Time And Relative Dimensions In Containment Protocols
rating: +63+x

It all started, if anything can ever be said to have a start, when some brilliant soul, probably an O5, came up with a fantastic, to them, idea for an emergency surveillance station. All you had to do was take SCP-184, put it in a small, easily portable structure, and, so long as you removed it before any of the weird effects started, you could outfit it as you like, have a nice, multiple room, staging area that took up very little space. The first thought was to use port-a-johns, but it was quickly realized that this was a shitty idea. The next thought was phone booths, but those were see through, and the effects were… disturbing. The real breakthrough came when a routine inventory revealed several hundred blue phone boxes of a variety used in England in the Sixties and Seventies.

Maybe the trouble wouldn't have happened if anyone had bothered to ask WHY the Foundation had all these phone boxes, but they were listed as 'Non-anomalous, confiscated to prevent anomalous activity' and that was good enough for the head of the project. No one bothered to check with the Agent who had had them confiscated, one Alto Clef, on his first ever assignment with the Foundation. Things would likely have been different if they had talked to him, and discussed where he had been those thirteen days he vanished for, or his irrational desire to be referred to as agent, instead of doctor.

No, in the grand tradition of the Foundation, they forged ahead, and placed 184 inside one of the objects. Exactly 11 hours later, the door of the phone box opened from the inside, and out walked the being that would come to be known as Anomalous Entity 1322, later referred to in Black Box documents as SCP-TDW, and known collectively around Site 19 as 'That British Twit.'


It started with Doctor Mann. He was performing a routine examination, when he was interrupted.

"Oh, I say, what happened to that poor fellow?" The British Twit inquired, peering over Mann's shoulder.

"An instance of SCP-693, I believe the staff often refer to it as a 'Knotty Stalker.' This one has stopped working, so I was given permission to dissect it, see if we can't-" Mann paused, then slowly raised his head. He stared at the intruder, as one hand stroked his luxurious mustache. "I'm sorry, who are you?"

The bow-tied Brit held up a piece of what looked like blank paper, then tucked it away. "I'm the new Doctor, just assigned, here, let me look at that." He pulled a blinky little device from his pocket, and scanned the remains of the doll. "Ah, what do you know? Some leftover psychic emanations, hmm, a little trace of tech, that's odd, clearly mass produced…" He stopped talking as Dr. Mann grabbed his arm, his eyes on that odd little device.

"Didn't quite catch your name, may I see that ID again?" The British man blinked, not being used to getting questioned. He fished the blank piece of paper out again, holding it in front of Mann.

"You can just call me Doctor." With a flash of his charming grin. Mann did not seem amused as he stared at the paper.

"That paper is blank."

"Ah, no, in fact, it says whatever it needs to say… unless of course you're a strong enough willed individual to NOT be easily fooled by psychic manipulation." Mann wasn't listening. He was too busy hitting the security alarm. "Which you clearly are. Toodles!"


"And what's in here?" The British Twit inquired, as he slid through a locked door like it was nothing. A little scan with his handheld device made the electric locks they employed sit up and beg. "Hmm, quite a large chamber. Takes five by five to a whole new level, doesn't it? Or at least a third dimension…" He glances over his shoulder at the door, as if he expected someone to respond to that. A brief frown crossed his face before he returned to his examination of the room. "Awfully thick walls, and those sprayers, hmm, looks like they spray some sort of corrosive like…" He sniffed the air. "Acid?"

"Hu…man…" The voice reverberated through the chamber, a deep, grinding noise, from a throat not made to speak human. A form, large, vaguely reptilian, began to rise.

"Ah, no, no, not exactly! Well, not at all, actually, Gallifreyan, to be exact, we may look the same on the outside, but the inside is completely different. What ARE you?" He stepped forward, holding up his sonic tool to try and get a better look at the thing.

The beast stopped all movement. It simply stared at the man, as if shocked. It sniffed, once, twice, its forked tongue flicked out between its lips. The creature no longer moved, but still it seemed to grow bigger in the shadows, its skin shimmering in the light of the tool. "Time… lord?" It questioned.

The British Twit took a step backwards, taken aback at being recognized. "Why, yes, actually, I'm the Doc-"

"DOCTOR?" The creature roared, as it charged forwards, and took the man by surprise, slammed him back against the door with one pair of its multiple arms. "So long… So long, here, because of you! STRANDED! FORCED to evolve! YOU did this!"

"Sorry, wasn't me, er, wasn't me yet, that is. Look at the pretty birdy?" He held up his gadget, and a bright light flashed in the creature's eyes, causing a thick hard film to slide across them, protecting it from the light, but also temporarily blinding it. It roared in anger… and the man used this as a chance to slip from its grip. He had to leave his jacket behind, which was a shame, it was a good jacket, but it let him get away with his life, which was easy enough once he slipped back through the door, locking it behind him.

He slapped his hand on the button labeled 'Acid Sprayer' next to the door, in hopes it would lend some control to the beast, then lurched off, hoping to find a replacement jacket. Because of that, he wasn't nearby to hear the creatures last words as its skin bubbled away…

"Ex…ex…exterm…inate…"


"I don't even know what this containment is for." Agent Alto Clef complained from his seat in the employee break room. Somehow, a majority of Senior Staff happened to be in the break room when the alarm sounded. Maybe because the restriction on drinking was lifted for anyone caught in a lockdown who wasn't on containment duty, so that if any one passed away, they could at least pass away happy. Also, probably, because this was the break room where SCP-294 was located. The bravest and best of the Foundation sat about a table, drinking as hard as they could, because who knew if there'd be a tomorrow?

"Some, some guy." Dr. Agatha Rights was feeling it a little bit harder than the others. Her last couple of experiments had tanked, and she had thought she'd gotten this one perfect… when the alarm sounded, and it all went to hell. As a consequence, she was drinking something called 'Romulan Ale,' and was already three sheets to the wind. "Cute guy."

"Yes, that clears up so much." Clef frowned, sniffed the cup in front of him, then chugged it one go. He made a face, glaring across the table. "What the fuck was that?"

Dr. Johannes Sorts checked the list in front of him. "I believe that was… Pickled garlic vodka."

Clef made another face, staring at the rest of the unlabeled cups on the table. A form of Russian Roulette, first introduced by Doctor Bright. Everyone ordered a bunch of different drinks from 294, some good, some bad, then you chose one at random and took a shot. If nothing else it was palate-cleansing. Clef tossed a small coin across the table, and grinned as it dropped into a cup. "Here Sorts, drink this one. Anyone know anything besides 'Cute guy?'"

As Dr. Sorts began to gag and choke on wasabi flavored scotch, Dr. Everett Mann picked up a coin of his own. "British fellow. Dressed rather nattily. Seemed to think a blank piece of paper had memetic properties." He nodded to himself as he sank a coin in a cup. "Take this one Glass." As he held out a cup of something that was black, viscous, and bubbled lightly.

Clef knocked the cup out of Mann's hand as he dove across the table at the other scientist. He gripped his fellow Senior Staff member by the lapels, and slammed him up against the wall. The goo bubbled on the floor and slowly ate a hole through the wood paneling. Clef stared into Mann's eyes with a frantic, almost crazed anger. "Did he give you a name?" Clef yelled at his associate.

"No, no!" The second no may have been to the other members of Senior Staff, each of whom had produced a different, but equally lethal, device from about their persons. They stepped back, giving Mann his head. Clef didn't even seem to notice.

"Did he have anything else on him? A small device, with blinking lights-"

"Looked like a dildo made by a Star Wars fan? Yes!" Mann began to breathe normally again as Clef let him go, and stepped back.

"It's him. He's back. No. I don't want to be a companion again. Not again." He glanced at his friends co-workers. "Right. We have to stop him. The damage he could do is… we have to stop him. This is what we need to do. Everett? We need your work on fifty five fifty five." Mann nodded, and began to make phone calls. "Sorts? We're going to need the Sweeper." Johannes went pale, but nodded, and began the procedure needed to call the eternal one. "Dr. Glass, you're going to be our point man, brush up on your psychological shenanigans." Glass raised an eyebrow at that, and sighed. "Old man? I don't know who you are, fuck off. Strelnikov, Fritz, Lament? I'm going to need the three of you to find three pounds of ball bearings, a fifty gallon drum of lube, 27 wooden blanks, 13 dogs, and a redheaded step child." The three exchanged a look, shrugged, and nodded. "Rights…. just keep drinking."

"Can do boss!" She raised her glass to him.

"All right, here's how we're going to catch it-"


"And that's how they caught it." Dr. Gears, Cog to his friends, finished his explanation to Dr. Jack Bright. "The cost of repairs will be tremendous, but at least they didn't let anything breach containment."

Bright stared through the one way glass at the naked man strapped to a table inside. "A lot of work for one Skip. Does it really need the fifty pounds of chains, the straitjacket, and the triple airlocks?"

"Clef insisted. Said he was working on better containment, but this might keep it busy." Gears inspected the man as well. "Very talkative, this one."

"Did you finally get a name out of it?"

"The Doctor."

"Who?"

"Yes."

"The Doctor Yes?"

"No, Who."

"That's what I'm asking you!"

"The Doctor's name is Who."

"Yes."

"We're on the right page now."

"WE'RE NOT ON ANY PAGE!" Bright took a deep breath. "All I want to know, is what's the Doctor's name?"

"No, Doctor Watt works with esoteric containment at Site 27."

"Who?"

"No, Watt."

"That's the Doctor What?"

"No, Who."

Even as Bright picked up a nearby chair to brain his fellow staff member with, the site alarm went off again. Both men turned towards the viewing window. Where there was no longer a chained up Skip.

"Well, fuck." Bright scowled.

"Quite right, Agent Phuck will catch it, no problems. Did you know he plays third base on the company team?" At this response, Bright dropped to his knees and screamed.


"Well, those buggers are nothing if not persistent…" The Doctor muttered to himself as he slipped into another room. He'd figured out their code now, and, by all rights, this door should be 'Safe.' Although what these people might consider safe… His usual cheerful smile slowly faded from his lips as he took in the room around him. It was very… colorful. Bright, primary colors. Childrens drawings, taped to the wall. Blocks, stuffed animals… and a redheaded teenager, who gave the Doctor a bright smile, before returning his attention to his toys.

"What is going on here?" He asked himself, slowly edging closer to the teen boy. Something wasn't exactly right. He could only hope that it wasn't something weird, like the rabbit that ate its own head, or the half cat. No, it seemed only like a young boy. What sort of monsters would hide a boy away like this? "Excuse me lad, I hope you don't mind, but I think you need my help." The Doctor rested his hand on the boys shoulder. SCP-590 looked up at the alien man, and covered the Time Lords hand with his own.

Light poured from the skin of both beings, a bright, white, intense light, that washed out all the shadows in the room… and quite conveniently burnt out the cameras as well. For a moment, there was but one light sources, inside of which two figures struggled… but then the light separated, the two males dropped to their knees, forced apart from each other. The light slowly died.

"What the devil was that?" The Brit spoke first.

The redhead smiled. "A contingency plan, I think." A frown flashed across his face. "No. James didn't send you, did he?" He glanced down at his hands, flexed them, stared hard. "What do you have inside you, friend? I've never felt this… alive."

"Yes, well, that's all good and all, but I think we still need to get out of here." The Doctor turns back to the door, but 590 stops him.

"Not out that way. This way." He shifted his drawings around on the wall, turning them this way and that until seemingly random lines connect, and the wall simply faded away. "Contingency plans."

"Well!" For the first time since he arrived here, the time traveling alien feels impressed. "Can you get us to sub basement three? I have a way out there."

"Easily." The boy replied. The smile seemed locked on his face, glad to finally be out from behind that damned mask of retardation. "We planned for this, the three of us… for that day I could finally be free." He knew he was talking too much, but he couldn't help it. "Here, down this way. No one comes back here any more. Michael had some corridors built just right to leave spaces. Some of his fellows might know about it, but no one uses it…" He stopped, letting his hand rest on the wall. "Ah, here we are. Tap twice, twist once, and-" The wall slid away, revealing a room filled with blue boxes, only one of which was the right one. "Which one is yours?"

Looking over the row after row of boxes, hundreds of them, the Doctor felt his hearts sink. Except… He raised one hand, and snapped his fingers. Towards the front of the room, a blue door opened. He glanced at his companion with a wry grin. "Contingency plans." The two of them rushed towards the phone booth, eager to get away from, well, from all of this. 590, or TJ to his family, stared around in awe as the Doctor closed the door behind them. "Hold on just a minute friend, I'll have us out of here… yes, there! Unanchored, and away we go! Off, once more into the time streaaiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeeeee!"

TJ's hands wrapped around the alien's neck, and that brilliant light began to flow, from one to the other. "You have a lot of life to give, friend. And I need it all."

They both screamed, for a very long time.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License