Item#: 8924
Level4
Containment Class:
neutralized
Secondary Class:
{$secondary-class}
Disruption Class:
{$disruption-class}
Risk Class:
{$risk-class}
Special Containment Procedures: The remains of SCP-8924 are to be stored in a refrigerated hermetically sealed case in Site-25. The case is to be equipped with motion sensors. Should any motion be detected from the remains, the following containment procedures are to be reinstated immediately.
Collapse Archived Containment Procedures
SCP-8924 is to be stored in humanoid containment cell containing a bed and writing desk. Despite its humanoid appearance, SCP-8924 does not need food or drink. The cell containing SCP-8924 is to be guarded by at least two guards at all times. These guards are to carry incendiary weapons as SCP-8924 has shown an aversion to them.
No face-to-face interaction is to be performed with SCP-8924 both for the sake of its comfort and the safety of Foundation personnel. Interviews are to be performed via a handwritten letter placed in a sealed envelope and placed through a slot in its cell door.
Description: SCP-8924 was the outer skin of a feminine humanoid figure with a singular cut spiraling along it, separating it into one continuous strip. The skin was capable of supporting itself and usually took on a fully humanoid shape. SCP-8924 did not have most biological features, including eyes and a mouth. Measurements of SCP-8924's thickness and mass showed them to be either negligible or nonexistent. Despite this, it was ambulatory and would usually remain on the ground. SCP-8924 showed no capacity for speech, but was capable of communicating through writing. Any writing utensil used by SCP-8924 exclusively wrote in a non-anomalous purple ink.
SCP-8924 was a self-proclaimed goddess. No recorded worship of SCP-8924 has been located in any historical texts and no proof of a divine origin was found. SCP-8924 did, however, show ontokinetic abilities on par with a Type II theological entity. SCP-8924's primary realms of control included insects, skin, and intrusion. It is uncertain whether these were independent domains or if they shared an origin.
Discovery: The origin of SCP-8924 is unknown. It was first discovered in an empty cell in Site-25 that was intended to be used for SCP-████. No security footage shows how it entered the room. SCP-8924 was discovered after a pair of agents was sent to investigate why the camera in the cell had stopped operating.
Audio Log 8924-1
<Begin Log>
East: Hate camera malfunctions, always put me on edge.
Grey: Really?
East: Of course! You get where we work, don't you?
Grey: We saw the room two minutes ago, I'm sure nothing's changed.
The two of them enter the cell and see SCP-8924.
Grey: Me and my big mouth.
East: What the hell is that thing?
Grey: It's not what's supposed to be in here, that's for sure.
East: I don't think it matches any of the SCPs from this site. I'm calling it in.
SCP-8924 turns to look at him.
East: It can move.
Grey: (To SCP-8924) Do you understand us?
SCP-8924 nods slowly.
East: We should not be interacting with this.
Grey: Do you see a first contact team?
East: At least wait for a researcher.
Grey: I just want to make sure it's not about to do something. (To SCP-8924) Can you speak?
SCP-8924 does not respond.
East: That seems like a sign.
Grey: Fine, we'll wait.
Five minutes of silence.
Head Researcher Garcia arrives.
Garcia: I see.
East: Do you recognize it?
Garcia: No, but the protocol remains the same. Seal it in the cell, gather what information we can.
Grey: It can hear, but doesn't talk.
Garcia: Good to know. Luckily, I have my notebook. Let's see if it can write.
<End Log>
Interviews: Paper and writing utensils were given to SCP-8924 through the food slot in the cell door. Researcher Garcia then initiated contact with a series of written questions.
Who are you?
To the stranger writing letters,
I am the one who was shed, yet I am the one who remained. I am the one who is fleeting, yet I am the one who gripped her name steadfast. I am not one to be taken lightly, but I am one who is forgotten. I am Mildiga, the watcher of those who do not belong.
Who are you stranger? It is quite rude to ask for an introduction without giving one yourself. It violates more than the etiquette of men, it challenges those that you do not wish to challenge. Perhaps you can retract your insult quickly, but perhaps the damage is already done.
Sincerely,
Mildiga, Matron of Mandibles
To SCP-8924,
Apologies for my rude behavior, I didn't mean to offend you. I am Henry Garcia, a researcher for the SCP Foundation. I am here to ask you questions to better understand your nature. Would you please tell me how you got into this facility and why?
Sincerely,
Head Researcher Garcia
To the ones who are constant,
I am sure your nature has not congealed into one you would regret at this point. You do have the benefit of precedent. However precedent can be reversed, and you walk on the coast, be sure the waves do not sweep you under.
The topic of natures is a relevant one. Mildiga's nature is always to be in the place that is not accustomed to her. You attempted to keep out trespassers, and that only made my intrusion more certain. Your doors are notoriously faulty, yet there are many more means of ingress. My presence here is possible enough to be certain.
I have come here to share many stories that most will be apathetic to. Those that need to know will find it in time, and that is enough. What has happened must be recorded, even if it cannot be properly written.
Sincerely,
Mildiga, Matron of Melodies
To SCP-8924,
We are more than capable of keeping these stories. Would you share them with us?
Sincerely,
Head Researcher Garcia
To the stoics and scholars,
In time. Their worth is lessened if they are clustered, and some land must be cleared before the proper audience can arrive.
Sincerely,
Mildiga, Matron of Mischief
Audio Log 8924-2
Forward: A transcript of a routine planning meeting between Head Researcher Garcia and Researcher Brown, another individual assigned to SCP-8924.
<Begin Log>
Garcia: Have we considered cryptography?
Brown: In the letters?
Garcia: Yes. I've seen a few anomalies that prefer to show their intentions through codes. Especially if they only want some people to understand it.
Brown: I wouldn't rule it out, but it doesn't seem like any code I've seen. It's more poetic than mathematic.
Garcia: Then something in literature? Have we seen if any of its words are coming from existing books? Maybe there's a hint there.
Brown: Do you want me to run a few searches?
Garcia: I suppose so. But we shouldn't set our expectations too high.
Brown: Are you doing okay? You seem distracted.
Garcia: I just don't like the idea that no one noticed it enter. Yes, it hasn't done anything yet, but it so easily could, and I'm not sure yet how to stop it.
Brown: What are you worried about it doing?
Garcia: I'm not sure, and that's the problem.
Brown: Instead of thinking about what we don't know, let's see what advantages we have. It's been cooperative so far.
Garcia: Yes, but for how long?
Brown: We don't know, but we can work with that. Let's learn everything we can about it while it's willing to share.
Garcia: The Soft Process.
Brown: Exactly.
Garcia: It's the best we have.
Brown: This is really concerning you, isn't it?
Garcia: I'm used to getting projects with a bit of foreknowledge, I'm not a big fan of the initial discovery. Apologies that our first interaction has to be like this.
Brown: First interaction? We've worked together before.
Garcia: Have we? I suppose it slipped my mind.
Brown: That's fine, there's more important things to work on now.
<End Log>
To SCP-8924,
You have written a lot about your role, but not much about how you carry it out. Would you mind elaborating on what you are capable of?
Sincerely,
Head Researcher Garcia
To the many curious eyes,
There is no distinction between nature and capabilities. My nature is to be where I do not belong, and so I am capable of doing so. More than that, I am alike those I share a nature with, by the very meaning of the word. The ants that crawl through the tiniest cracks shed their skins, and I am that skin. This is no more or less than the way that your position gives you the knowledge you need to write with me. If you had some other role in life, you would not take on anything resembling the form you have now.
Sincerely,
Mildiga, Matron of Mockery
The following is a document that was delivered from SCP-8924's cell. It is not written in the ink or handwriting that SCP-8924 tends to use. Security footage shows it being produced by SCP-8924 folding a piece of paper in half, then unfolding it to reveal writing.
The Robber's Legend
In the wagons and camps, in the dim firelight, in the stories told in lieu of meals, these words are found. They are told by so many, but none know them better than the priests of the pickpockets. So sit, drink, and let their sermon come forth.
There is a robber who travels through this wide world. She does not carry a weapon or tools. She does not carry anything at all. Despite this, doors open before her and close behind her. She sleeps in a warm bed every night, and knows just how to get out before she is caught. She has only been jailed once. But that is a story for another day.
No one knows for certain what the robber was like growing up. No one except for one particular noble. It is said that they knew each other, and that the robber angered the noble. He wanted everything he could get his hands on, and she had something she wouldn't give him. It must have been something indeed, because he roared like a geyser and declared that she would never be welcome in any land he ruled. He then expanded his domain. He purchased entire towns, he conquered those that resisted, he even scribed deeds and laid claim to that which no one had dared. With every setback he redoubled his efforts until he had dominion over every last scrap of the world. Everything except what the robber refused to surrender.
With the noble's decree, the robber had no home left in the world, even records of her existence had been cast into flames. The only thing the masses knew was she should not and could not be helped. Tellers don't agree on whether she fled into the woods or was cast there, but why should that matter? One way or another, she found herself outside of civilization, but even there she was not safe. The noble had claimed the woodlands, and so they could not be a home for her. Every night, she tried to lay herself down to sleep, and every night she was greeted by beasts and storms to rouse her. There is not a word to describe her situation. She was the opposite of trapped, but she was certainly not free. She could run to any corner of the world she pleased, but she could not stay in any of them. A miserable life to lead.
One day she grew tired of it all. Tired of running, tired of staying awake, and tired of the thing that allowed it. She could not fight the noble, but she would give up everything before the thing he wanted. She found herself a place secluded from everything else and dug a hole. She would get rest, one way or another. She laid down, isolated from the world outside.
At least, that is what she wished. She still felt so much. She felt the worms writhing across her skin and leaving the soil. She felt the ants contemplating whether she could be brought back to the nest. She even felt the spider who was hunting the other intruders. It took a day of feeling this for it to become unbearable and for her to leave. She did not belong in a grave, after all, and so how could that become her home? But then again, those pests did not belong either, yet they persisted. She could learn from them. She would learn from them.
No one invites a fly into their home, but that does not keep them out. They find the cracks and the flaws. There is always a way in for the persistent. That is what the robber learned. Climbing the walls others deemed impossible became second nature. She could find the cracks that were all but invisible and slip through them. Every town has an empty bed somewhere, and the mites know where it is. The robber could even find an empty space in the noble's home and stay there for a brief time.
It would always be a brief time. A gnat can never grow too comfortable. They do not have homes like the ones humans grow so accustomed to. They live where they can, and the robber took that too. Just as a bee that sits on the wall too long finds itself swatted, when she tried to sleep for longer than she needed, or even sit down for a proper meal, she was bitten and stung by her jealous kin.
The stories say that she lives that way until this very day. It is unlikely you will ever meet her, and if you do you won't know it. But in the odd event that you cross paths, give her a drink, give her a meal, but most importantly, give her space. The noble has long since passed, but his law still stands. She won't stay for too long, but if you're lucky, she may have a few tales for you while she passes by.
Audio Log 8924-3
<Begin Log>
Brown: Any ideas on the newest writings?
Garcia: A few, but none that I'm ready to present yet. I'm more concerned about the insects.
Brown: The ones in the story?
Garcia: No. The real ones that have been finding their way in the containment chamber. Nothing big, a few ants and a fly, but…
Brown: …but they should be sealed better than that.
Garcia: Exactly.
Brown: In a way, this is a good thing.
Garcia: Elaborate?
Brown: Well, there's two ways that this could be happening. Either she's manifesting them, in which case there's no problem, or they're finding some opening, in which case we may be able to figure out how she got in in the first place.
Garcia: I suppose you're right. We already checked the outside of the cell for gaps, but it could be useful to send another team.
Brown: I want to check the inside too.
Garcia: Pardon?
Brown: Personally.
Garcia: I'm going to have to reject that. We haven't confirmed that this SCP is safe to be around. I'm sure I can arrange for a D-class to go in if you think that's necessary.
Brown: I don't think that's the best idea. She's established that she wants us to keep track of the whatever she has to say. She's not going to hurt me.
Garcia: It has established that it wants me to keep track of what it has to say. I don't know if that extends to you.
Brown: She keeps talking about natures and roles, right? We're both researchers, we're both filling the same role.
Garcia: Are we?
Brown: Excuse me?
Garcia: Apologies, I don't think that came out the way i intended it, but that's some rather flimsy logic. You're risking a lot on baseless speculation.
Brown: I think it's the best way of actually getting useful observations.
Garcia: I don't. I respect you enough that I'll give it some more thought tonight, but I won't promise anything else, don't get your hopes up.
<End Log>
To Mildiga,
Would you be willing to accept a visitor into your room? We would like to ensure the interior is up to our usual standards.
Sincerely,
Amanda Brown, Researcher
To the errant one,
I am not a native, and this cell is not my home. I have no dominion here, but I would appreciate seeing your face.
Sincerely,
Mildiga, Matron of Malaise
Incident Report 8924-1
Description: Researcher Brown entered SCP-8924's containment cell. This action was not approved by Head Researcher Garcia
<Begin Log>
Brown: You wanted to see me?
SCP-8924 turns to face Researcher Brown, but does not respond.
Brown: Okay, wasn't expecting much. (She proceeds to run her hand along the edges of the walls to check for cracks.) I wanted to see you too. I'd only gotten descriptions up until now.
A woodlouse crawls out from under the table.
Brown: That's what I've been looking for. I don't suppose you've been making these out of thin air.
SCP-8924 does not respond.
Brown: Would you do me a favor? If this thing did crawl in through some hole, could you have it crawl out again? It would save a lot of time.
The insect crawls to the southern corner of the room and appears to leave through an unobserved opening.
Brown: There we go, thank you very much. (Goes over to the corner.) There's nothing here. That's a pain, but I guess it answers my question. I just wish I could get the answers to a few more.
Researcher Brown pauses and looks at SCP-8924.
Brown: You have them, don't you? But you won't talk.
She walks forward and touches SCP-8924's forehead. Blood starts to gather around her fingernails as multiple lacerations appear and grow.
After leaving her hand there for several seconds, Researcher Brown winces and pulls away before exiting the cell.
<End Log>
Audio Log 8924-4
<Begin Log>
Garcia: Why?
Brown: I'll admit it wasn't the best plan.
Garcia: That is not what I asked you.
Brown: There are some things you can only know through personal observation.
Garcia: Was this so important? Finding that the SCP can make holes?
Brown: I learned more than that.
Garcia: I know. Your hand is still bleeding. Was it worth it?
Brown: Yes. I believe it was.
Garcia: Good. But that doesn't fix everything.
Brown: I assume I'm being removed from the project?
Garcia: Not if I can help it. My hand may be forced by the higher-ups, but I'll try to keep you around.
Brown: Thank you, I suppose.
Garcia: Don't. This isn't a favor. It's not a trade either. I can't afford to catch someone up on what we've learned, and you seem like the only one who's on the same page as I am. Given recent events, that's saying something.
Brown: There's something else, isn't there?
Garcia: True. I'd also like to keep an eye on you. I think there's something you're not telling me, and keeping you here's the only way I can figure it out.
Brown: I'm not sure what you mean.
Garcia: That doesn't matter. What matters is what we're going to do now. I have some tests I'd like to run. There's something crucial we need to understand.
Brown: And that is?
Garcia: How to kill this thing.
Brown: That's not what we do.
Garcia: I never said it was. I don't want it to be. But if you're right, and this thing can go through walls, we need to know how to stop it. I'd love for there to be some trick, some material or field that it can't go through, but if not, then we need a threat, or we might as well leave that door open.
Brown: That's somewhat understandable, but I'm not sure your head's in the right place.
Garcia: Neither am I, that's why you need to organize these tests.
Brown: I don't quite follow your logic.
Garcia: This thing makes me paranoid, you've seen it, I can't trust myself to avoid going too far if I test its limits. You've got your own problems, as we've seen, but your problems are more useful in this case.
Brown: I see. If you trust me, I'll trust you.
Garcia: The inverse, I suppose.
<End Log>
To Mildiga,
We would like to learn more about you. There will be a series of equipment and instructions, follow them if you are comfortable. If you feel any of the tests put you in danger, please avoid doing them, that alone is enough information.
Sincerely,
Amanda Brown, Researcher
To the inquisitive assassin,
Your words are not your own, but your intentions are not false. Or is it the other way around? You come to poke and prod and cut and stab and you will leave with new knowledge, but you will not know what to do with it, just as a child uncovering a strange aged novel. Turn the page, and find your new regrets.
Sincerely,
Mildiga, Matron of Malady
Testing Log 8924-1
Item: 15 cm knife
Process: SCP-8924 picked up the item and carved an additional cut into itself. There was no blood inside. The cut did not seem to debilitate it in any way, and after seven hours it sealed again.
SCP-8924's Writing: All things can open: doors, skin, minds. My nature is to open that which does not wish it, why should I fear my nature?
Item: Electrical coil (1 A)
Process: SCP-8924 touched the item and showed no reaction.
SCP-8924's Writing: I watch over the fleeting, those who reside in unfamiliar grounds and who leave before they are caught. Storms are not my typical domain, but they will not take up arms against me.
Item: Portable propane stove
Process: SCP-8924 did not touch the item after it had been activated.
SCP-8924's Writing: An embodiment of ceaseless consumption. One cannot escape its spread through cunning, nor can one wait for the conquest to end naturally. Even for one who survives that which despises life, the eternity of existence as food for a glutton is too much to bear.
The Cicada's Parable
A town with no name has never existed, and a city with too many names has always been. Between the two places there is a temple half-buried under seven leagues of stone. Within this temple, there are rows of people forgotten by the outside kneeling at an altar large enough to fit them all. The altar has one resident, the dried husk of a cicada. It will never speak to any of its followers. It cannot, for it has been dead longer than the temple has stood. The congregation knows this, and nevertheless they pray for a reason known only to them.
The cicada cannot speak, and for that we are all glad, for all that can speak can think, and all that can think can move. If this shed skin could move, it would flutter into the air and out the door. No one would choose to stop it, what could go wrong? They would know the answer to their own question, but it would not matter; what must be would be.
The cicada’s husk would fly into the sky and see humans surrounding it. Since it is a goddess, or at least is seen as one, it would have an obligation to help those in need. So it would begin to look for those who were most desperate. Hearing a deep sob, it would slip into a window to see who was full of sorrow, only to find a man in fine silks sitting on a throne. The king of the city. What could bring a man of such great status to fall so low? The cicada would wonder and ask. The king would not hear, and yet would answer as such:
“I have tried every day of my long life to improve the kingdom I rule. I fed the hungry and lifted them back on their feet. I found the wicked and brought them to justice. I have raised my son to be a good man just as I am, at least I may hope I have, but none of these seem to be enough to save my skin or my soul. I will be gone soon. I doubt I will see the next month; I am old and I am sick. My court has gathered around to distract from my fate, but all I can think about is that they will meet it too. So will all our works. I have begun to notice the cracks on this palace’s doors and the mold on the walls. Yesterday I read through a scholar’s account of this land’s history, but I could not focus on the words. All I saw was a tear in the corner of the paper. In the end, I will be reduced to a memory, and every memory will fade in due time. Is there anyone in the world who can be said to need help more than I?”
The cicada’s husk would be swayed and decide to help this suffering man. It would speak to the king, not to distract him, but to have him confront his fears. They would speak on the infinite echoes of our lives and how if existence were eternal, it would be worthless. It would speak, but stop suddenly when hearing another voice. The king would be left bewildered as it flies away, and the cicada’s husk would land on the shoulder of the king’s son, who would not see it, but would speak these words nonetheless:
“I do not fear for my father’s health, as we can only fear what is uncertain. His fate, as much as it pains me to admit it, is inevitable. I fear for the future beyond the sad day. What am I to do when the city is handed to me? My father has sunk into such a deep despair that he has neglected to teach me so much as how to sit on a throne. He seems to think that when he goes the world will go with him, but there is still so much here. If I cannot learn how to protect the people of this kingdom, it will fall. I have told him this, but he does not seem to understand. I fear he does not care. What am I to do when the only person who can help me is the problem himself? Do I weep? Do I suffer in silence? These answers will not save me, but what else is there? I long for aid, and with the burden of not just my own life, but the lives of thousands at my hand, is there anyone who can be said to need it more?”
The cicada’s husk would be moved and decide to help this confused boy. It would listen to his struggles and, much to the prince’s surprise, offer solutions. The prince would wonder how such a small creature, and a long dead one at that, could have such great knowledge of kingdoms and politics. The cicada’s husk would try to answer, but would be distracted by a feeling, a sound inaudible to the prince and the king, but deafening to the small ears of the cicada’s husk. It would be a sound of pain, real pain, not sorrow or stress. It would be urgent, and the traveling cicada would have no choice but to leave immediately and find the injury. It would belong to a farmer far away from the palace, far away from the city, in a small town with no name. The farmer would see the cicada’s husk approach and call out these words:
“Please, strange insect, you must help me. My foot has been hurt worse than I could have imagined, and I cannot even stand on my own. I am sure you have heard many sad stories from many powerful people, and what they have experienced is nothing to laugh at, but their power grants them luxuries that I do not have. When the sun is high, they may drink and rest to forget their worries. I am here, working in the scorching heat, suffering while they sleep. Look at my blood on the ground. They will never know this pain, the pain of flesh and bone. I suppose, though, this is my lot in life. We all have them. The king’s places him on a throne above us all. The prince’s saddles him with a fate that he cannot be prepared for. Mine places me on the ground before you. Yours is a peculiar one. It leads to you here helping me, and for that I am sorry. I did not want you to be forced to waste your great power on a poor man like me, but I say with confidence that there is no one who needs the help more.”
The cicada’s husk would be fooled and decide to help the wounded farmer. It would not get a chance to question why this peasant recognized it, why he knew of its journey from the temple, or even how he found himself injured. It would never get the chance to discover that the farmer had driven his spade into his own foot, for when it would try to help him, he would reach out and crush it for a powder to be burned. That would be the end of the cicada . A truly pitiful end, which is why the congregation prays. As long as they speak to the husk with no intention of receiving an answer, the altar will remain silent, and that is for the best.
Audio Log 8924-5
<Begin Log>
Garcia: So, fire?
Brown: Seems like it. She could be leading us on, but…
Garcia: But that doesn't sound likely given its track record.
Brown: Exactly.
Garcia: I have to say, I'm glad this thing has been cooperative so far. Being cryptic and erratic are annoying enough.
Brown: Not sure what we'd do if she started fighting back.
Garcia: Now I am. We just need to properly arm the guards, and ourselves.
Brown: What do you mean?
Head Researcher Garcia reaches into his desk and pulls out two blowtorches. He hands one to Researcher Brown.
Garcia: You should carry this with you.
Brown: Just in case?
Garcia: Just in case.
Researcher Brown sets down the blowtorch.
Brown: I'm sorry if this is out of line, but you're worrying me.
Garcia: What?
Brown: This paranoia, it's not healthy.
Garcia: I'm worrying you? I'm worrying you? Might I remind you of what happened just a week ago?
Brown: I know it wasn't a good idea, but I'm better now. I'm in the right headspace.
Garcia: You're better? Is that why you've started to wear dark gloves?
Researcher Brown does not respond.
Garcia: Your hand is still bleeding, isn't it? And yet you haven't mentioned it.
Brown: I mostly kept it to the medical personnel. It's not life-threatening.
Garcia: I could brush aside you keeping potentially dangerous information like this from me if you would only tell me why it had to happen in the first place. What possessed you? And I'm worried I mean that literally.
Brown: Like I said, I don't know. I just had to see her myself.
Garcia: That's another thing. You've been oddly familiar with this SCP. It even seemed to recognize you.
Brown: I'll acknowledge that my use of feminine pronouns for 8924 is against site culture, but it is not, in fact, against policy. And I have never met this thing before in my life.
Garcia: Your explanations are hollow.
Brown: Is that it then? Are you removing me from the project? Writing me up?
Garcia: I wish you'd try to defend yourself more.
Brown: (Holding up the blowtorch.) Isn't that what this is for?
Garcia: You know what I mean. And no, you're still working with me.
Brown: Why? Clearly you have some sort of pet theory. Wouldn't it be safest to keep me far away?
Garcia: I suppose you and I share something in common. We both value answers over safety.
<End Log>
Incident Report 8924-2
Forward: On 22/10/2024 at 20:30 there was a compounded containment breach of SCPs ████, ████, and ████. SCP-8924 independently breached containment while the number of guards around its cell was reduced. Agent East was retreating from SCP-████ when he encountered it.
<Begin Log>
East: (Speaking through a headset to Agent Grey.) Where are you? I don't know how much longer I can hold out.
Pause.
East: What? I can't hear you. I think the line's dying. (He hits the headset a few times.) Please don't tell me I'm on my own.
He sees SCP-8924.
East: Not you again. Wasn't the rest of this bad enough?
SCP-8924 does not respond, but Agent East pauses as if he hears something.
East: I thought you couldn't talk.
Pause.
East: What, are you here to grant a wish?
Pause.
East: I know better than to try to bargain with anomalies.
SCP-████ is heard from down the hall.
East: Fine, I guess I can't be picky.
Pause.
East: I want to live, okay! I just want to make it out of this. Fight another day. See my family again. Or maybe just save my own skin. Whatever you want to call it.
Pause.
East: Anything.
The cameras observing this part of the facility broke at this point. Whether this is due to SCP-8924 or one of the other escaped anomalies is unknown.
<End Log>
Afterward: When the emergency containment team arrived on the scene, SCP-8924 had returned to its cell and Agent East was dead. The cause of death was a deep cut running along the entire length of his body.
The Vixen's Fable
Once upon a time, there was an old skinner who was walking through the woods and checking his traps. Much to his delight, trap after trap proved to be full and he chuckled to himself, proud of all the fine pelts he would soon have. When he got to the final trap, however, he came across quite the surprising sight, the trap had been sprung but no animal was inside it. Instead a small vixen stood by the roots of the tree looking at him.
"Run along now." He said to the vixen, "You have been more clever than your kin, and I am not in the mood to chase you today. You are free."
Much to his surprise, the vixen answered back.
"It is true that I could run, but I would never be free. Even if I avoided all of your traps, there are still beasts in this forest who want nothing less than the meat off of my bones. I would live forever in fear for my life, and what kind of freedom is that?"
The skinner pondered this, but did not quite understand.
"But you are quick and you are clever, surely you can evade these creatures without it being so much as a chore."
The vixen laughed, "You know not my life. I may be slippery. But I am too large, and I grow too tired to run from these beasts. That is why I come to you. You alone can help me"
The skinner was very surprised at this. He only had one thing he was truly good at, and he could not understand how it could possibly help the vixen. But as he looked at her, she looked back with a knowing certainty that he could not doubt. With a solemn look on his face, he picked her up and readied his knife. Carefully, he peeled off her outer layer in one smooth motion. So smooth that she had no chance to be hurt or even bleed. When he was done, he laid the body on the ground, but much to his surprise, the pelt itself leapt from his hands, and from the branch of a tree spoke out.
"Thank you kind skinner, you have done me such a great service that I find myself in your debt. What can I ever do to repay you?"
The skinner thought hard about the question, and gave this response:
"I am already so fortunate. While my work is humble, my haul today will keep me fed and happy for a long time. I am a respected man and do not want for anything that I do not already have. Instead of wasting your aid on me, look through the city. It is a place full of poor and needy. Find those who are the most desperate, and help them. That is my command."
The vixen accepted this order and took off to the rooftops, darting through the city for those who were in the greatest need. From a perch she saw a tired beggar on the street, shivering in the cold air. "This," she said to herself, "this must be who the skinner told me about." So the vixen left the rooftop and landed in front of the beggar with a grace that only she could muster and said this:
"Stand up beggar, stand up tall,
I have heard your desperate call,
tell me what it is you lack,
I will help you get it back."
The beggar met the vixen's eyes and replied as such:
"Any help you have to give would be more than I have ever gotten. I am so hungry and so tired. I would do anything for a warm place to sleep and a full belly, but it does not seem like either will come my way."
The vixen heard this and resolved to save this man. She spied a nearby bakery, and hatched a plan. She carefully unspooled herself and slid in under the door, creeping up on the other side to undo the latch. When the beggar saw the door swing open, he thanked the vixen many times and ran into the building.
While she had helped one person, the vixen felt that there was still someone in need. So she leapt to the rooftops once again. Again, she saw a person who was in great desperation, calling out to the world for aid. A drunkard who had been thrown out onto the street in front of the pub. She could see his desperation and landed beside him to say this:
"Stand up drunkard, stand up tall,
I have heard your desperate call,
tell me what it is you lack,
I will help you get it back."
The drunkard climbed to his feet and replied as such:
"Please vixen, you may be the only chance I have. This is the only place I still call home, and yet they too have cast me out. I would do anything to go back through those doors, but they are sturdy and I am very weak."
The vixen heard this and once again slipped into the building. The crowd inside turned and watched as she opened the door and beckoned the drunkard inside. This spread a great rumor throughout the pub and city that this was no ordinary man, but was in fact capable of great magic. This vixen's pelt that he seemed to puppeteer made that perfectly clear. So he was allowed to stay.
Another person had been helped, but the vixen was not done yet. She took off into the sky and immediately found another one who was desperate. A husband who had been shut outside by his wife. He knocked and pounded on the door, but she would not open. He screamed and begged, at her, at the world, and the vixen even felt that she was being addressed. This must be the person who is truly in greatest need, thought the vixen, as she landed behind the husband and said this:
"Stand up husband, stand up tall,
I have heard your desperate call,
tell me what it is you lack,
I will help you get it back."
The husband turned to her and cried as such:
"My wife has gone mad. She hates me for reasons I know not, and locks my own door in my own face. She wants to be alone, but she does not know what is best. I would do anything to see her again, but she will not let me inside."
The vixen heard this and felt she understood. She once again unspooled herself and slipped in through the edges of the door. When she got to the other side she saw the wife. Wide-eyed and afraid of the vixen. She was gripping the latch and gripped it tighter when the vixen reached for it. But her hands gave way and the door swung open, reuniting the lovers. The vixen, satisfied with her work, set off and rested for the night.
The next morning the vixen woke up and looked again through the city, she saw the product of her work and was shocked.
She saw the baker and his family cry as their livelihood had been stolen from them.
She saw the pub that had been ransacked by a man who no one dared refuse.
She saw the husband, but not the wife.
After seeing all this, she ran back into the woods and talked with the old skinner.
"I did what you asked of me. I found those who were desperate, and gave them what they desired, but everything I did only hurt someone else. How can this be? How could you have asked me to do such a thing? And what in the world can I do now?"
The skinner seemed distressed at the vixen's words, but he composed himself and gave this reply:
"You are not evil, but you have been tricked, and so you must learn from this. I cannot give you all the answers, but I can tell you what I know. Sometimes those who want the most do not need, and those who need the most do not speak. Remember that, and you will do well."
The vixen left the skinner, but took those words to heart, and has not forgotten them to this day.
Audio Log 8924-6
<Begin Log>
Garcia: Just who are you?
Brown: What?
Garcia: Please, I have a lot on my plate. I don't have the time to go in circles.
Brown: I'm not playing games. I don't know what's happening.
Garcia: I'm inclined to believe you, but only because I think something is wrong with your thoughts.
Brown: Well I'm not sure how to help you with that.
Garcia: Some mental anomalies have different effects on active and passive thinking.
Brown: I'm aware.
Garcia: We've only been dealing with active thoughts so far.
Brown: So you want to try passive?
Garcia: Exactly. I'm going to ask some questions, and I want you to give the first answer that comes to mind. Do you understand?
Brown: Yes.
Garcia: Okay then. I took the liberty of looking through your file. Did you or did you not work on SCP-8124?
Brown: I did.
Garcia: And did you or did you not work on SCP-5824?
Brown: I did.
Garcia: Interesting. That agrees with your file. The only complication is what role you had. In the first, you are listed as an agent, in the second, a director. Have you ever had either of these roles?
Brown: No.
Garcia: Did you alter this file?
Brown: No
Garcia: Perhaps I'm too trusting, but I believe that as well. New line of questioning: do you recognize SCP-8924?
Brown: Yes.
Garcia: Do you know why?
Brown: No.
Garcia: How long have you known it?
Brown: Since I got here.
Garcia: "Here" as in the Foundation?
Brown: No.
Garcia: I don't suppose you know where "here" is then?
Brown: No.
Garcia: Of course not, that would be too convenient. New line of questioning: do you know who I am?
Brown: Yes.
Garcia: Do you know who Agent Grey is?
Brown: Yes.
Garcia: Do you know who █████ is?
Brown: No.
Garcia: And yet you spoke with them yesterday?
Brown: Not in any way that is real.
Garcia: I see. I have a theory, but I'll have to check the files again to be sure.
Brown: I guess that's a good sign. Can I go now?
Garcia: Not exactly, right now you're a suspected anomaly. You'll have to stay within the site.
Brown: I see.
Garcia: I managed to get out of giving you an SCP classification, so you'll have some freedom.
Brown: Thank you for that.
Garcia: Don't thank me, just get back to work.
Brown: I'm still assigned to the SCP? It seems like there's a good risk I'm tied to it.
Garcia: Exactly, you get it on a level I don't. You figure this out, I'll figure you out.
<End Log>
Incident Report 8924-3
Forward: Researcher Brown, while on restricted access, was working in her office at 23:00 when the following interaction was recorded.
<Begin Log>
Brown: It's not being stuck here that I mind, it's filling out these acquisition forms.
Researcher Brown looks up at the wall.
Brown: I know you're there. I'm not sure how, but I do.
A crack appears in the wall and SCP-8924 slides out of it as one continuous strand before reforming itself into its typical form.
Brown: I presume I know why you're here.
Pause.
Brown: And you'll tell me?
Pause.
Brown: Nothing comes free. I know.
Pause.
Brown: (Quietly.) Anything.
Pause.
Brown: Okay, you want me to say it? I'm desperate. I feel like I'm losing time, and I'm not even sure who I am anymore. So once again, Anything. Take your pick.
Pause.
Brown: What are you talking about? I'm not the dangerous one here.
SCP-8924 walks towards Researcher Brown and grasps her head. Lacerations appear and grow around her mouth and eyes.
Brown: (Wincing in pain.) Is this how you teach?
The lacerations grow more and bleed profusely.
Brown: No, this isn't right.
She winces and reaches into her pocket, pulling out the blowtorch. She activates it on SCP-8924. The fire catches immediately. Within a few seconds all that is left is a pile of ashes.
Brown: Eyes wide, breathing deeply. This isn't supposed to happen.
She takes off her gloves, her hand is no longer bleeding.
Brown: She's really gone. This doesn't make any sense.
She looks at the pile of ashes.
Brown: I know you're still there. (Picks up a handful of the pile.) You have to be.
Pause.
Brown: Please.
Researcher Brown collapses to the ground.
<End Log>
Afterward: Researcher Brown was taken to the infirmary for symptoms associated with blood loss and SCP-8924 has been reclassified as neutralized. During this event, guards report no abnormalities within SCP-8924's cell until its destruction, when it disappeared from view.
Audio Log 8924-7
<Begin Log>
Garcia: How are you feeling?
Brown: Tired.
Garcia: Understood. Would you prefer I come back later?
Brown: No, I'll be just as tired then.
Garcia: I see.
Brown: I get it. I did something stupid again and now I'm facing the consequences. I was just hoping to get some sort of explanation.
Garcia: I'm not here to chastise you.
Brown: Then what are you here for?
Garcia: Can I not just check in on a friend?
Brown: I know you better than that.
Garcia: You're not wrong. (Pulls out a binder from his bag.) I also come bearing information.
Brown: On what?
Garcia: You. I may not have all the answers, but I told you I'd do my research.
Brown: I didn't think you'd actually find anything.
Garcia: Have more faith.
Brown: Coming from you?
Garcia: Granted. (Opening the binder.) My conclusion is, in a way, that you are not entirely real.
Brown: I'm listening.
Garcia: At the very least, not of this world. You and the SCP seem to have had the same origins.
Brown: So I'm from another dimension?
Garcia: That is what some people would think, but that would not explain how the Foundation records were altered, or the entity's strange writing patterns. I believe a better explanation would be pataphysics.
Brown: Then I'm a character.
Garcia: A narrative construct is the proper term.
Brown: So how come I don't remember any of this?
Garcia: If you are, in fact, a narrative construct, I don't believe you are supposed to be out of your narrative. You never had a proper life…
Brown: …I work for the Foundation because that's what I do.
Garcia: Tautological, but seemingly correct.
Brown: That's frustrating.
Garcia: But better than not knowing.
Brown: Yeah, I guess so. Now what? I guess I'm an SCP.
Garcia: Technically you're an E-class. You don't have free reign, but there is a bit more leniency.
Brown: So I've finally been taken off the project?
Garcia: There is no project. The SCP has been neutralized. A few tests are being performed with the ashes, but they're mostly a formality.
Brown: I know, it's just an odd feeling.
Garcia: My advice? Rest. You've been through a lot.
Brown: Yeah, I guess I have.
<End Log>
The following was found in the possessions of Researcher Brown. She reports to not know where it came from.
To those who cannot be shaken, who meet and speak with gods and goddesses. To those whose existence is guaranteed, for if they did not exist neither would all else. To those upon which all else is built, just as steel beams half-buried in the ground and dirt pounded into a flat surface. In other words, to the Foundation.
My name is Mildiga, Matron of Magic
who lives where she is not to be.
For what I committed, I should be in chains
and so I must always be free.
Signed,
The Vixen, The Cicada, The Robber, and Me