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#header h1 a::before {
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ITEM #: SCP-9446
LEVEL-
CONTAINMENT CLASS: EFLA - {$sc}
DISRUPTION CLASS: DARK
Assigned Site
Site-██
Site Director
██████
Research Head
Project WATCHMEN
Assigned MTF
Aion-00 “Outta Time”
ITEM: SCP-9446
LEVEL-
CONTAINMENT
CLASS: EFLA - {$sc}
DISRUPTION
CLASS: DARK
Assigned Site
Site-██
Site Director
██████
Research Head
Project WATCHMEN
Assigned MTF
Aion-00 “Outta Time”
Special Containment Procedures: All information related to SCP-9446 and Project WATCHMEN is under strict surveillance and review by MTF Alpha-1 (“Red Right Hand”). All activations of SCP-9446 require prior authorization from the Overseer Council.
Unauthorized dissemination of material related to SCP-9446 or Project WATCHMEN is punishable by death. Upon retirement, Project WATCHMEN personnel are to undergo a comprehensive amnestic regimen and remain monitored by MTF Alpha-1 to prevent retention or disclosure of classified information.
Description: SCP-9446 is a Foundation-developed device created under Project WATCHMEN, an initiative dedicated to the study of temporal mechanics and the nature of causality.
While conventional models, such as those proposed by Albert Einstein, describe time as a dimension that can be traversed under specific conditions, findings from Project WATCHMEN indicate that time progresses exclusively forward. Once a moment has elapsed, it no longer exists in any accessible or recoverable form.
SCP-9446 does not “travel” to the past in a conventional sense. Instead, it reconstructs a temporally isolated environment using human memory as its foundation. These environments are incomplete, stabilized approximations: assembled from retained sensory and contextual data stored within the human mind.
Because memory preserves only fragments of reality, these reconstructed spaces exhibit inconsistencies, omissions, and eventual structural degradation.
Only Mobile Task Force Aion-00 (“Outta Time”) possesses the training and expertise necessary to navigate these environments safely.
Addendum 9446-1: Project WATCHMEN
In late 2005, the Overseer Council convened members of the O4 Council and handpicked prestigious Foundation researchers from various disciplines related to anomalous sciences and physics. These seventeen individuals formed what is now known as Project WATCHMEN and were originally tasked with gaining a deeper understanding of time and, if possible, accessing past moments within it.
All attempts by Project WATCHMEN to create a functioning time-travel device ended in failure. It was only after further analysis that the members of Project WATCHMEN concluded the cause of these failures: that there was no moment in time to return to.
Following this discovery, the project’s focus shifted from attempting to access past moments to constructing a new theoretical framework for time and relativity, derived from the data collected during the failed time-travel experiments. This model was formally designated the Fernsby Irreversibility Principle, a term coined by Senior Researcher Fernsby, one of the leading figures within Project WATCHMEN.
Those earlier prototypes we created during our time together at Project WATCHMEN were based on a flawed assumption: that the past still existed as a destination.
What we’ve learned now proves the contrary.
A more accurate model is not about storage, but of replacement. The universe does not archive its own past: it continuously overwrites them. Each present moment replaces the last.
What we remember in our minds are not preserved moments, but approximations: reconstructions assembled from incomplete data. Memory is not a window into the past. It is a record of how the past was experienced.
Back in those earlier attempts to “travel” to the past, we were directing ourselves toward a place that no longer existed. A void left behind in the Universe as it moves forward in time.
SCP-9446 succeeds because it does not attempt to reach the past itself. It uses memory as a scaffold to reconstruct a workable approximation of it: one that can be entered, observed, and explored.
-Excerpt from a lecture given by Senior Researcher Fernsby
Following the discovery of the Fernsby Irreversibility Principle, the project’s efforts shifted toward the creation of SCP-9446: a device designed to utilize human memories as a framework for opening a temporary gateway into a frozen moment of the past.
Addendum 9446-2: The Janus Experiment
The Janus Experiment was intended to test whether a large-scale, continuous temporal reconstruction could be stabilized long enough for meaningful exploration.
By aggregating overlapping human memories across a wide geographic region, Project WATCHMEN aimed to produce a coherent, navigable model of the recent past: specifically, the North American continent exactly one week prior to the activation of SCP-9446.
The long-term objective was to determine whether such reconstructions could be used for historical observation, anomaly tracking, or post-incident analysis of containment failures.
However during the course of the Janus Experiment, a single member of MTF Aion-00, Operative Vaughan, became separated from the expeditionary team and was left stranded within this isolated pocket for 11 months and 22 days.
Due to the relatively recent creation of MTF Aion-00, several personnel assigned to the expedition were transferred from MTF Zeta-9 (“Mole Rats”). As part of standard field kit given to Zeta-9 personnel, Operative Vaughan carried a Foundation-issue data recorder during the mission.
As a result, Vaughan was able to record portions of their time spent within the pocket. These recordings constitute the most comprehensive firsthand documentation currently available regarding the Fernsby Irreversibility Principle.
> Close.
Okay… for the record, my name is Operative Vaughan.
I guess this little data recorder will serve as my will and testament. I doubt anyone will ever find this thing anytime soon.
It’s been… about seven hours. I think.
Hard to tell. Sun hasn’t moved an inch: still hanging in the same spot. Shadows haven’t shifted either.
Feels like the world stopped mid-breath… and never let it out.
I’m currently in some kind of a residential area. Maybe a suburb? I’m seeing houses, streets, cars: everything exactly where it should be. Just… frozen. People too.
Well, I say people, but they aren’t. Not really.
They’re shapes. Human outlines. No features. Just… solid black silhouettes, caught in whatever they were doing. Like those bomb shadows left behind in the wake of Hiroshima.
I walked through one earlier. Just to see what happens, y’know?
No resistance. Like walking through a cloud of smoke.
It honestly… unsettled me.
I think I’m going to rest for a bit. Found a place I can hole up in. I’ll talk some more later.
Okay… so it’s been a little while. Couldn’t tell you the last time I slept like this honestly.
For some quick context, I’m in the bedroom of a two-story house. Looks like all the other rows of homes I saw earlier: quiet suburban blocks, trimmed hedges, mailboxes out front. Er… half-trimmed, in some cases.
There’s a few family photos on the walls. Some children’s toys scattered around the floor.
Instead of dooming and glooming over my current predicament, I decided to mess around a bit and see what works and what doesn’t around here. Putting it all into a list so I don’t forget anything.
Firstly: electricity.
Works… weirdly. Light switches turn on and off just fine, no delay at all. But anything more complicated: computers, phones, and all the other tech gizmos? They’re all stuck on whatever they were showing. Just… frozen.
Like an idiot, I even tried mashing the buttons on someone’s phone. Nothing changed.
I think I get the difference. Lights are immediate: flip the switch, and that’s it. Let there be light. But electronics need a fraction of a second to process, to update, to do something.
And that fraction of a second doesn’t seem to exist here.
Secondly: combustion and gas.
No luck. Lighters don’t spark. My sidearm just clicks.
Same pattern, I think. Anything that needs a process to happen, even a tiny one, just… doesn’t.
Cars fall under that category too, which is great. Means if I ever need to get out of somewhere fast, I’m not exactly spoiled for options.
Third: food.
Honestly, least of my problems right now.
Nothing seems to spoil. I’ve seen those shadow people frozen mid-bite, food just sitting there like time forgot about it. Even stuff in the fridge stays cold.
So yeah. Not starving anytime soon.
I also spent a bit of time walking around the neighborhood and found a map in a convenience store. According to it, I’m in a suburban area called Avondale, somewhere in Washington.
Which is… something, at least.
Anyway, I spent a good chunk of time poking around and I’m starting to feel tired again. So I’m currently camped out in yet another family’s attic, ready to conk out for the next few hours.
I’ll update you guys later on what I plan to do next.
Small follow-up.
Still in Avondale.
Been walking more than anything. No real reason: just aimless wandering. Taking notes on this little recorder if it’s peculiar enough.
It’s just… odd. I’m seeing half-mowed lawns. Sprinklers in mid-arc. A dog and it’s owner caught in the middle of a stride… or the outline of both of them, anyway.
It doesn’t feel like the past.
More like… something that remembers it. Like as if I’m invading someone else’s memories.
I catch myself lowering my voice when I pass houses.
Not really sure why.
Quick note before I turn in. Yes, I’m in someone else’s attic again. Honestly, all this B&E at least gives me a change of scenery every time I wake up, so… silver linings.
Anyways, what was I talking about? Right: I found a radio earlier. Old handheld, nothing special. Just tried it out of curiosity.
No static. No signal.
Just… nothing.
I honestly didn’t expect that to bother me as much as it did.
Talking about it helps though. At least a little.
It’s been about two days since my last log, if I can even call it that, and I’m honestly starting to get unnerved by these shadows.
I’ve been going over some maps I found, doing a bit of number-crunching, trying to find somewhere… honestly anywhere… that’s a little quieter. Somewhere away from these people. They make me uneasy.
Guess seven years with the Foundation will do that to you.
So here’s the rub: cars don’t work, and I’m not exactly eager to wander off on foot into the middle of nowhere.
But… I figured out that bicycles still work.
After hopping between houses and exploring the neighborhood a bit more, I found a bike shop and got to work. There was a nice touring bike inside: barely used, by the look of it. I’ve been getting it ready for a long ride. Tires, seat, that kind of stuff.
Had to do some… questionable scavenging to get the right tools, but I doubt the shadow folk mind.
I don’t know much about bikes either, so half of my time is spent studying those good old “For Dummies” books I found in a local library not far from the bike shop.
Also… something else I’m surprised I didn’t mention earlier: liquids.
They behave just as strangely as everything else here. Obviously, things like taps and faucets don’t work in here.
But most of the time they’re just suspended in place, little droplets or streams frozen mid-motion in the air like the rest of the world. But they’re not solid. I can still drink them, still move them around if I try.
Closest comparison I’ve got is zero gravity: like they’re just… hanging there. Kind of wishing I knew how this world looks if it was raining. Must be pretty.
But yeah, it makes things like oiling the bike chain a bit of a hassle.
Though truth be told, I haven’t ridden a bike in years. Feels strange getting back into it.
I know what you’re probably thinking, little recorder: I should be staying put, waiting for rescue.
But honestly… I’m getting tired of sitting in one place, waiting for something that might never come.
And the weird part is, this place isn’t that bad. Not compared to some of the things I’ve seen working for the Foundation.
No containment breaches. No screaming anomalies. No incomprehensible horrors trying to wear your skin like a jacket.
Just… quiet.
The longer I’m here, the more I realize I don’t think I’ve ever really lived a life outside of the Foundation. Not properly. It’s always been the next assignment, the next anomaly, the next briefing.
So… I don’t know.
Maybe while I’m stuck here, I’ll take the chance to do a little sightseeing for once.
Ride around a bit. See where the road takes me.
I’ll record another log once I set off.
Before I head out, one more thing.
No birds or insects.
I dunno, you’d expect to see at least one of those things around in the air or something, right?
But the sky’s are just completely empty.
The only sound I’m hearing are the soft crunches of the ground beneath my boots.
I swear this place has that kind of quiet atmosphere that starts to feel loud after a while.
So uh, small update…
I’ve-huff-been pedaling down this highway for a few hours now. God… I am really out of shape. Legs are starting to feel like rubber.
Give me a second.
Biking down this road actually made me remember something. Stuff from earlier in my life. Y’know… before the Foundation.
I was a pretty frustrated kid back then. Angry, mostly. Alone too. Depressed, if I’m being honest. Didn’t really have anyone I could rely on… no one I could really call mine, y’know?
Maybe the Foundation helped with that, in a weird way. Gave me structure. A job to do. Something to focus on. You keep your head down, follow orders, finish the assignment… and if you stay busy enough, you can bury those icky feelings deep inside your head where it doesn’t bother you.
But riding down this highway… seeing all these cars frozen in place…
Every single one’s full of those shadows. Families. Couples. Kids in the back seats. People just… living their lives in that one moment before the world held its breath.
And I guess looking at all that just reminded me how alone I really was. Back then… and, well…
Heh.
Right now too.
I don’t know. I don’t even know why I’m talking into this damn recorder. Habit, maybe. Or maybe it just feels like someone’s listening for once.
Maybe that’s why I keep riding.
Because there’s nothing but a long road, the sound of my own breathing and the little noises this bikes make.
Because it feels like… for the first time in a long while, I can actually decide where I’m going.
Looks like there’s a rest stop up ahead. I’m gonna pull over there and take a breather.
I’ll check back in later.
There’s this cute little diner off the highway. I parked my bike outside and I’m sitting in one of the booths right now. Just letting my legs rest for a bit.
Took a bite out of a family’s meal sitting on the table in front of me. I’m sure they won’t mind.
You ever feel like doing something like this? Taking your car, or maybe a bike, or hell, just yourself, and wandering for a while? Walking, driving, pedaling… no real destination in mind.
I’ve always liked doing that.
Maybe it was my way of running from things. From that slow, creeping kind of loneliness that sneaks up on you when you’re not paying attention.
When I finally scraped together enough money for my first car, I started doing that a lot. Around five in the afternoon I’d just hop in and start driving.
No plan. No reason.
Never felt like I needed one.
There was something about it that put me into this… trance, almost. Like the world got quieter for a while and I could just… be myself.
Funny thing is being here kind of feels like that.
And for some reason… that scares me a little.
As much as I hated it sometimes, I think I’m starting to miss when my shoulders were heavier.
At least when the weight was there, it meant I had somewhere I was supposed to be. A purpose.
Maybe that’s just me.
I made it to this small town called Duvall. Took a while to get here by bike, but I managed it.
It’s a small place. Quiet.
Well… this whole damn place is quiet, but you get what I mean.
Not many of those shadows around either, which is honestly a relief.
Oh and something I noticed earlier on my way here: the weather.
So obviously time and everything stays fixed here. It’s a nice warm spring day: clear skies, good temperature, all that.
But I realized why it felt so quiet when I was riding: there’s no wind.
Not a single breeze the whole ride. Nothing pushing back against me, nothing rustling the trees.
Everything just… sits there. Perfectly still.
But yeah, I guess this is home now.
I’m a few miles outside Duvall. Found a trail on the map that led to Cherry Creek Falls.
I figured it’s worth checking out.
Sounds of footsteps crunching over gravel.
It’s… nice.
Tall evergreens all around, moss creeping over rocks and fallen logs. The water’s frozen mid-fall, like little marbles spilling over layered stone. Whole place looks like a paused photograph.
Been sitting here, catching my breath. Trail was rough: some mud, roots, a little bit of incline, but it gave me time to think. About my team.
I wasn’t leading, so I doubt they’re panicking. I trust our team lead. He’ll keep it together.
Still… I keep wondering what they’re doing right now.
Are they here too?
That thought kept bothering me during the trek. Just them, being here, at the exact same place, the exact same moment… just not with me.
I keep remembering something our lead pointed out from the briefing.
Synchronization.
They said everything had to line up perfectly. Even a second off could send you somewhere else entirely.
Pause
Maybe that’s it.
One singular second.
That’s all it took to separate me from them.
Funny how something that small can leave you in a completely different world.
Been starting to feel it more lately. The boredom, I suppose.
I’ve been trying to keep myself busy. Go out, do things, explore the town a bit. There’s a small main street here: couple shops, a grocery store, a hardware place. Typical small-town stuff.
I’m gonna have to figure a way out of here eventually though. One way or another.
I’ve started mapping out and roughly pinpointing various Foundation facilities I know of across the States. I’m debating it, but I know I can’t stay here forever. Just the act of doing these little things keeps me focused and less distracted by the lack of distractions around me.
As nice as this place can feel sometimes… I still miss the little things.
Background noise. A little banter over the radio while we run an op.
Just… people.
Think I’ve made up my mind.
I’ve spent about a two weeks, maybe three, here in Duvall. God, I’m already losing track of time. Either way, I’ve decided I need to start figuring out a way out of here.
I think I was wrong when I thought this place might’ve been some kind of paradise for me. Turns out all it really does is remind you of the things you convince yourself you don’t need… right up until the moment they’re gone.
I’m prepping the bike again and mapping out a route. Still trying to figure out which Foundation facility is closest. I’ve got no goddamn idea how I’m actually going to get out of this place, but the first step is making it to one of those sites.
After that…
I’ll figure something out.
Back on the road again.
I’ve been settling into a bit of a routine lately. About six hours riding, six hours resting. My body is screaming at me to stop most of the time, but I’m determined to find a way out of here.
I can’t make it to 19. It’s just too far. But 17 is on this side of the coast, so that’s where I’m heading.
Took me about a day to cross into Oregon, and I’ve just been keeping up the same pace ever since. Whenever I get too exhausted to keep going, I pull off at a roadside rest stop, grab a bite if there’s anything sitting around, then find some shaded corner and conk out for a few hours.
Rinse and repeat.
I don’t really know what I’m expecting to find when I get to 17. Could be nothing.
But I’m hoping there’s at least something there. Anything that might point me in the right direction.
At least… that’s what I’m counting on.
I made it.
God knows how long it actually took me to get here. Feels like I’ve done more cardio on this trip than I have in my entire life. Jesus.
Honestly… this place is a little freaky. Well the dull, colorless walls and brutalist architecture is part of the reason, but another part is those shadows again.
Because in here, it’s not just the shadows of guards and researchers walking the halls. There are shadows of the anomalies too. Containment cells full of them. Frozen shapes of things that probably shouldn’t exist in the first place.
I’m just praying none of them can actually see me in this place and decide to pop my head like a champagne bottle.
But right now I’m sitting in the archives room digging through physical documentation kept by the archivist nerds. It’s a small room, with rows on rows of shelves stacked with cardboard boxes brimming with paper. It’s pretty claustrophobic compared to the outside, so I’ve been taking some breathers every now and then when it gets a bit too stuffy.
I’ve been going through binder after binder. Papers are kinda strewn about everywhere on the floor. Kind of reminds me of my late-night college cram studying days, heh.
But y’know… it feels weird seeing all this stuff outside a briefing room.
As a Task Force operative, all you’re told is “Go here, do that.” Never given the freedom to see the bigger picture. So I just feel like I’m taking a look behind the curtain, breaking into the backstage of the Foundation. Where all those eggheads in labcoats do their jobs.
Just trying to find something that explains this.
Some anomaly. Some experiment. Some stupid footnote buried in a report.
Anything that might explain how the hell I ended up here.
I’ve come this far.
Can’t stop now.
Something’s been bothering me lately.
I’ve been feeling… watched.
I keep catching myself looking over my shoulder in the archives.
No footsteps. No movement.
Just that same still hallway.
Could just be nerves.
Or maybe I’ve just spent too long dealing with anomalies that like to stalk people.
Either way… I don’t like it.
There’s something else here.
I stepped outside for a bit, just to get some air after digging through all those papers and documents for… God knows how long.
And I heard something.
A noise. Not from me.
I froze for a second, just standing there, trying to figure out if I imagined it. But I swear I heard it distantly.
And now I’m worried.
No guns means nothing to fight back with. I might check the armory, see if there’s anything weird and wacky in there that still works in this place. Something I could at least use to defend myself.
Because if that sound was real… then I’m definitely not alone here.
At least… I hope it isn’t just my head playing tricks on me.
God, I wish I had a cigarette right now.
Taking a day to myself.
Site-17 is located in Salem, so there’s plenty that I have the freedom to do, just like in Avondale way back when.
I found this cute little bookstore tucked between 2 larger stores down an unremarkable street, and I’ve been spending time thumbing through shelves for anything that caught my eye. Needed a break from those archives before my brain started melting out of my ears.
There’s this one book I found, written by a guy named Frank Belknap Long. The Hounds of Tindalos.
Reminds me of the situation I’m stuck in. At least… sort of.
From what I can gather flipping through it, the story’s about these creatures that live outside of time. They hunt people who mess around with time travel or try to peer too far into the past. They come through corners: angles in space that open up to wherever they exist. Once they notice you, that’s it. Game over.
No matter where you go. No matter where you hide.
The main guy in the story starts realizing they’re after him, and he tries to barricade himself in a room with smooth walls. No corners. No angles. Just curves. He thinks if he can cut off the angles, the hounds can’t reach him.
Doesn’t work though since they always find a way in.
I guess what got me thinking about it is the whole time thing. That feeling of stepping somewhere humans weren’t really meant to step. Like peeking behind the curtain of the universe and realizing something might be staring back.
Kind of hits close to home right now. Not saying there are cosmic hounds chasing me around 17 or anything. At least… I hope not.
Just the idea of getting stuck somewhere outside of time like this. Feels like the kind of thing those old weird fiction writers liked to talk about.
Anyway.
I grabbed a chair by the window in the store and sat there for a while, flipping through a few pages. Nice change of pace from all the containment procedures and blacked out documents. Felt… normal, for a bit.
I think I needed that.
My head’s been spinning the past few days, trying to solve this whole mess like it’s some puzzle I can brute-force if I just stare at enough documents. But maybe the smarter move is slowing down for a second.
Catch my breath, let my brain settle.
Still don’t know what that noise I heard was. Could’ve been something real. Could’ve been nothing.
Either way, I want to focus on taking a little me time today.
Think I’ll sit here a little longer and finish a few more pages.
Didn't know I can snap pictures with the recorder. Huh.
Little more wandering today. Just trying to calm myself down. Haven’t heard those noises again, so everything’s been quiet.
I’ve dug through thousands of pages of documents down in the Archives. Binder after binder, shelf after shelf. Still no luck.
I’m starting to lose a bit of hope, if I’m being honest. But maybe there’s another facility out there somewhere. Maybe the answer’s waiting somewhere else.
Whenever that silence starts pressing in a little too close, I take the bike out and ride around Salem for a while. Helps clear my head.
Something about moving, something about just hearing the little noises of the bike makes the whole thing feel a little less… suffocating.
Haven’t exactly given up yet.
But I’d be lying if I said the feeling isn’t starting to get to me.
Still… I just need to find something.
I know I can.
Got something. Finally.
Partially declassified files on Project WATCHMEN. I was never given a full briefing on the exact history of WATCHMEN, or even where the machine itself was being kept, so this is definitely a worthwhile crumb of information.
Most of the pages were blacked out, line after line of redactions. But buried in all that black ink… I found it.
The location of the facility where the Project WATCHMEN staff, and SCP-9446, are being held.
It’s far. Really far. But it’s still doable by bike.
I’m packing up and getting ready to move again. Looks like I’ll be back on the road soon.
If that machine is what caused all of this… then maybe it’s also the key to fixing it.
I’ll make it home.
Back on the road again, and I’m starting to notice some… weirder things happening around me.
At first it was small stuff. Little things I could probably write off if I tried hard enough. But the longer I ride, the harder it’s getting to ignore.
There are places where gravity just… stops working. Entire stretches of road where things look like they’ve lost whatever kept them tethered to the ground, just like a balloon. Trees, cars, even some of those shadow people just hanging there, slowly drifting upwards into the clear blue sky.
I passed one intersection earlier where a whole pickup truck was floating a few feet off the asphalt. The shadow of the driver was still frozen behind the wheel like nothing was wrong.
Other times it’s the buildings.
Their geometry looks… wrong. Walls clipping through each other. Corners folding in ways they shouldn’t. I rode past a gas station where the roof had partially merged with the convenience store behind it, like the two buildings tried to exist in the same place at the same time and just… gave up.
Reminds me of those old videogames where the map glitches out and objects start overlapping.
Except this isn’t a videogame.
I’m honestly starting to get worried.
I’ve been here a long while now, however long “a while” even means in a place where time doesn’t move, and these little hiccups are setting off some red flags. Like the place I’m in wasn’t meant to stay together forever.
Like something’s slowly coming undone.
So I’m doubling down on getting to that facility. No more wandering, no more detours. I’ve already covered about a quarter of the distance.
Just need to keep moving.
Trying my best to ignore the weirdness and focus on the road ahead.
Because if this place really is starting to fall apart… I don’t want to be here when it finally does.
Oh shit. Oh fuck.
I’m not alone. This time I actually saw it.
Them.
These… things.
They move on four legs, at least that’s the closest way I can describe it. Animal-shaped, kind of. There’s a whole pack of them. Four, maybe six. Hard to tell when they don’t stay still long enough for me to count properly.
But they’re not animals. Not really. More like… skeletons?
God, I’m having trouble even putting it into words.
It’s like looking at something your brain can’t quite lock onto. Like the shape of it keeps slipping around the edges of your vision. One second it looks like some kind of lanky wolf or deer, the next it’s all wrong again: too many bends in the legs, the body stretched out in ways that don’t make sense.
The worst part is their texture… or its surface?
It’s not fur. Not skin either. More like… shifting color. Like heat haze over asphalt on a hot day. Or oil floating on water, constantly moving and folding in on itself.
Every time I try to focus on one directly it almost feels like my eyes slide off it.
I can’t see faces. If they even have faces.
Just these long, crooked shapes pacing around between the frozen cars and shadows like they’re sniffing the air for something.
For me, probably.
They don’t seem friendly. Let’s just put it that way.
I’m about three quarters of the way to the facility now. Close enough that I can almost convince myself I’ll make it.
God, I wish I had a gun right now.
I made it.
Just in the nick of time, too: if the state of the world outside is anything to go by. It looks like it’s starting to come apart at the seams.
I’m sitting in front of SCP-9446 right now with documents scattered across the floor. Project WATCHMEN reports, failed experiment logs, diagrams, half-redacted briefings: everything I could dig up in this place.
There’s a research article here by Senior Researcher Fernsby about something called the Fernsby Irreversibility Principle. I’ll be honest, most of it’s above my pay grade.
But I think I understand the basics.
The past isn’t something you can just return to whenever you want. According to these notes, the universe sort of… clears it out as it moves forward. Like deleting old files to make space.
Which got me thinking about what I saw on the road.
I don’t think they were looking for me. Not specifically. They might’ve just been… confused.
From their perspective, they’ve already devoured this moment, already consumed it, and yet somehow it’s here again. An almost perfect recreation. At least, it was, before it started falling apart.
Like that book I read.
Those things are probably time-eaters. Creatures that consume the past once it’s no longer needed, cleaning it up so the present can keep moving.
The unseen janitors of the cosmos.
…Chronovores.
Yeah. Chronovores.
At least, that’s my best guess.
If I’m right, then my time here is running out.
Because once they’re done devouring everything else again…
This place is next.
And so am I.
So yeah.
I need to figure this machine out. Fast.
I’m stuck.
I can’t figure this stupid fucking machine out. I’ve tried everything: every switch, every sequence I can piece together from these notes, but nothing works. Nothing can bring me back.
I stepped outside for a minute.
There’s nothing out there anymore. Just… black. Pure, pitch black, like the world has past the point of no return, and that everything is just being eaten away.
And I can hear them.
The chronovores.
I think I saw a pair of them earlier, just at the edge of the light. They were… feeding. Munching on one of those silhouette people, just gone, piece by piece. Like it was never there to begin with.
So yeah.
If I’m screwed… then I guess this is it. Not like anyone’s going to find this recorder anyway.
Still.
This place… it did something to me.
I spent most of my life keeping my head down. Next assignment, next briefing, next problem to solve. Always moving, always busy. Easier that way. You don’t have to think too hard about anything else.
About what’s missing.
But being here… all that space, all that silence… it kind of strips that away from you. Leaves you alone and bare with what’s underneath.
Now I’m not saying that I've given up because I know it does sound that way on here.
I’m nowhere near done yet. Not unless I have to be. I still have a job to do.
But… I just felt the need to say that out loud.
Thanks little recorder, you’ve helped a lot. More than you’d probably ever know.
Sounds of indeterminate crashing, followed by noises similar to metal scraping across the concrete floor. Something heavy is being dragged across the floor.
There you are…
You’ve been picking at what’s left, haven’t you? That all this is now? Just scraps?
Come on then.
If you’re here to finish it… you’re gonna have to work for it.
A low, warping growl answers back.
Yeah… that’s right.
Come here.
Sounds of rapidly approaching footsteps. Then a sudden, violent impact.
A brief struggle can be heard over the audio. Cloth is heard tearing, followed by a wet, unnatural noise.
Ghk-
Jesus!
A sharp, ragged exhale.
Got you.
Yeah… yeah, I’ve got you now.
You bleed.
You bleed.
A strained laugh emanates from Vaughan, who sounds half-delirious.
Not so untouchable after all, huh?
Another growl, louder now. Multiple shuffling footsteps.
…Oh. There’s more of you. That’s good. The more the merrier.
Vaughan’s breath is shallow, shaking.
Then listen real close. I’m not running anymore.
A violent struggle resumes. Sounds of flesh, or something approximate, being struck repeatedly.
You took everything else.
You don’t get me too.
A rising, rushing sound, like air collapsing inward.
Come here-
A sudden lunge. A collision.
The sound warps— then snaps.
Alarms and multiple overlapping voices are heard.
Who the fuck is- Vaughan?! Is that you?!
What the hell is that thing-?!
Call security! Move!
Vaughan’s breathing— ragged, uneven. Still struggling.
Not done yet you-
A desperate shout.
Gun-! Give me that damn gun!
Several gunshots echo through the chamber.
A final, inhuman wail- cut short.
…
Silence.
Something hits the floor.
Vaughan follows a second later.
His breathing— shallow now. Exhausted.
…told you…
A weak, almost disbelieving laugh.
…not… running…
Audio cuts.
Following the re-emergence event at Site-██, Operative Vaughan was recovered alongside the body of an anomalous entity, which has now been designated as SCP-9446-1.
Operative Vaughan presented with multiple external injuries, though all were determined to be non-fatal. However, internal examination revealed that he had experienced some severe form of chronological degradation. While outwardly unchanged, Vaughan’s internal organs exhibit an estimated biological age of 229 years.
This condition is believed to stem from direct interaction with SCP-9446-1. As the entity consumes time and chronology as a food source, it likely degraded the cellular lifespan of Vaughan’s organs.
Authorization was requested by Project WATCHMEN personnel to administer SCP-500. Operative Vaughan themselves declined.
When questioned, Vaughan stated:
I’ve lived through the adventure of a lifetime. If I die, I die around people who actually cared about me. That’s all I ever wanted.
Operative Vaughan remains under medical observation. Prognosis is poor.
Addendum 9446-3: Update
> Close.
Operative Vaughan has passed away.
His experience within the temporal pocket has been proven to be invaluable to Project WATCHMEN. The entity he recovered, what he referred to as a “chronovore”, continues to advance our understanding of the Fernsby Irreversibility Principle.
We were even able to determine what went wrong. While the rest of his team was displaced one week into the past during the Janus Experiment, Vaughan was sent one week and one second back. Though I’m pretty sure he had already made peace with that fact during his time being stranded in there.
I actually had the opportunity to speak with him before he passed. I had already read his logs, knew, at least on paper, what he’d gone through, but I wanted to hear it from him. Without the reports. Without all the red tape.
And… he was exactly what you’d expect. Maybe a little quieter than I imagined.
When I asked him about it, about everything, he didn’t have much to say. Not in the way I expected. Even after I explained what had happened, why he’d been left behind… he just took it with a smile.
No anger. No panic.
Just… acceptance.
We didn’t speak long. We didn’t really need to.
But I think I understand it now. By the end of it, somewhere in that place, he stopped running. Faced what was in front of him and… changed, in his own way.
For his actions, and for the life he gave, Operative Vaughan is posthumously awarded the Foundation Star.
In his memory, an observation room beside SCP-9446 has been left vacant.
A chair. A window. Nothing else.
Somewhere to sit for a while.
We can only hope that wherever he is now—
He isn’t alone.
-Senior Researcher Fersnby