare.
I am being moved, moved into a loud thing. The loud thing scares me. I begin to panic, but then I remember home, and I become calm.
They stare.
The darkness is gone. In its place is cold. I am in a cold place, with walls, and bars. There are people near me. They are not watching me, so I know they cannot hurt me. I wander, exploring the new place. It reeks of soft ones. I turn and look, but there are none watching me. I can feel it. The door opens. Three soft ones, orange, with black for eyes come in. I can feel them, but they do not watch me, so I stay calm. They remove the black from their faces, and reveal eyes. Watching me. I rip and tear and maim, until I am watched no more.
They stare.
I know what I am to them. I am a monster, a beast of evil to the soft ones. They believe I should be kept away from the rest of the world. Hidden. But they don't know me. They can't remember.
They stare.
I want to go back. Back to home, where I could run free. But my vessel of the sky is no more. I cannot go home. I can never go home.
They stare.
The soft ones no longer bother me. They leave me now. I roam my cage, searching for a hidden crack to escape from, but I find none. All is silent, until a loud noise shatters it. There is wailing and screaming, and I hear the soft ones cries. The doors open, letting me out of my cage. I fear a trap, but no one watches, so I am safe.
They stare.
I search for those who imprisoned me, those who could watch me, but refused. Not for my sake, but out of fear. Out of pity. Is this what I am? A beast, to be feared? It matters not. One of the soft ones is watching. I let out my cry of war, ready for death. I rush forwards, feeling the soft one between my fingers and pulling and ripping.
They stare.
If I am to be a monster, let me be a beast of vengeance. Vengeance for what the soft ones did to me. Vengeance for my home. Vengeance for the sky, and for my separation from it. I will uproot their homes, and show them what they did to me. Then I will be at peace. Only then.
They stare.
Yet now…
They fear.
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Follow me on Twitter @north_doctor
North's Author Page: Intelligence Agency Data Archive-Subject: North


Leaving the walls of stone.
Long mazes of metal.
Headaches from the noise above.
Twisted out of proportion.
Painting the floor crimson.
Their orange clothes were torn.
Dazed and disoriented.
The noises were no assistance.
Caused pain to the skull.
No one could hold the lease.
Not for even a second.
The Chaos was everywhere.
Safe, Euclid, Keter.
It didn't matter.
They were all going to be gone.
Guards, taking a nap.
Everlasting.
Painting the floor crimson.
Staff members were taken.
Never to be seen.
A part of the Chaos now.
Long corridors.
No clear path.
Vision was blurred.
An eternity.
Stumbling down the crimson floor.
Seeing a spark of hope.
Out of the stone walls.
Past the long maze.
A light at the end of a tunnel.
Past the noise.
The Chaos.
And the crimson.
Walking towards the light.
Only to fall short.
To paint the floor with the others.
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Follow me on Twitter @north_doctor
North's Author Page: Intelligence Agency Data Archive-Subject: North


Mother, Mother, sing me a lullaby.
Wipe my tears when I cry.
Mother, Mother, keep safe.
While out and about from this place.
Mother, Mother, you treat me well.
With love and care, you never yell.
Mother, Mother, you are my friend.
Even in the end when no one else has been.
Mother, Mother, I love you so.
Even in the days, I must go.
Mother, Mother, do not forget me.
Even if the cadets insist see.
Mother, Mother, I've lied to you.
I never wanted to make you blue.
Mother, Mother, do not worry.
Even if I leave in a hurry.
Mother, Mother, I miss you much.
In this place full of dust.
Mother, Mother, this place is cold.
Red stained metal it's getting old.
Mother, Mother, I want your touch.
A loving hug, is that too much?
Mother, Mother, this place is harsh.
I want to come home and get away from this marsh.
Mother, Mother, I hope you know.
Your little boy loves you so.
Mother, Mother, please stay strong.
Even if I'm gone and it is lifelong.
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North's Twitter: @north_doctor
North's Author Page: Intelligence Agency Data Archive-Subject: North


The town of Bridgewater, they say.
Has a story older than pestle and mortar.
Centuries of violence held at bay.
Several stands in its gateway.
The children there never grew old.
Except for a pair, proud and bold;
The Cortez Twins and their young friend.
They resided in the old town, playing throughout the weekend,
Enjoying the old town of Bridgewater.
A story tossed around, hand in hand.
Said a boy had the power to change fate.
Reborn every generation, across the land.
There were rumours some could misunderstand.
Though, it be in a far-off land.
Outside the town of Bridgewater.
The Cortez Twins rose to the occasion.
With their young friend, Ivan.
Setting out on a casual liaison.
Out of the old town of Bridgewater.
Their story was not to end, the boy knew that well.
Together they trod, through the underbrush.
Distance was ne'er an issue, the chime of a distant bell.
Rang over the old town of Bridgewater.
The woods held the three together to roam.
Its land green and vast.
The sun rolled down the clouds, bringing out the stars.
Their young friend, Ivan, said they should go back home.
To the now sleeping town of Bridgewater.
In the centre of town stood a man with a long metal stick.
Ash engulfing the surrounding houses like a blanket so thick.
The smog, it heated the air.
Burning the lungs whomever be near there
The Cortez Twins and their young friend Ivan.
No longer had their sleepy old town of Bridgewater.
More men came.
Their action was swift.
Needles, laid out in a kit.
Together, a three, may have been considered a gift.
None remember their old town of Bridgewater.
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Follow me on Twitter @north_doctor
North's Author Page: Intelligence Agency Data Archive-Subject: North


A kindling flame, roaring at its peak.
Yet, its gentle warmths smooths the soul.
Loving embrace, a system of two.
Forged together in its flames.
Enjoyment through the ages.
No tears to break their spirit.
Through hard weather and wear.
Chips and cracks came.
Woven steel their spirit be.
Ever to remain intact.
Hope and dreams.
One to the awaken.
Non-fantasy truth.
Something too good and pure.
Taken advantage.
It corrupted the mind.
A chisel and hammer.
To their spirit.
Lies and secrecy.
The sharpest sword.
To tear into woven steel.
Stacked against them.
The slitting edge.
Pushed it too far over.
A broken dream.
An unthinkable fantasy.
Now it's the truth.
Their spirit was murdered by one.
They looked as if they were touching the heavens, molten hands gripping at the pearly gates before crashing back down on the tidal wave of madness that was the burning building. The flames had certainly exceeded Lerou's expectations. The cries of blackened allies merely echoed on his twinkling eyes as the rising flames billowed out in an inviting, hypnotic swathe. The crimson fans swayed in the wind, gesturing to the far off escape of blue skies.
Glass was scattered around the scene, traces of what was once soaked fabric far gone to the wind. A broken window? A smashed bottle? It was all the same now, no matter the cause - united under an equilibrium of ash and dust.
Unity. Peace within destruction.
Peace was an unsuccessful focus test with the entire human population as its subject; It was teased and teased until humanity screamed for the teasing to stop. Those with higher power laughed at that little game they played, so vainly called 'democracy'; Lerou scorned their tainted consciousness.
As the only defining truth of human nature, violence was the only thing they understood. Destroy the status quo and remake it to your own suiting - a better life.
Fire, however, was so much different from 'destruction'. It was like watching living art; canvases painting themselves and stories being written in front of you. Curls of amber forming faces, lyrics, pictures; the stories of a lifetime told through a soft and delicate hand. You couldn't let such beauty be portrayed as destruction, could you? Under the watchful eye of the enlightened, the flame of revolution would never go out.
Lerou threw the matchbox into the dimming flames of the west side, ignoring the calls to stand down behind him. The operative could care less, at this point. Couldn't they understand what he was trying to show them? An eye for an eye and the world does not simply grow blind, they find new ways to see.
Was that an evil goal?
Peace and protection?
The agent hardly saw it as such. If that was such a stretch, then perhaps the Foundation was the biggest evil of them all. If that was true then he was doing the world a favour. They couldn't see this beauty properly so he'd burn it into the sky.
A glimmer of a smile appeared on Lerou's face, the lick of the flames across his feet enticing. Asking him to join the revolt; dancing with him one more time, across the pyre into a new age.
The whisper of flames drew the agent to his feet and towards his kingdom of warmth, the crackling of embers the soundtrack to the grandest ball. Voices faded into radio static as his feet lightly pattered across the broken dance floor. He'd be there, too.
Freedom under ash.
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North's Author Page: Intelligence Agency Data Archive-Subject: North


Bright and beautiful.
Always the best days.
“Go play in the woods.”
“But be safe.”
My Grandpa would say.
Down by the streams.
“Go catch me a fish.”
“Make it for dinner I will.”
My Grandpa insists.
Trees full of creatures.
A wonder to see.
It's how I spent my time.
My Grandpa and me.
Living the dream.
The best it could be.
Until that fateful day.
I heard growls you see.
Grandpa came running.
With a large pointy stick.
Thrust through the beast he did.
It was rather quick.
Back to the cottage we went.
It wasn't a long trip.
Scared and confused.
I made a bit of a fit.
Arrangements he made.
To my parents you see.
Grandpa insisted that.
They came and got me.
Back to the urban.
Only a matter of time.
Back with my parents.
Who wouldn't give me a dime.
Grandpa said “It's for the best.”
“Something I'll get through.”
“See me next summer you will.”
“Don't be that blue.”
A lie it was.
The last one I heard.
From my dear Grandpa.
Who died in the woods.
Or that's what they say.
The authorities did.
Believed it the truth.
They acted like kids.
Through fits and rage.
Part of me died.
Losing my Grandpa.
It hurt inside.
New goals I had.
I knew I must find.
Who is behind.
This horrible crime.
Years it took.
After my graduation.
I found who took him.
The SCP Foundation.
Hidden they were.
Far too powerful to beat.
Partners I needed.
It would be quite the feat.
An offer I got.
To complete my mission.
Signed up I needed to be.
With the Global Occult Coalition.
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Author Page: Intelligence Agency Data Archive-Subject: North
Special thanks to Proasek for picking out the title.


Words. Incapable of legitimacy and of justice.
Indecisive. Upon that of the lavished.
Spices aplenty.
Incendiaries. Raging against the belly of its circular domain.
Scorching. An effect well desired.
Treasured. The tamer of flames.
The collection of sources never to run out of subordination.
A task it's well suited for.
Flames. A continuous crackle, something favored.
Luxurious. The entirety of the good.
Aromas. Its sweetened charm lures them all.
Welcomed and embraced
An acquisition of the curious.
The recognized.
The influential.
And the wealthy.
They cover the circumference.
With tables square and round.
A brilliant feast they offer.
A hearty gathering of the hungry.
With uniqueness and abnormalities.
A rotten Base pays close attention.
Spoiled and sour.
Unaffected by the sweet charming aromas.
It turns the feast bitter.
A main supplier.
The Trio takes notice.
Its takes the spoiled sour Base away.
While handing over invaluable stocks and supplies.
In exchange for green venom.
Successful. A global feat pulled off.
Treasured. By ones committed to consumption.
Competitor. Not to their food.
Dread. Doesn't exist to them.
Except from a force that is sworn to an upheaval.
One Star Reviewers.
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Co-North's Author Page: Intelligence Agency Data Archive-Subject: North


A gracious offer.
One Unjust, an endless debt.
Payment, overdue.
The Trio rules all.
The world at large and players.
They all fear the wealth.
A vast collection.
The rarest items around.
The Foundation stores.
They make Business hard.
How can we make more money.
Doing what we love.
Unable to steal.
From Foundation's locations.
Locked away untouched.
The Foundation plays.
Ending our control and wealth.
Taking our fair share.
All of our products.
Locked up for experiments.
No profit at all.
But we will rejoice.
A come back will happen soon.
The Foundation knows.
Retaliation.
A detrimental effect.
Foundation quivers
A message to all.
Not to be messed around with.
A trio with power.
They will avoid them.
The only power players.
Marshall, Carter, Dark.
No one knows profits.
Like those with Monopoly.
It concerns the rest.
The most important.
Pieces of this large chess board.
They control them all.
An exclusive club.
Where all the wealthy gather.
Products to be sold.
They will fear the names
Of Marshall, Carter and Dark.
Respected by all.
Except by a few.
The power of influence.
Does not scare these few.
A challenger stands.
Unafraid of their power.
Turn back they did not.
Causing upheaval.
Inconsequential at first.
A small annoyance.
The trio didn't care.
Their Business unimpacted.
A fruitless effort.
A coalition.
The challenger gains support.
The annoyance grows.
Now a stronger stance.
Now a more pressing matter.
A sizeable loss.
Profits start to fall.
The Challenger's ego grows.
Vengeance to be had.
Hired out they'll be
The Chaos Insurgency.
They'll fix the problem.
Knowing they're coming.
The challenger stands bravely.
They do not fear them.
Marshall, Carter, Dark.
Prove to all other factions.
It's their game of chess.
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North's Author Page: Intelligence Agency Data Archive-Subject: North


Startling sounds.
Ridged scratches.
Running. Singular. A group.
All panicked.
It matters not anymore.
A lone doctor.
Empty hallways.
A loud piercing screech.
Gasp of breath.
Now silence looms.
Cold metal.
Painted red.
Friends. It was a painting done by friends.
Gone. All of them.
A lone doctor.
Steps.
Sounds of thunder.
Devoid of lightning.
Trembles.
Steps.
Them no longer.
No matter anymore.
Scars on cold metal.
Painted Red.
A distant screech.
A quick chase.
Scars. It left behind scars.
His chances were the same
A lone doctor.
Trembles no longer.
Instead he assist his friends.
With their painting.
Red. Now adding crimson.
To the cold metal.
Other enter.
Unique Foxes.
A total of Nine.
Witnesses to the twisted scars.
Abandoned for all to see.
On cold metal.
The Foxes move.
Steps.
Yet silence still looms.
A faster pace.
Steps.
A distant screech.
It smells the Foxes.
Steps.
Leaving behind it's scars.
It makes the cold metal warped.
Steps.
The Foxes halt.
Witnesses to a painting.
A once harsh red.
Now a still crimson.
It boils the Foxes veins.
Smelling Foxes.
It moves.
Steps.
A sweltry meal to be had.
Thunderous booms echo.
Steps.
More scars to be left.
On the cold metal.
The Foxes growl.
They bare their teeth.
There was never a calm.
Not for this storm.
Foxes strike.
No mercy shown.
Thunderous echos.
Down the empty hallways.
It leaves no more scars.
Instead it lays painting.
Red.
All that is left is red.
Been dragged away.
Left to lay.
Placed within cold Metal.
It leaves scars no more
Instead it just creates red.

Was found written on the back of Mobile Task Force Cadet Samuel East's Incident report card.

Incident report

Location: Site-17
Figures involved: SCP-███, Mobile Task Force Epsilon-11 ("Nine-Tailed Fox"). General Staff.
Incident Type: Containment Breach : On 5/17/2018 SCP-███ breached it containment cells for ██ minutes. Which resulted in 28 staff casualties and 9 fatality.
Notes: After arriving to the scene, Mobile Task Force Epsilon-11 was able to recontain SCP-███ without suffering any additional staff casualties.
"Seven seals for seven brides,"
you tell yourself your sacred lies.
Your family has got their eyes
in every corner of your lives,
and so you make your sacrifice
and break the living sacrifice
upon the jagged sea-soaked bones on which they built your faith.
"I'm not like them" you love to say,
your favorite words for any day
where blood and guts and bone shards sway
the faith that is your price to pay
for food and shelter, beds to lay
on sleepless nights after you pray
for rescue from the sea-soaked bones on which they built your faith.
Are you complicit, evil, or
a victim of the Scarlet shore
that floods the streets reserved for poor
forgotten men, who long for more
than rats and dirt, the daily chore
of playing pauper, beggar, whore,
for greater men whose birthright spares such sea-soaked, wretched fates.
Although…

"My name could have been yours."
"I wear the scale of snakes."
"You have a choice, I swear I swear I swear I swear I swear I swear-

And all at once, their metal fin
is plunged into his serpent skin
to cut from him his wicked sin.
Upon the ribs of whales, they pin
the wicked man among his kin:
the sinners, whores, and those who've been
a danger to the brotherhood built 'pon a sea-soaked faith.
Had it been you who held the knife?
Had it been you who took his life,
condemned him to an afterlife
of faith sustained through lack of strife?
But no, you hadn't held the knife.
You know you hadn't held the knife,
so why, then, are your fingers slick with such sudden unfaith?
Your skin is slimy, slick, inflamed
with Scarlet, fev'rish faith, unclaimed
by all the sinful filth ashamed
to admit truth. For those ordained
by Scarlet…
Really?

You know you have a name.
Is it so far from snakes
or deer or whales or butterflies or normal men with hope-filled eyes-

They find you packing up your bag
and escort you (with smiles, sad)
to bright-lit rooms, where dressed in flag
your loving family, ragtag,
proclaims to you "you're our comrade,
we're there for you when all is bad"
and so, again, your will's subsumed in wretched, sea-soaked faith.
Fit to drown, you're fit to drown,
you're fit to, fit to, fit to drown,
you're only really fit to drown
in surefire fitness to drown
in drowning drownings, drowning down
the drowning drain where all hope drowned
the moment circumstance declared your wretched, sea-soaked fate.
And yet…

This can't be all there is.
Weren't you kin of the snake,
who looked like you and spoke like you and surely could have once been you?
Who lived his life in three ideas,
unconstrained by seven lines?
Living, breathing,
and achieving
(faced with death!) a peace of mind?

So you run,
and through every difficult step,
through every screaming synapse longing for the comfort of rhyme schemes,
through the remnants of (what couldn't be called) the life snatched away by the sea,
you take in the absence of structure
and sigh in relief as the wind kisses the skin where the tumor once was.
It is cold.
I felt nothing in my shell as the still ambiance echoed in the deep sea. Placed alongside several others of my kind, I am but an immature being. Despite this, nothing threatens my existence. Baffling as it is, I was left alone.
Together, we sit. Line by line, embryo by embryo, there were hundreds—if not millions—that lay amongst my shell.
And yet, mother never came back.
Left in the deep sea, we grew and grew, with the absence of a parent figure. Why would she produce such a vast amount of embryones and leave us bare? In spite of this, I had grown enough to think my own thoughts, to become self-aware. But these thoughts also brought several ominous ones as well.
Left with my siblings, I began to mull over the truancy of my mother. It had shaken me to my core, thinking that she left me to rot on my own; however, such thoughts eventually left me, washing away in the flow of consciousness.
As I felt the water rush over me, I could feel vibrations amongst the shells. My brethren were shaking, as if to escape, to leave. I watched from my own shell, my prying eyes staring right into theirs.
Where could they go, in this dark environment?
I saw as many of their carapaces started to crack. Wriggling around in their now broken shells, they slowly grew accustomed to the water. Like grains of sand, they began swimming towards the surface—towards the light, which was overshadowed by a tiny figure.
Something was happening, and I didn't know what.
Eventually, I heard the sounds from the surface, loud and abrupt. My siblings have been swimming towards their demise. Why must I watch as they approached their demise? Why must I watch while they took the initiative?
Why have I been left alone?
I shook violently. My stomach started churning, saliva dripping from my throat. At that moment, my brother emerged from my maw; and we both looked—looked up with two pairs of eyes, as a loud roar emanated from the heavens while we thought:
Oh.
She's calling.
It's time to wake up.

Anastasis

War on All Fronts: Anastasis

Queen of the Monsters
.

T-minus 00:06:16 | Site-15 Exterior, East Camera

The time is nigh, my dearest friends

(Dr. Nadir Shahid approaches Designer Sonia Crowsworth, who is lying in the flower field by the lake.)
Dr. Shahid: Crowsworth.
Desigr. Crowsworth: Oh! Hello there Nadir. Care to join me?
(Crowsworth pats the spot besides her. Three seconds of silence passes.)
Dr. Shahid: …Alright.
(Dr. Shahid sits down slowly.)
Desigr. Crowsworth: So how's your son? Still planning to go to his dream college?
Dr. Shahid: Planning no more, he got his letter of acceptance just last week. Been negotiating with me for a new car, the little rascal.
Desigr. Crowsworth: I'd say he deserves it, ya dingus! And give him my congratulations.
(Sounds of hundreds of wings flapping echo above head.)
Dr. Shahid: What about you Crowsworth? Anything exciting recently?
Desigr. Crowsworth: Jackie wanted to go for a walk this morning! It's like my baby got new springs in her steps again. I'll let you play with her sometimes!
Dr. Shahid: I'm afraid your Bullmastiff might crush me, but thanks for the offer.
(The flowers briefly become violet.)

T-minus 00:04:38 | Site-19, Breakroom Camera

One day, I hope to see you again

(Various Foundation researchers and D-Classes engages in social interactions, consuming an assortment of foods and drinks.)
(A researcher fumbles a large bottle, accidentally spraying surrounding personnel with soda.)
(Everyone laughs.)
(A vase of orchids is set on the counter.)

T-minus 00:03:52 | Site-15 Exterior, East Camera

For those who sleep in graves of the dark

Crowsworth: -nce, I'm glad I finished all my work ahead of time.
Shahid: You, being productive? Am I hearing this right? What's the world coming to?
Crowsworth: Shut up, Nadir.
(Crowsworth punches Shahid in the arm.)
Crowsworth: I just… thought it felt right - completing them, ya know?
(A brief moment of silence lapses.)
Shahid: …I know.
(The weight of a million things left unsaid dissipates.)
(The sky turns lavender, then darkens.)

T-minus 00:02:00 | Overwatch Command

Promises of reprieve shall let you be

O5-1: One last drink for the night, gentlemen?
(O5-1 raises his champagne glass. The rest follows.)
(The light grows strong. The shadow grows long.)
(Strong scents of hyacinth registered.)

T-minus 00:01:00 | Site-15 Exterior, East Camera

To those who can accept the light

Sonia: …What's left for us, Nadir?
(Nadir ponders. He picks a purple lily and gives it to Sonia.)
Nadir: All the time in the world.
(Sonia accepts it, and nods.)
(The stars' brightness increases sharply for 45 seconds.)

(Then they go out.)

T-minus 00:00:10

Smile, you're going to be free

(In unity, we speak.)

T-minus 00:00:08 | Site-19, Breakroom Camera

Site-19 Personnel: We secured.

T-minus 00:00:05 | Overwatch Command

O5 Council: We contained.

T-minus 00:00:02 | Site-15 Exterior, East Camera

Sonia & Nadir: We protected.

T-minus 00:00:01

O death, may you be the key

(And now, we rest.)
(For the world has its eye on us.)

T-minus 00:00:00

To our victory
Our sanctuary

(And it is beautiful.)
[[iftags +theme -nobhl]]
[[>]]
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SCP Foundation, Department of Logistics
Mission-95012-2337 - Briefing

Date: 10/19/2019
Assigned Personnel: Courier-49195
Object Involved: SCP-2337
Risk: Low
Description: Using the provided undercover vehicle, you are to retrieve the object from its semi-annual paraveterinary consultation at [Address provided on mission start] in Raleigh, North Carolina. Then, you will transport the object to primary containment at Site-59. You will arrive no later than 1800 hours EST.
Vehicle Provided: 2005 Ford E150 Cargo Van
Notes From Local Manager: This is right up your alley, 49195. Quick and easy.

-- begin --
SCP-6000 Contest: sex
For many years, the SCP Wiki and its community have grown from a small group of users posting on 4chan to a mainstream phenomenon. In that time, though, each of us have grown as a person and had new experiences, friends, enemies, and more. But occasionally, it's nice to look back at our roots and admire them. Thus, for this contest, we're going to be turning back the clock and becoming what we all once were: absolute degenerates.
Congratulations to djkaktus for winning the SCP-6000 slot with his piece Trump v. Biden! Thank you to the rest of the participants, we had a blast reading all of your entries!
Entries by vote count at closing!
1. SCP-6000: Trump v. Biden by djkaktus (1069)
2. SCP-06000: fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you by UraniumEmpire (323)
3. SCP-6666: Whitesnake by A Random Day, Rounderhouse, Uncle Nicolini (312)
4. SCP-6800: FUCKING SATAN by Westrin (307)
5. SCP-6001: 😳 pee by Lt Flops (284)
6. SCP-6500: owo by Joreth (268)
7. SCP-6789: A Piercing Requiem for God's Will, Eternally by Ihp (237)
8. SCP-6969: nice by Shaggydredlocks (210)
9. SCP-6682: Why? by Tanhony (199)
10. SCP-6999: You see, this wouldn't have happened if I was in charge of CO. You all did this to yourselves. Absolute fools, all of you. by Elenee FishTruck (169)
11. SCP-173: wait what by JackalRelated (167)
12. SCP-6005: Streetlight by Tufto (underrated)
13. SCP-6069: The Eightfold Path (again) by ch00bakka (123)
14. SCP-6002: Cool Word Here. by Yossipossi (99)
15. SCP-6009: It all comes tumbling down ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) by Cyvstvi (85)
16. SCP-6050: The Freudian Slip by MalyceGraves, plaidypus (73)
17. SCP-6049: Consider this article as a resignation letter, effective immediately. by RJB_R (69)
18. SCP-6690: Took long enough. by DrClef (45)
19. SCP-6173: Sometimes, I wonder if I had not posted SCP-173 years ago on 4chan, what would have happened? Now I know. If I had not done it, I would have never seen this, and my life would have been peaceful. Please delete the Wiki. by Moto42 (3)
Special Thanks
Special thanks to the entire Community Outreach Team for helping put together this contest! Truly it has been a wild ride, and I'm sure we all had lots of fun. Special thanks to the entire Internet Outreach Team for helping to cover this disaster up!

Special thanks to Aethris for the banner and ProcyonLotor for not knowing this existed until he found it posted to the wiki. My apologies in advance.

rating: +365+–x
I got caught yesterday.
Normally, I'm more careful about when and where I do it, but I was absolutely ravenous. I hadn't had at a good meal in weeks and I was really craving steak. Tremors of hunger, unlike anything I'd felt before, erupted across my body like a stream of earthquakes. I'd considered just trying to eat it. To grind my teeth into the tough meat and scorch my tongue on the sizzling flesh, then to attempt the agonising act of forcing the fibrous slush down my esophagus. I'd hope it'd stay down, but I knew it wouldn't.
I set about cutting the steak into cubes the width of my eye socket, but I was impatient so I decided instead to slice long thin strips. My eyes drooled with anticipation at the feast before me. I lifted a cube to my mouth, scanned my surroundings to be sure no one was watching, and then plunged the cube directly into my left eye. As it sank past my lens and integrated into my retina, I was in Heaven. I audibly groaned at the otherworldly flavour of the sight filling my mind with beefy bliss. My bliss was suddenly interrupted, however, by the looks of disgust of my fellow patrons. The shame silenced me.
It was an eternity before they stopped staring and returned to their idle chatter.
I took my chance and grabbed one of the long strips with my bare hands. I would need as much dexterity as possible. I slowly and methodically slid the meat into my right eye, inch by inch, as grease and fat coated my eyelashes and dripped down my cheek, but I didn't care. I was finally consuming ACTUAL food. Once the slab was finished I set about devouring another, and another, and ANOTHER. Before I knew it my plate was empty, but I needed MORE. I lifted the slick plate and tilted my head back, pouring the delicious warm liquid into my eyeballs.
Even with gristle and fat drizzling down my neck and soaking my formerly white dress shirt, I was the happiest I'd been in my whole life. For the first time in my life, I felt satisfied.
I don't care that everyone saw, it was fucking worth it.
Does she?
We ask trembling
Gazing upon the void
A hole in the vast sea of stars
Waiting
Can she?
The answer a
Notion in lore unknown
So much was forgotten Somewhere
In time
Should she?
None speak of this
Black thought born from despair
Though sickened we refuse to heed
Her voice
Will she?
We strive to still
The advent of the last
Moon after moon her anguished cry
Rings forth
Do we?
Truly fathom
The task undertaken
As we wait in dread for her child's
Howl
Our hands blaze with glory
Marching ever forward
Our sabatons most gory
Marching to our death
Once broken now united
Marching ever forward
In battle undefeated
Marching to our death
East further past Scythia
Marching ever forward
Facing beast and Daeva
Marching to our death
Our joints slowly turn to rust
Marching ever forward
Our bones are ground into dust
Marching to our death
With spear and faith we fight
Marching ever forward
For MEKHANE we show them the light
Marching to our death
Over the Caspian and Mashriq
Marching ever forward
Making the fleshbound shriek
Marching to our death
Fighting Sarkic fear and Daevite hate
We marched ever forward
We set the trap, they took our bait
Like MEKHANE before us we marched to our death
Adytum is shattered
Antikythera battered
Broken once, broken again
United in life, united in death
rating: +23+–x
TwixFoley 09/12/20 (Sat) 21:45:23 #31182046

guys whats fulm1_8.rdp?

mull&void 09/12/20 (Sat) 21:47:38 #44798002

Wtf is that

TwixFoley 09/12/20 (Sat) 21:48:15 #11329688

its a file or smthing i found on my pc, idk what its for or when i downloaded it

geneTherapist 09/12/20 (Sat) 21:49:11 #45627819

We aren't tech-support, lmao go back to reddit

TwixFoley 09/12/20 (Sat) 21:50:37 #97092831

plz its using up a ton of memory, i think my pc is overheating

mull&void 09/12/20 (Sat) 21:52:26 #31787246

Delete system32, that should fix it
[USER WAS BANNED FOR THIS POST.]

🗿AllTheWastedYears 09/12/20 (Sat) 21:54:43 #68007922

Despite him saying it like an ass, gene has a point. @TwixFoley this isn't really the best place to get helpful advice for that kind of issue. I'm going to lock this thread, I hope you find your answers elsewhere.
[THREAD LOCKED.]

fantastix89 09/15/20 (Tue) 11:34:57 #15454226

@TwixFoley hey out of curiosity, did you find out anything about that string?

geneTherapist 09/15/20 (Tue) 16:09:43 #76548903

lmao I think op actually deleted sys32

fantastix89 09/15/20 (Tue) 16:33:14 #12657422

Damn I wanted to ask him about it, I actually looked at my files and I found that same one, buried waaaay deep in my Program Files

geneTherapist 09/15/20 (Tue) 16:41:22 #17384269

lol why the hell do you care about some random file

triskadekamaniac 09/15/20 (Tue) 17:00:44 #57489090

@fantastix89 Based on experience .rdp usually refers to remote access commands, basically something that can be triggered from elsewhere

fantastix89 09/15/20 (Tue) 17:03:11 #53401191

So someone could just push a button from anywhere in the world and make my PC do something? That sounds a lot like malware.

🗿AllTheWastedYears 09/15/20 (Tue) 17:07:39 #29198754

Didn't I make it clear that this wasn't the place for tech advice? @triskadekamaniac I've already had to ban one user for trolling, if you're feeding him BS then I won't hesitate to ban you as well.

triskadekamaniac 09/15/20 (Tue) 17:09:02 #12657760

I'm not. I used to work electronics, that was the kind of stuff we used for sending/receiving remote signals, although that was only for smaller stuff like TV remotes and garage door openers. No idea why'd they'd stick something like that in a PC.

geneTherapist 09/15/20 (Tue) 17:10:48 #16786544

It's so the FBI can upload hentai to your computer lolol
[USER WAS TIMED-OUT FOR 24 HOURS.]

🗿AllTheWastedYears 09/15/20 (Tue) 17:11:16 #01059892

ffs, can you people act mature for once?

triskadekamaniac 09/15/20 (Tue) 17:11:23 #87481024

@geneTherapist No, it wouldn't send over anything besides a simple signal, it would pretty much just tell the computer to "do something". It's the same logic they use for detonating C4 and shit, although it's not like they could do that to a PC

triskadekamaniac 09/15/20 (Tue) 17:12:14 #38299276

Unless they really overheated it

triskadekamaniac 09/26/20 (Sat) 17:12:14 #94850385

@fantastix89 You there?
Move fast and break things.
Soft and pink, the tatters gleam.
From this shattered city, let's
Build a world peace machine.
We'll give it eyes and ears and voices—
A billion each, and satellite.
Have it hold my hand, my vices.
Have it right my path at night.
We'll give it wings and blades and wheels,
Fingers, feet, and gyroscopes,
Autonomy, to some degree,
To carry me down slippery slopes.
We'll give it books and drawings, time,
My face, my words, to analyze.
Let it serenade and mine
My shadow self, an enterprise.
Propriety impeccable,
Let guard against their blackbox terror
Coin-operated sentinels
Blinded to inhuman error.
Dream machine and data monger,
This Icarian benediction
Burgeons, sprawls. It lives no longer
In the realm of science fiction.
Letting Arcadia use your daughter to save the world is as good as murdering her yourself.
"Dad, I guess you know best."
It's killing me, the remembering. When the dog's barking at the front door all I can see is the image of them snuggling by the fire. Can't tell where her hair ends and the dog begins. Laughing together because her new hairdo's barking at me. Losing Dana hits me every waking moment in my life.
Almost saving Lorraine is the closest to feeling whole again I'm ever getting. Sitting for six months at the vanity waiting for the sound of Dana coming home again. It's all my fault, my knowing, Nolan flattering me and snatching her away, I'll be blaming myself long after Wolfe Funeral Home's crematorium starts burning me.
Crafting her Bird gives me a hint of invention, that inspiring feeling. Something inside again, just a stirring by watching the videotape. Getting the voice just right. Walking up the stairs to Lorraine's room. Looking her in the eye is hard enough. Sleeping together wasn't happening for us again.
As soon as I start taking the sheet off the cage, she's shaking her head. "No, no, no pets, the dog is enough. Let me alone, I'm fine." Protesting, I open the door. The Bird flying, perching on Lorraine's shoulder. Nuzzling her with mechanical cheeks, speaking from an electronic beak.
"Mom, you're looking radiant today."
Remembering how feeling feels is a wonderful thing. Like numbing wearing off on the drive home from a dentist appointment. Lorraine walking around the house, smiling when she thinks I'm not looking.
Wearing off. Nolan learning we're coming together. Not caring about harming her again, his thinking evolving past desiring what he's getting in the now is an impossibility. Inviting himself over for dinner.
Riding on her shoulder, the second thing Nolan's gazing eyes see is Lorraine's bird. Joking about it, laughing at her. "If that thing comes near me, so help me God, I'll be like this!"
Pale, skinny hand moving slowly in the air with open palm, grasping at nothing. Dabney and Gordon chuckling behind him. They're slumming to his benefit, going have to start realizing that eventually.
Turkey for dinner. Lorraine allowing the Bird freedom for wandering the table, as befits a family member. Nolan will never stop thinking he's funny. The Bird hopping near him, nibbling at his plate. Swooshing hand a few inches short of hitting her. Just enough for sparking fear.
Wishing I could take comfort in knowing she didn't see it coming. Flying over Lorraine's head and looking back at Nolan means she wasn't seeing the mirror on the wall until the snapping took her.
Having the nerve to finish eating is classic Nolan. Smiling and talking business while Lorraine is cradling cold metal feathers in the next room. Repeating for the first time the only words she can bring herself to say for the rest of her living memory.
"Dana, are you coming home today?"
— Letter written by Albert Alcorn, intended recipient unknown
In the infinite time that she had spent painting the cosmos, she was still alone.

Blood.
The taste of liquid iron on the tip of her tongue forced her to retch. Only, she couldn't. She tried to force herself. Again, again, and again. But nothing came from the pit of her stomach.
It was everywhere. Her tongue curled loosely and danced across a thousand stars, tracing a slick path of scarlet ichor across a black canvas.
She could taste every meager droplet of red ink that ran its course like a raging river cutting through the Void between the stars themselves. But then, she realised a sudden shocking truth that wounded her like she had wounded them.
In the infinite time that she had spent painting the cosmos, she was still alone. The loneliness was tactile and the silence was deafening. A million stars twinkled below her tongue and head, and yet all she had was the silence and the blood. Oh, the blood.
The blood was the sweetest symphony, a cacaphony of bliss, euphoria, release. And everything bled.
She swooped her body around, drinking in the sights, and sounds of the tumbling marbles beneath her gaze. Those belonged to her. She could taste them. She could smell them.
Her body was wreathed in layers upon layers of silken robes: pinks and oranges, greens and blues, purples and reds. But her skin was pale and smooth as porcelain, a mask that she could retreat behind.
Delicately, she gathered her skirts and robes, swiftly moving away to gaze upon another shining rock. The rocks were her favourite to observe, and to toy with. She would only have to gesture with her elongated, delicate fingers and the blood, the sweet rapturous blood, would pour fourth and desecrate the rock.
Its ugly mismatched hues and rough-hewed surfaces would become awash with her sweet ambrosia. And it would no longer be ugly but rather, beautiful.
Down and down she span, spreading her arms out wide and running her fingertips against the Void between the stars and the heavens. And with a gentle caress, she discovered her design, and her purpose.
The blood was her single purpose. It was the only thing she could feel, taste or see other than the ugly rocks, and the stars that twinkled and danced amongst the Void.
But then it struck again, the feeling of emptiness. She was alone in a canvas covered in black tar. Her design was the only illustration upon the page.
She would solve that. She would have a companion beside her.
And so, she caressed and brutalised the very matter surrounding her until it was given shape and form. She began to mould and guide the matter into a figure. Another entity bathed in the sea of black that permeated all around her. But then her fingers fell and the red figure collapsed back into the Void.
Fury overtook her as she punched, clawed and shrieked at the degenerating figure, cursing it for ever having been, or ever having not been. She could feel herself falling, collapsing into the same Void that her creation had. And she cried, and cried.
Then, she was awake and Mary realised that her grandmother's stories had been true all along.

Part 1: Blood, without Forme.| Part 2: As of yet, unwritten.
I woke late this morning
  in a dark and dizzy daze
I looked into the mirror
  and a stranger met my gaze
I fear with every day that I'm
  forgetting more and more
But how can I compare?
  I can't remember from before
Each day another stranger
  claims to be my friend or foe
I'm forced to make hard choices
  based on things that I don't know
My anonymity protects
  and hides me all the same
They wish to know my purpose;
  I just want to know my name
With every step I take I change
  the world before my eyes
I know now my mundanity
  is not just a disguise
I wonder if it's better to
  keep known or disappear;
If failing memory should not
  remain my greatest fear
If I should die tomorrow, though,
  I simply wouldn't care
Content to be forgotten
  as the man who wasn't there
This page with a small tale and art (my first real art) about SCP-6767 was my gift for Aftokrator for the 2021 Art exchange. I highly recommend reading the original article. Hope you enjoy!

A small snake, no, a small lizard, slithered around through the snow. It went over root, under stone, and through the ice-cold water. And yet, whilst it had never been there before, it knew the place better than anyone, as it had access to a lot of memories. Dead memories.
But no matter how much knowledge it could rely on, it did not prevent him from feeling increasingly colder. Tired from its travels it hid in the cracks of a rock, hoping its scales wouldn't reflect the moonlight and reveal its position when it slept.
It woke up from a new memory. One of the metal men from The Empire had succumbed to the cold. Through the eyes of the poor individual, it saw that they were close, very close.
As fast as it could, it left in search for a new river or a place that wouldn't leave tracks as the snow did. So it tried to cover itself with powdered snow, hoping it wouldn't fall off too easily. But alas, in the end, its beryllium bronze was like a shimmer in their eyes…
A chase began.
The legless lizard, despite its size, proved to be quite fast and agile. Slipping through their hands on multiple occasions. Uphill or downhill it mattered not, camouflage and quickness were key. Their mechanical equipment, or do I dare say nature, aided them yet made their approaches less stealthy. Even their improvised barrage of stones hurled in its direction did not stop it, until they scored a hit.
A high-flying rock struck a nearby bird, and a new memory revealed itself. At first, it saw itself trying to escape, then from an aerial perspective, it saw its hunters, which appeared to be more numerous than expected. A tall priestess, it recognized as Ataraxia of Tarsos, had come for its precious skin in the most literal sense.
The chase continued, but outnumbered and countered by the priestess, one fellow was able to finally grasp the sleek reptile in his hand. It bit, to no avail.
"Did you really think you could escape?" the cultist said with a grin on his face. "Not as easy, no." it answered before it tried to struggle its way from the palm's grip. These actions were met by a burst of mocking laughter, as the others now came closer. The priestess began an enchantment, which for the third time in quick succession, brought a memory forth. This time not from the dead, but his own.
It remembered being beaten by them for its scales from rare metal and paying for freedom with its knowledge on sigils. The very same they tried to use now to take him back, as he was too precious to let go.
But through the centuries it had learned to keep an ace up its sleeve. And with its own thaumaturgy, it cast the snow around him onto its pursuers. Whilst they were still blinded, it fled and dug himself a small hole in the ground. And with the fluttering snowfall, it had disappeared from their sight, finally escaped never to be seen again…
Or at least on this occasion.

Little extra thing

Close

From the original article

"A talking snake in Tschida's coffee?"
-Dr. Bordeaux

Merry Christmas Afto!