Message written on SCP-5336's exterior. Additional images will be provided upon request.

ITEM #:
5336

OBJECT CLASS:
SAFE

Special Containment Procedures: SCP-5336 is to remain in a medium storage container at Site-08. Tests using SCP-5336 to determine the potential intelligence of various species of plant and fungus are currently pending approval.
Description: SCP-5336 is a home printer whose components have been heavily modified, allowing it to receive inputs from an array of sensors housed on the printer's top surface. Upon discovery, these sensors were directed at a glass lens above a piece of moldy bread resting on the printer.
At varied intervals, SCP-5336 will print one or more pages of text. SCP-5336 is unable to receive external print orders of any kind.
Discovery: SCP-5336 was discovered near a compost pile behind Site-08. Multiple printed pages, all suffering from mild water damage, were found in SCP-5336's output tray at time of discovery. Transcriptions of the pages can be found below.

I've suddenly found myself before a great pile of the dead. Many backgrounds, many lives, all squandered and dumped into a great heap. What may have once been a mountain of dirt has since been blackened by the long shadow of death. What sort of creature would do this? What sort of creature could do this? I say creature, for although I cannot see any tracks, I refuse to believe that this is a consequence of nature. Cruel as she may be, this is far beyond even her bitterest frost.
I fear that the being which awakened my soul will soon do the same to the decaying heap. I find myself so close to the heap's edge that (if my fears do come to fruition) the mound may engulf me in one great lurch.

I fear for my own life the way one fears the hunger of a caterpillar: a dull, persistent dread that can be quelled only by the event itself. As I fail to spot the creature, I find myself gazing at the cloudy sky and pondering trivialities in an attempt to drown out the incessant thought that grows alongside the beast's continued absence:
What if I was wrong about there being a creature? What if this is but another cruel facet of nature, and that we are all destined to join the decaying mountain?

Are you in that mountain, Floraine?

Today I saw the creature. Such a monstrous titan! It stands as the birds do: thin and tall and on two feet. But where the sparrow stands in humble stature, the titan exceeds even the height of the rotting mound.
How easily it could have torn me up from the ground! How easily I could have been squashed underfoot! Each movement strikes me with equal parts awe and terror, for not only could the titan dash away my life with ease, it may even do so on accident. Seeing how it mishandled its food, I find it easy to imagine the titan unwittingly burying me in the dead. So carelessly did it engorge itself on a peach that it let the fruit's lifeblood dry up on its fingers and chin. And when the fruit was reduced to but a pit, the beast cast it onto the heap. Never have I seen such cruel disdain for life! To commit such an act — to damn a mere infant atop the rotting mountain!
If I had been given the chance, my dear Floraine, I would have struck the creature down where it stood. But alas, nature did not afford me such gifts.

The deplorable titan is not alone.
Today I saw three of them, walking and laughing and paying no heed to the mound of the dead. Any optimism I once had that the creature may be alone (or the last remnant of a dying race) has been dashed. In truth, I don't doubt that there are more towering necropolises strewn across the Earth. I shudder at the thought that my dearest Floraine is in one of these piles, desecrated by the titans and abandoned by the Arbiters of universal justice. I see now what these creatures are. They are normal, mundane, as much a facet of this world as I am. Why else would there be so many of them? Why else would they tread so comfortably, unafraid of nature rebuking their horrid existence or of the Arbiters striking them down for their transgressions? They are like a rabbit or a caterpillar: vicious and terrible, but granted the gift of life all the same.
And what of the Arbiters? Why did they rest when the first titan took its first wicked step? Where are they now as the decaying heaps spit in the face of justice? There are three possible answers:

They have abandoned us.
They concur with the actions of the titans, the rabbits, the caterpillars, and all the other savage beasts.
That my unshakable sense that there is some sort of cosmic clockwork, some system that protects the righteous and punishes the heinous, was misplaced. That they were never there to begin with.

I do not know which answer I fear most.
The skies are darkening. I pray that I will not soon be wading through the dead.

All is well and good with the world! I pity my past self, who was so worried about the Arbiters and scornful of the great cogs of nature. So paranoid that I did not trust my convictions about Floraine and the Arbiters. The rain has not only brought moisture to my dry soil, it has brought the spoils of the mellified mountain tumbling down! I find myself soaked in the sweet nectar of the dead and have realized that I am absolutely famished. I turn and double back, sifting my roots through the soil as I search for the sweetest carcass of the lot. Oh Floraine, who had the pleasure of tasting your delicious ichor? I pray that I have been granted the gift of engorging myself on your remains and getting to feel them ooze through my roots in one final embrace.
To think that I was scared of death instead of eagerly waiting for my chance to offer myself to another! To think that I had never begged to feast on the decaying and the dead! To think that I saw the rotting mound as anything other than a cornucopia! Alas, my foolishness leaves and returns like the humble honeybee. At times I feel guilt and shame creeping along my stem and poisoning my mind. They tell me that I am wrong, that I should never have strayed from the path of nature. But if my consumption is not ordained, then why would the dead be so delectable?
Praise to nature!
Praise to the titans!
Praise to the Arbiters!
And praise to being awakened to such a wonderful world!

Addendum: Inspection has revealed that SCP-5336's lens was misaligned when it was discovered, leading to its sensors focusing on a nearby dandelion. 14 hours after properly aligning SCP-5336's lens with the moldy bread, the following page was printed:

▶ ACCESS DOCUMENT

▷ ACCESS GRANTED

i make spores
today is good day :)

by AnActualCrow

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