In order to hear the birds, the warplanes must be silent.
An olive tree in the West Bank, during the harvest season.
Item #: SCP-9670
Object Class: Keter
Special Containment Procedures: The fruiting of olive trees within the West Bank is to be halted, or reduced as much as possible. The olive harvesting season is to be shortened accordingly. This is to be explained by mundane environmental or political factors.
To induce compliance with the Israeli Defense Forces, the Department of Continuity shall ensure its continued funding by the United States Government.
Description: SCP-9670 is the annual increase in anomalous activity within the bounds of the West Bank, coinciding with the olive harvesting season. SCP-9670 events usually occur in the vicinity of humans experiencing severe distress or in an otherwise highly emotional state. Objects created by SCP-9670 often display memetic or mnemonic characteristics.
Following the attacks on 7/10/2023, the magnitude of SCP-9670 has dramatically increased, to a point where standard disinformation efforts have become impractical. Following demands by the Israeli Civil Administration to increase containment efforts, the Department of Continuity has taken custody of the anomaly. Containment Procedures have been updated accordingly.
Addendum 9670.1 – Selected Instances
Designation: SCP-9670-ASHES.
Description: A burnt olive branch. Induces a sense of purpose and belonging upon physical contact. Retrieved from the chest cavity of Shuvel Ben-Sasson near Rantis. Subject had expired of spontaneous immolation.
Testimony: Tamara Halabi, independent activist. Extracted approximately six hours following the event.
Halabi: It was just another day of protective presence. We arrived at about 7 AM, a few hours before the September sun becomes truly hellish. We met up with Bashar and the others, and managed to get a good couple hours of work before the settlers showed up. They were five today, Eitan and four of his… I want to say ‘goons’, but they're just teenagers. Plucked out of a school system that can't accommodate them, taught that there is no difference between loving the land and setting it on fire. I wonder, sometimes, if I had been born to a family in Kiryat Arba, could I have ended up here in their place? Would my mother have sent her problem child to a farm instead of HaDemokrati Yaffo?
Regardless, it took ten minutes for the armored transport to show up, declaring the whole olive orchard a closed military zone. Everybody out, but everyone knows what that means – the army will escort us out, and the settlers will do as they please. We were heading back up the hill, two soldiers on our back, when I stopped for a moment to look back down at the settlers we'd left behind. One of the teens was kneeling in the shade of an olive tree, another watching from a few paces away. Then I saw a spark, and I froze. He was trying to light a fire. Everything would burn. An entire community’s livelihood could be wiped out before the army would allow the firefighters to enter. I wanted to scream, to barrel down the hill like an avalanche and slam myself into that kid, to bury the flames in a cloud of dust and dirt. But I couldn’t move.
Then came the flash.
There was a brief instant when the ground lit up, before the fire leaped on the kid like a ravenous beast. With teeth of flame it clasped its jaw around him, clothes and skin and hair igniting instantly, as if soaked in oil. He shrieked for a second, screamed for two more, then choked and collapsed amidst the rocks. The fire was extinguished the moment he hit the ground. None of the dried bushes and thorns beneath his body caught fire, nor did the fuel-rich olive branches above. I tore my gaze away, and found Rotem and Bashar staring wide-eyed down the hill. The soldiers were paralyzed.
We didn't say much on the carpool back to Tel Aviv. Even Anat looked shaken, and I know she has precious little empathy remaining for Noar HaGvaot, after so many years of activism in the West Bank. When we passed the checkpoint, we gave the usual lie: we were simply visiting family in Kiryat Arie.
One of those families will never see their son again.
Aftermath: Object has been acquired by the Department of Continuity to increase morale. Personnel are recommended daily exposure to maintain confidence and motivation.
Image recovered from Halabi's phone, prior to ASHES.
**Addendum 9670.2 – Excerpt from Communications with the Civil Administration, Prior to Department of Continuity Intervention
**
Foreword: On 14/8/2023, Civil Administration liaison, Tzviel Hess contacted Regional Director Lital Argaman. The following transcript has been translated from the original Hebrew.
<Begin excerpt.>
Hess: I am asking you, Lital, to do your job and contain this thing, or I’ll uproot your people from every little hole they've dug themselves into.
Dir. Argaman: With all due respect, this is a statistical anomaly–
Hess: Cut the bullshit. These are clearly the last screeches of a wounded animal. One I've been working tirelessly to finally kill.
Dir. Argaman: Mr. Hess, SCP-9670 is not affiliated with any–
Hess: I don’t care what you and your idiots make of this circus show. All I want is for you to clean up your own messes, so that I can continue my work. We are on the verge of victory here, Lital. Do you understand?
Dir. Argaman: I will… I will forward your requests.
Hess: Good. And please, do think of your children. I wouldn’t want mine to be slaughtered in enemy territory.
<End excerpt>
Addendum 9670.1 – Selected Instances, Continued
Designation: SCP-9670-RUBY.
Description: The mutilated corpse of a Wheaten Terrier, retrieved from a wadi near Ras 'Ein al 'Auja. Despite appearing and smelling of rot, the object does not decompose, nor does its open belly leak any fluid. Water sources near the object are anomalously contaminated, turning a deep red. Subjects who drink from the water experience rapid branching and swelling of blood cells, particularly around the eyes and throat, and expire within 72 hours as a result of internal bleeding. Subjects also report feeling rejuvenated, powerful, and a preference for the color red.
Plants that uptake RUBY-contaminated water display stunted growth and wilted flowers.
Testimony: Emad Jaber, resident of Ras 'Ein al 'Auja, and Na'ama Damari, "Looking the Occupation in the Eye" activist. Extracted on-site, two hours following initial exposure.
Damari: It was my first time seeing a dead body. I mean, I see decomposing pigeons on the pavement every once in a while, but I've never seen a corpse that big. The gash along its belly was crude, and the flies— God I don't think I've ever seen so many flies. It was only about half-submerged in the filthy water, the deep red stain quickly growing beneath it. I tried to remember what that meant about how long it had been here. Bodies first sink, then float, or was it the other way around? Is that how an oil spill looks like? Is the settler who did this still close by? Do any of us have gloves, plastic bags, something to get it out of there? I was trying to focus on anything else, even just the blood that pounded in my ears and the trembling of my hands. It didn’t help. It was still looking at me. Pleading, hopeless eyes, asking me why I wasn't there to help it.
Jaber: Yes, I know her, she’s– she was Omar’s dog. He called her Thumm, after the creamy off-gray color of her fur. The settlers must have stolen her, it’s certainly not beneath them. They steal our land, our freedoms, even our cattle, so is this really a surprise? I know I did not feel much of anything when I saw her in the crimson water. Only a choking sadness that seeped icily down my throat. Were I twenty years younger, I might’ve cried out in anger and demanded vengeance. Today, I simply wrapped my hands in a plastic bag and told Na’ama to get to work. It was as we were dragging Thumm to the bank that I thought about the wadi. There is no other water source nearby, the settlers need it just as much as we do. Had they thought of that, when they cut her open with the butcher’s knife? Did they realize that they were poisoning themselves too?
Did they even care?
Aftermath: Item has been acquired by the Department of Continuity to aid in containment efforts. RUBY-contaminated water is to be sprayed on all olive plantations in the West Bank, to prevent or hinder the flowering and fruiting of the trees. Deaths arising from RUBY-related complications are to be explained as brain hemorrhages.
Designation: SCP-9670-OPAL
Description: The petrified remains of Ismail Khalil, transmuted into solid marble. Retrieved from the front porch of his house in Farha, prior to its destruction by the Israeli Civil Administration. Upon physical contact, individuals report a sudden desire to return to their childhood home. Rarely, subjects may experience early childhood memories as if they occurred recently.
OPAL smells heavily of citrine and wet earth.
Testimony: Amal Khalil, resident of Farha. Extracted twenty hours following the event.
Khalil: Our home was slanted for demolishing a few weeks ago. They said it was built without a permit in Area C, and thus its existence is illegal. The house has stood here since 1974. My parents lived most of their lives within its walls, beneath the leaves of the orange tree out front or watching the stars from the balcony. I was born here, played here, did my homework here, cooked here, cried and laughed, hurt and loved. All here. Tomorrow, the soldiers would come with their bulldozer, and it would all come to an end. It felt like a snake had wrapped its body around my ribs and squeezed until the bones cracked. As if it could build itself a home where my heart used to be.
It was night. I was on the balcony, my hands gripping the carved rails so tight it hurt. The house was still, the village quiet. Samira and Nidal were at my uncle’s, on the other side of town, with my mother to watch over them. I watched the sky. A handful of drones flickered overhead like false stars. A distant wailing of police sirens. My thoughts drifted. I had made plans to study abroad next year, at the University of Jordan, but now the thought of leaving made my feet quiver and my knuckles go white. Then I heard something below, and looked down at the front yard.
My father was supposed to be asleep at this hour, but there he was, entering through the front gate. Did he go to check on the children? Had he been walking the village streets alone? He staggered up the stairs to the porch. I couldn’t bring myself to say anything. The snake had its tail around my windpipe. He coughed, leaning his head against the wall, and began to weep. His body shuddered with every breath, the tears shining as they dripped to the floor. I’d never seen him so frail before. His legs failed him, and he fell to his knees, pressing his hands against the marble floor. Clutching it tightly, like my fingers on the railing. And then… and then…
The marble seemed to shift beneath him. My father sank ever so slightly into the floor, as if it were wet mud, seeping between his fingers, flowing around his knees. It rose, then split, pale hands forming from molten marble, reaching up to hold him in a cold embrace. I couldn’t move. My own legs had turned to stone, my hands fused to the railing. The moon came out from behind a cloud. I watched my father’s skin turn pale in its light. It was shining so brightly. My breaths were coming slower, calmer, the frost spreading through my veins. Then he looked up at me.
I don’t know what he saw. His eyes were wide and glistening. He opened his mouth, but his tongue was white marble, frozen in place. I could feel something shatter inside me, like a massive rock beneath a sledgehammer. I screamed. My voice was raw and cracked and sounded like dust but I screamed. Louder than I've ever heard myself, loud enough for the whole world to hear. My fingers broke off from the railing and I tumbled down on the floor of the balcony. I rushed down the stairs, throwing the front doors open and wrapped myself around the statue that had once been my father.
<Silence on recording.>
Khalil: There. That's all I know. Satisfied?
Agent Lewis: Quite, yes. Thank you for your time.
Khalil: Good. Now give him back.
Agent Lewis: The object will be returned once we've finished running some tests. In the meantime, why don't I show you the way out?
Aftermath: Item has been acquired by the Department of Continuity to enhance employee productivity. Personnel who wish to take long vacations abroad are to be exposed to the statue, so as to coax them into choosing a shorter break in a closer destination.
Olives during the harvest season, from an orchard near Farha.
**Addendum 9670.3 – Further Communication with the Civil Administration
**
Foreword: Following the wide-scale utilization of RUBY in current containment protocols, Hess contacted Foundation authorities. He was promptly directed to Department of Continuity Liaison Percival Moore.
<Begin excerpt.>
Hess: Are you out of your fucking minds?!
Moore: Was this not what you wanted, Mr. Hess? We are containing the anomaly. With RUBY in the soil, no olive will ever bloom.
Hess: Don’t pull the monkey’s paw shit with me. Your stupidity’s decimated the livelihoods of thousands of my people in Samaria. These orchards, these vineyards— you've poisoned our land. Find another way, now.
Moore: I’m afraid you’re in no position to negotiate anymore, Mr. Hess. We are not your local Site. You are speaking to the very soul of the Foundation.
Hess: Do I look like I give a single–
Moore: Comply, or we will cut billions in funding to your militaries and beyond.
<There is a pause as Hess begins to laugh.>
Hess: Go ahead! Take the knife, cut it all off! See if I care.
Moore: Without US support, everything you’ve ever built will collapse within years.
Hess: Do. it.
Moore: You will be left completely alone, save for the few backwards dictatorships you’ve bought over the years. Do you think they’ll save you?
Hess: DO IT!
<Several seconds of silence.>
Moore: You are making a very, very big mistake, Mr. Hess.
Hess: You think you can bullshit me, Percy? I’ve heard this story a million times before. Let me let you in on a secret. In the end, you need us. And it will never, ever be the other way around. Let me tell you why.
Hess: Your SRAs, where did they come from? We plucked that paraterrorist from Jenin, put him on ice, and brought his brain to you on a silver platter. Your people are Americans, they’re soft, if they knew you’d killed a teenager to build a magic cage, there’d be chaos. But now? A happy little accident, a gesture of goodwill from your allies, and nobody’s upset.
Hess: But that’s almost nothing. What about PANOPTICON? WATCHDOG? Every mass surveillance system you use was born and bred in Judea and Samaria. Telekill? Tested here. SPECTER, MIRAGE, all those million-dollar invisibility cloaks? Even now, I bet you’re snatching up some cursed doves to milk them for amnestics or whatever. We are your weapons lab, your training range, and the number one customer of your own industries.
Hess: So go ahead, run back to your superiors. Ask the soul of the Foundation for advice. They won't say anything new. I, on the other hand, have the opportunity of a millennium. Victory is just around the corner. Be’ezrat Hashem, my children’s children will grow up to serve a nation that has expelled its enemies, its loathers, and its traitors from the land. You don't want to be one of them.
<End excerpt.>
Addendum 9670.1 – Selected Instances, Continued
Designation: SCP-9670-ARK
Description: A flock of twenty-two white doves, genetically identical to Portuguese journalist Teresa Lopes Madeira. Recovered near Naples. Vocalizations produced by the doves induce a sense of calmness and clarity of mind. Ingestion of the birds’ ocular fluid results in increased determination and a desire to “keep going”. One Two birds remain uncontained.
Testimony: Ariela Weissman, "Standing Together" activist. Extracted in the field, one hour following the event.
Weismann: The ambulance was in flames, the orchard quickly catching fire around it. We were running. I heard a gunshot behind, then another. I don’t know if Teresa knew where we were going, but I trusted her. We had to get back to the cars, to the road, to get the hell out of here. The air still stung from tear gas, acid in my lungs. I leapt down a terrace. My knees shuddered at the impact but I didn’t feel the pain. I just kept running after her. Her bun came undone as she ducked beneath a branch, black hair billowing behind her like strips of night. There was a sharp crack of a flash grenade, more shouting. I should have died. I should be dead–
<Agent Ramirez presses the water bottle into her hand. She is silent for a few seconds, then drinks.>
Ramirez: Please continue describing the event.
Weismann: I'm— I'm sorry. There— there must have been dozens of them, soldiers, settlers, military police. A flying rock hit the ground next to my feet and skidded a few steps ahead. They were hunting us. I was jumping between debris, hands on my head except when I needed to balance. Blindly following the black spot in my vision I knew to be Teresa. My heart was killing me, every breath painful and sharp and burning. And then– then I slipped, on the edge of the terrace, sliding down in a shower of stones, and I looked up to her and she–
<Weismann begins to choke, crushing the plastic bottle in her hand. Water splashes on her fingers and wets the earth. She coughs, appearing to clear her throat, and continues.>
Weismann: Someone had hurled another rock after us. It soared through the air, gray and jagged right where I’d been a moment before. She had been right in front of me. For a moment, I thought I saw the stone devoured by her hair, like a black hole swallowing a star. Then it slammed into her neck, the air turning red, and a flock of bloodied doves ruptured from her corpse. The sound of their wings was deafening, louder than the guns and the grenades, louder than the screaming, louder than my own heartbeat roaring in my ears. White and red and white and red and black. Do you know? Those are the first colors newborns can see. A scorched ambulance.
Ramirez: What happened to the birds? What did they do?
<Weismann laughs, then chokes and begins to hyperventilate.>
Weismann: You don’t get it, do you? That rock was meant for me, I should have– I should have fucking died! She didn’t deserve this! I should have stood there and taken it, I should have had my brains blown out, my bones broken, my guts spilled out on the dirt. That's what we all sign up for when we come out here. We’re shields. We stand strong until we're too bent or too rusty to protect anything. But I didn’t– I couldn’t– I was too much of a fucking coward to do it when it counted, too scared to do anything but to lie in a pile of stones like a bird with broken wings.
Ramirez: Calm down Ariela. Did you see where the birds were headed? Ariela?
<Weismann begins to convulse, dropping to the floor. She begins to cry. Her hair slowly turns white.>
Weismann: I broke. I broke and it’s all my fault.
Ramirez: Someone get me a sedative!
<Audio feed captures a rough, distorted cracking. The woman’s eyes grow milky, the irises melting into the sclera. Agent Hausner arrives on scene and injects her with a sedative. She continues to writhe on the dusty ground.>
Weismann: If I’d just stood my ground– no, no, it’s not an accident, they threw the rock and I–
Hausner: Fuck, it’s another event. Get Site Command on the line.
Weismann: Maybe you’re right.
<Birdsong on recording.>
Ramirez: What was that?
Weismann: I know, I know. It’s just– I guess it’s somehow easier, believing that.
<Birdsong grows louder. Source remains unclear.>
Ramirez: Ariela?! Can you hear us?
Hausner: Clearly she can hear something.
Weismann: I’ll keep going, don’t worry. I’m sorry for– alright. They’re not going to let me go, are they?
Ramirez: You’ll be amnesticised and released. We’ll make sure you don’t remember even being in the West Bank. You’ll be fine.
Weismann: Then I’ll see you in the sky.
<Subject’s chest bursts, ribs tearing through skin and flesh, splayed outwards like a broken cage. Blood and gristle form tendrils in the air, wrapping themselves around the agents' weapons and yanking them away. A dove, soaked in red, flutters out from the cavity and takes off into the sky. It is holding a small twig in its beak.>
<End log>
Aftermath: Autopsy of Ariela Weissman’s corpse revealed the absence of a heart. The veins around her chest had turned to long olive branches and curled into a bird’s nest. Analysis of its structure showed it to most strongly resemble that of the rock dove. The nest is empty, save a single, unbroken, egg. The branches around it are still alive.