Short stories, tale concepts, jokes, memes, and various other written bits too small to be posted by themselves on the wiki. All were posted to social media at one point or another, so saving them all in one place seemed like a good idea.
“The world ended my friend,” The doctor winced a little as she hobbled up to the tank, “I’m sorry we didn’t come to wake you earlier."
In the murky fluid, a massive form shifted and writhed. Its body constantly deteriorating and growing in the acidic bath.
"We tried to hold out as long as we could, but the bastards were relentless."
Typing a few commands into the computer, she begins the decontainment process. She swipes the required clearance cards. One hers, the other borrowed from a long-dead director.
"You probably relate."
The swirling chemicals begin draining from the containment. An alarm rings out as several protocols and procedures are shut off. A massive organism slowly supports itself for the first time in decades.
"I don’t care what you did to us. What we did to you."
"Dis-gusting…” the reptilian maw spat out the words.
“I know you don’t care, but I hope you hurt them. Make them regret coming for us."
"Th-they… you… no longer… con-tain meee… Humanssss."
"No, not humans. They came from the stars."
NIGHTMARES vs ALIENS
Humankind was all but wiped out when an alien fleet came to colonize earth. World governments were destroyed overnight. The Foundation lead the last efforts to fight back, allying with friend and foe. It was not enough. Only the anomalous can save us now.
SCP: Imma step outta contwainment (づ｡◕‿‿◕｡)づ
FOUNDATION: We’d rather you not (⇀‸↼‶)
SCP: But I wanna touch da breachy (づ｡> ω <｡)づ
FOUNDATION: We’re arming the on-site nuclear warheads (⇀‸↼‶)
SCP: *dabs* づ(｡◡﹏◡｡✿ )づ
FOUNDATION: (┛"ಠДಠ)┛彡┻━┻
RESEARCHER KIM: “…and then we left the test chamber.”
AGENT: “Unfortunately, Researcher Kim, I believe there’s a hole in your story.”
RESEARCHER KIM: “Wha-what? You can check the cameras, I was-”
AGENT: “You misunderstand. I believe you. I also believe fictional characters have been escaping from the book you tested.”
“Who exactly am I speaking to?“
"Tee hee, is dat anyway to speak to a gød?"
The being was a collage of pop culture references in bright black and dark neon colors. Looking at it gave Researcher Darren a headache.
"We didn’t know there was someone else like-”
“God-Chan is dead. I killed her after 24 episodes of fighting across 2 seasons. I didn’t even need my final form to do it."
"That’s..” he fumbled with how to respond to this development. When supreme beings from other dimensions decided to adopt modern mythos it was off-putting.
“Your comments don’t matter, baka. Like and subscribe, cause I’m your nu gød."
Thankfully the being didn’t seem to notice him wince at this. A weebo armed with memes now? At least God-Chan had been a more traditional deity to deal with.
"I’ll be sure to update our higher-ups.”
“Update your kings, your mods! Don’t at me! New video for followers only!"
And with that the self-proclaimed god disappeared, leaving behind a symbol burned into the containment cell floor. The air smelled of sulfur and bubble tea.
"Great! Just what I wanted to start my Monday off with!” Darren shouted to no one in particular as guards rushed by him with fire extinguishers to put out the flames.
She fired another burst into the thing. By how it lurched closer still, she knew none of her shots were doing real damage.
“You want out of here?"
It paused. The form seemed to shift back and forth a bit.
If it was sentient enough, this might just work.
"You want out of here, you’re not going to find it this way. The main doors lock the second any of the alarms go off."
It wasn’t a total lie, but it was hard to sound confident when talking to something out of a nightmare.
"Your best bet is through the vents.”
“Vvv̡vvv̛v͢v͜v̧e̕ȩee͡ȩeee̵ęen͜ńnntz͝z̀z̨z”
"Yeah. Up there. They don’t lock down right away. You get there fast enough, that’s your best bet at escaping this place."
The form collapsed into itself. It swished around. Maybe it was debating this information.
"Clock is ticking. I’m dead either way. They’re gonna kill everyone in this wing to make sure they don’t let you escape."
The fluid seemed to shift and agitate before rising up the nearest wall, tearing open the vent at the ceiling.
She listened to its movements echo down the metal vents.
Only once the sounds of it were long gone did she take her eyes off the air duct.
"Fucking a…"
She collapsed to the tiled floor of the lab and cried until she heard the breach doors begin the unlock sequence. It took long enough she had a few minutes still to herself.
On your first date with someone you should ascertain these things to determine whether they’re worth further commitment
- are they anomalous?
- can other people see and interact with them?
- where do they see themselves in the next 5 years? (contained/neutralized?)
- number of eyes
███ST█A███Y██
█H███Y█DR████
AT██ED███Y██A█
███NO█O███D██
█LE██████🖤██
SCP BROKE: Drug made of human remains, makes you kill people and you die from tripping
SCP JOKE: Dankest weed you ever had
SCP WOKE: From an unknown strain of Neurocaine. Mental effects may include loss of contact with reality, lending mild reality bending abilities to users
Agent McAphee slowly cleared the landing of the third floor of a two-story building. At the top of the stairs was door looked like it had been burned into the wall. A crudely transplanted space where it shouldn’t be.
The heavy hinges groaned as the door opened at her approach.
“O̴h̵ ̵p̴l̶e̷a̴s̷e̷,̵ ̶w̵o̸n̶'̷t̸ ̶y̷o̴u̵ ̷h̸e̵l̴p̸ ̴m̵e̷?̸ ̸I̷'̶v̴e̸ ̶f̶a̵l̴l̶e̷n̵ ̷a̷n̴d̴ ̷I̶ ̵n̸e̵e̵d̵ ̶h̶e̶l̵p̷.̶"
The figure on the floor writhed in what could be mistaken for pain. Its form prepared to pounce the second she came within reach.
"W̶o̶n̵'̴t̸ ̸y̸o̸u̴ ̶h̴e̸l̶p̸ ̷m̵e̷,̴ ̷g̶i̸r̶l̴?̴”
Agent McAphee, unable to hear the audio lure in the entity’s voice through her helmet filter, stood still. Maintaining visual, two flashbangs are unclipped and tossed to the floor between them.
The creature was only mildly confused for a second. After the blasts, it was extremely confused and severely disoriented.
Screeching and thrashing, the thing in the room that shouldn’t be was bound and secured by the Mobile Task Force agents who entered in through the windows.
If you want to know how someone rappelled through the third-floor windows on a two-story building, or what happened to that floor after the creature was removed from the room, you’ll have to read the report. If you want the full story, you’ll need to have level 4 clearance.
MTF1: “It’s like they say, ‘Hell hath no fury like an oculist who sacrificed everything only to find out their god was just some reality-bending punk.’ ”
MTF2: “Dude, you need to get out of the Foundation more.”
“Alexa, containment breach."
Play: "Breach_siren.mp3” on loop
Volume: 100%
Emergency lights to 100%
Lock containment doors
Lock external doors
Lock external ventilation systems
Arm on-site Alpha warheads
Play: “Breach_warning_final04.mp3"
“I don’t give a damn which Agent Ukelele any of you are!” The stout man with the wide brim hat shouted as he slammed his hand on the table.
The man whose face was a spider, then an error screen, then a duck, pointed around the room. “We’re all here cause we earned the title.”
An extremely handsome man nodded, while a man in shadows strummed a ukulele.
“But are any of you bastards really reality benders? Demons? Some of you don’t look like you could take Kondraki and his butterflies.” Said a young girl cleaning a revolver as big as her forearm.
“As he said, we gathered all the real deals together. Any fakes or those too spent to be of any help were left in their realities.” The man with the changing face flipped through a folder of x'ed out files. “A few double agents were given one-way trips to the surface of the moon”
“We’re here because we save the people who work in the shadows from the shadows themselves. We’ve killed gods and angels and punk ass cyborg reality benders. This goes beyond the Foundation, beyond any one reality. Hell, we’re going beyond planet earth here.”
“So agents,” the stout man handed out mission briefs, “this is Operation Last Song.”
“Or Ukelele Orchestra. We’re still working on the title.”
“First time using D-Class, eh?”
“Yes, sorry, it’s a little unnerving. Didn’t really hit me until I saw they were real people.”
“You get used to it.”
“Can I ask you how you-”
“Silly names.”
“Excuse me?”
“I give all the D-Class silly names. That’s Biceps. Next to him is Forehead Tat. Behind her is Twitchy. Makes it a lot easier when they die.”
FOUNDATION 2099:
In the year 2099, the Foundation fended off a massive reality-ending anomaly, but it left massive scars felt across the world.
Whole countries were erased from the populous consciousness. GOIs were undone or splintered. The Foundation suffered the most.
Several sites are offline or running on backup automation, but they will go nuclear if not accessed within a year.
Dr. Elias Shaw, now stuck in a young woman's body, must travel across the United Republic of America into the territory no one can acknowledge is missing.
Accompanied by a trusty dog-sized unkillable reptilian, a golf ball-sized stone that moves when you blink, and a doctor turned cat turned catperson, Dr. Elias Shaw is gonna need all the help he can get to save what's left of the Foundation.
2099 miles, 15 sites, no transferring bodies, new friends, old enemies, one hell of a road trip as a last mission.
Everyone I knew is dead.
You can’t tell me otherwise. I watched them turn. The sound changed them. It hit every device across the globe at once.
Anything that could play audio, that could pick up a signal. They hit each and every single one.
It took a few minutes, maybe a few hours for all those affected to transform. To get the full effect to take over but they’re all gone now. Well, any trace of what made them, well, them.
Only a few of us didn’t hear it. Couldn’t hear it. Still, I’m pretty sure I’m one of the last around. The affected made short work of the non-affected.
May whatever you believe in have mercy on them. Finding themselves suddenly in a crowd of violent, aggressive mind slaves.
I’m sure someone, somewhere in a bunker is having a field day determining the memetic, cognitohazard, whatever it was that jammed the human signal and overwrote whole populations in minutes.
Me? I’m currently riding a secret underground subway system across the continent. We’re lucky whatever hit everyone else rewrote everything in the human mind.
Can you imagine? A massive army that can be hindered because they don’t even remember what the word “PULL” on a door means? Still, enough hammering and the drones can break through or get over just about anything, given time.
Time, it’s about all I have on my side right now. That, and some nutjob who thought that keeping an SCP that can rewrite the world around might come in handy.
I hope I get there in time. The train is so far underground, I think I’m traveling under the ocean in places? Hard to tell.
There are some perks to being one of the humans squirreled away by the Foundation in the event of something like this. They really did try to think of everything.
If they didn’t, then everyone I know is as good as dead and I’m not far behind them.
12:41:58 EST PM: SITE-32-2 DETECTS CONTAINMENT PROCEDURE FAILURE FOR SCP-[REDACTED]
12:58:03 EST PM: FULL CONTAINMENT FAILURE OF SCP-[REDACTED]. LOCKDOWN INITIATED AT SITE-32-2
1:28:36 EST PM: SITE SECURITY REQUEST HEAVY BACKUP
1:36:14 EST PM: GOLIATH UNIT DEPLOYED
“I had heard about them before but never seen one. It, they, sorry. I wish I knew their name to thank them. I didn’t even catch their number, the one that saved us. A thing was trying to get into the lab we were barricaded in. The Goliath picked it up like it was a kitten.”
“Man, those Goliaths, they’re heavy as fuck. You hear each footfall even when they’re just walking casually. But when they engage an anomaly? It’s like those videos where a construction crane operator cracks an egg open without breaking the glass cup under it.”
“It’s against policy to openly share security footage from during a containment breach. I will tell you though, they made quick work of each of the anomalous instances. There’s a certain amount of glee I’ll admit to knowing the things were put down and put down hard.”
“People ask if they’re anomalies as well. If there’s a person under there or if it’s just a robot. Each Goliath is a person like you and me but put through the toughest training to deal with anomalies the Foundation could dream up. Augmented, sure. But human nonetheless.”
2:39:15 EST PM: CONTAINMENT BREACH NULLED. SITE-32-2 LOCKDOWN LIFTED. SCP-[REDACTED] CONTAINMENT REESTABLISHED.
GUARD: Go through the fleshy portal
DCLASS: No
GUARD: I’m authorized to kill you if you don’t comply
DCLASS: You mean like how the portal killed the last guy you told to go through it?
GUARD: …
DCLASS: …
GUARD: You weren’t supposed to see that
DCLASS: YOU MADE ME MOP HIM UP!
GUARD: Ok, that’s my bad
DCLASS: I ain’t going through it
GUARD: Take a stress relief pill
DCLASS: To make me forget like you did when you took the pill after you threw up when the last guy died?
GUARD: …
DCLASS: …
GUARD: You weren’t supposed to see that
DCLASS: I MOPPED YOUR THROW UP!
GUARD: You seem proficient with a mop
DCLASS: Are you joking with me
GUARD: The Foundation has a lot of messes to clean up
DCLASS: I noticed
GUARD: …
DCLASS: …
GUARD: You weren’t supposed to see tha-
DCLASS: I’M THE ONE WITH THE MOP!
SCP RESEARCHER: “Alright, so it turns out that some cultures were correct with the idea that a photo could steal a person’s soul. Or at least, capture a fraction of it.”
“As heavy as losing part of your soul sounds, overall, it’s not a significant amount. Compare it to daily skin cell shedding and you get the idea."
"But here’s the tricky part. Now with modern technology, the number of photos taken of a person has increased dramatically.”
“Videos are a series of pictures. Years of selfies uploaded online and shared around. Surveillance and security recording on every corner, across every platform. The human soul is being taken, bite by byte. Cut by cut. The fractions add up, for some, close to 60%.”
“We’ve found that it isn’t a problem if that was where it ended. It’s a fraction of a soul, but no different the loss of body heat. Just by existing, you’re releasing that out there. The problem comes from a company, potentially a new GOI, which recently updated their TOS."
"Almost every company online now has Terms of Service that give them rights to access, use, and transfer images and data collected when using their services. Some even go so far as to claim any media uploaded to them, in perpetuity, across all present and future platforms."
"This company, as detailed in my report, recently updated its TOS wording. It's still a lot of legal jargon to the average consumer, but I feel it is clear they are aware of the human soul and the significance of the digital media recording of it."
"In conclusion, I fear they are collecting data in vast amounts that would give them enough ownership over a person’s soul that they could sell it to third parties outside of our dimensional awareness."
HEAD RESEARCHER: *closing snapchat* "Well shit..”
"There is much more to me than meets the eye."
"There's much more to most people than meets the eye."
"I mean, there's, strings. These, threads, I can see them, others can't. They connect everything, and I can pull them."
"Is that much more than others?"
"They call me anomalous."
"Ah, the jailers. Not heartless folk, but unimaginative."
"They hunt people like me."
"The book burners are more the hunting type. The jailers, they lock things away."
"I do not want to be locked away. I do not want to be hunted or hated or feared."
"Most people fear what they do not know."
"I'm told you can do things no other person can. I'm told that is why you are feared."
"Ah, that is true. They do not know me, so many do fear me. Yet I am a simple old man."
"I do not know you. Should I fear you?"
"But you do know me. Why else would you seek me out? You don't seem like a fearful young woman."
"I'm afraid of what happens when someone comes looking for me. When the hammer comes for me and mistakes me for a nail to be beaten down for standing out."
"You wish to hide?"
"No. I wish to stop standing out. To be normal."
"You are perfectly normal! You seek to be mundane in their eyes."
"What I can do isn't normal! Not by their standards or anyone's standards! I see the tinge of fear even in the face of friends! 'What could she do?' as if I'm wild!"
"…"
"You do not agree. But, will you help me?"
"Help you to hide your abilities?"
"Help me to cut the threads and scar my vision so I can no longer be a threat to anyone!"
"Like that girl when you were 9?"
"So you are who they said you were? You see why I'm here."
"My dear, I know a great many things. I can twist a dream into a nightmare. Spin a nightmare into reality. Fray reality into a dream. But I will not do what you request."
"Please! I beg you! I've come along ways from where I was as a child, but I don't want to hurt anymore!"
"Your pain does not come from your abilities. Your pain comes from yourself. You don't accept it, you run from it. Taking the threads away does not solve that. Not like you think it will. What makes you different than others is more than what you can do or what you've done."
"If you will not fix me then we are done here! I won't be talked to like I'm a child!"
"But you are a child! You still hold what others think of you, what others expect from you, so highly. You're willing to chop yourself to bits to fit into their little boxes like they do."
"Please. You have to help me."
"I will."
"You just said-"
"You must understand though that what I offer is not salvation. There is no magic cure. No ritual or surgery or advancement that will grant exactly what is held in your heart so badly right now."
"Your words, you mean-"
"I mean, you will come with me. I will teach you. Train you. Build you up. You will be protected. You will still need to fight. It will be a long journey and I'm warning you the road back will break you if you turn from finishing the path before the end. You must trust me."
"Trust you?"
"Trust that I will do everything I can to see you through this hardship."
"You think I can withstand this?"
"I would not offer it if I thought otherwise."
"You believe you can protect me from harm?"
"No. I believe I can prepare you for surviving to live your life."
"This isn't what I was seeking."
"We rarely ever seek what we actually achieve. You will learn much along this road and you will not be the same as when you started."
"Your mysterious talk is leaving me with more questions than answers.
"Good, then we have started the process."
12/21/19 posted on Twitter
It hurts. Sitting on this foreign shore without you here. And before you ask, it's not because the sun is bigger and redder than ours on Earth or the fact you can hear it faintly when it's quiet around you.
It hurts because I thought you would be here with me.
I'm not angry at you. You did what you did because it's probably best for you. At least your choices could have been shittier I tell myself.
I thought we were escaping. Beating the odds. A team. You decided to close the door behind me and stay in that chaos of a life.
You choose data and technology. You choose locked doors and secrecy. You choose to secure, contain, protect, while I choose to try for something I wanted.
Well this isn't what I wanted, but when do we ever get that?
I hope you wanted what you got after you shut that portal.
Maybe there were lies I didn't know. Maybe the stress was too much and I was just a distraction. Maybe you never really planned on going this far with me and I got ahead of you.
I'm not gonna blame myself for your choices. They were yours to make.
So I'm here, alone, and you're there, with your walls around you. I can still reach out, still try to hear your thoughts, but only the surface ones you allow to be broadcasted. I won't read then anymore though, it only leaves me feeling more lonely.
I'm letting go. I'm gonna cry. Already cried so hard I puked when I realized what you'd done. I'll probably cry some more as I wander this new world. I don't say this to guilt you, just that that's where I'm at.
I'm gonna wander. I'm gonna heal.
I hope you still remember me fondly enough, though that doesn't really matter. We're worlds apart now and trying to bridge that gap would be a waste of your time and my energy.
Maybe this is the best and this would be better if I moved on faster.
I know you'll do great things there. They don't even know the full potential you have within you. I saw it and I wanted to bask in it for as long as you'd have me. I have my own destiny to make. Let's hope we don't have to cross paths again as anything more than once lovers.
12/29/2019 posted on Twitter
The job I do in the Foundation doesn't have an official title. It's not that it's that top-secret, but to title the main body of my work would either be too depressing or too inhumane.
I'm basically a glorified janitor. I clean out the desks of personnel who have died.
Obviously, it changes a little depending on the circumstances of their death, but we have a standard protocol we follow. Can't just put everything in a box and ship it to their next of kin or throw everything out as any normal office might do.
There's a work story that gets passed around about an anomalous stone that caused people to procrastinate that got thrown out once. Usually, the first thing we do is a sweep of their personal items for anything anomalous.
Sometimes I destroy sensitive documents. Sometimes I package stuff up for the next poor soul to get the deceased's workload. Got to make sure that, despite the "creative mess" they leave their desks, all the paperwork is accounted for and properly filed away.
Then comes the personal items. Some of these people have families I can send stuff to. There are the families that are in on what we do in the dark and others that will never know what their loved one really did for a living.
Other folks were right bastards in their lives. No family, no friends, no one to miss them. Well, that's not true. Even the crustiest and meanest SOB usually has someone who notices their absence.
They may not have been friends, but the security guard at the site parking lot or the project manager usually asks about them. I think most people don't realize how much someone's presence is felt just by being there. By sharing a space. Through shared experiences.
Sorry, I'm dragging my feet on the issue, as it's my least favorite part of the job. It's part of the reason why the task fell to me so many times it became my main responsibility around here.
You can really learn a lot about a person by the stuff they leave behind.
Pictures of family members or pictures of their birds. Whacky coffee mugs and desktop knickknacks. Cute post-it notes by loved ones or reminders for weekly game sessions. Sometimes I find stuff that tells a story while other items leave so many questions.
I've broken down and cried many times from things left behind. Words left unspoken. Upcoming Anniversaries, trips that will never happen, love never expressed. It's a sobering reminder that none of us are promised tomorrow.
I'm thankful the job hasn't hardened me to the point where I don't get misty-eyed. It's solemn work, shifting through another person's belongings to sort out what is Foundation property, what goes to loved ones, and what gets thrown out.
Some secrets I've kept to preserve the person's memory. Affairs, personal journals, addictions. In my own way, I've tried to minimize the damage their departure has on those left behind. Not everyone agrees with that, but I try to be considerate of all parties.
And I always try to rehome their plants, as sad a state as some might be. More than a few security guards have a mini garden springing up in their booth because of me. My own office has a corner that looks more like a jungle than an office in HR.
I hope that when I die, someone doesn't just throw them all out. They deserve better than that. People deserve better than that. You deserve better than that.
But just, try not to put off too many things for tomorrow, as it might not always come, okay?
Stay safe, folks.
