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| SCP-XXX |
Item #: SCP-XXX
Object Class: Euclid
Special Containment Procedures: SCP-XXX is to be held in a standard reinforced humanoid containment chamber in Site-19’s maximum security wing. While the subject has been docile during its containment, due to its violent history two (2) armed guards are to be posted at the entrance to the subject’s chamber at all times, and the inside of the chamber is to be under constant surveillance. Due to SCP-XXX resistance to standard ballistic ammunition and its vulnerability to corrosive materials , the guards are to be armed with corrosive agents. All personnel handling SCP-XXX are to wear full body hazmat suits, not allowing any skin contact with SCP-XXX.
Description: SCP-XXX is an animate mass of an indeterminate number of steel chains, shaped like an average sized humanoid. The subject appears to be in possession of human-level intelligence, though it does not seem to be in full control of its mental faculties. SCP-XXX is capable of ambulation and speech, though it will rarely initiate conversation, and if left to its own devices, will not move. The only thing capable of temporarily alleviating SCP-XXX's apathy are works of art depicting nature scenes, abstractions or inanimate objects. Pieces depicting humans will cause it regress further into apathy, and will often result in it curling into the corner of its cell for several days and becoming completely unresponsive.
Prior to its containment, SCP-XXX showed the ability to remove chains from its body and attach them to human beings, a process which does not appear to reduce SCP-XXX’s mass or the total number of chains composing SCP-XXX's body. The conversion process leads to the death of the victim in one of its early stages, even if the chains are removed, and gives SCP-XXX complete control the bodies of its victims (eventually turning them into instances of SCP-XXX-1). The victims stay connected to SCP-XXX by one end of the chain, which can extend up to fifty (50) meters from SCP-XXX . The stages of the transformation are as follows:
• Stage one: SCP-XXX attacks a victim, pulling him/her using chains removed from its body, wrapping them around the victim’s limbs and throat. The victim usually expires due to asphyxiation during this stage. The victim's body's physical strength increases to about three times that of an average human of the victim's sex, age and weight.
• Stage two: SCP-XXX than inserts his chains into the victim’s body, usually penetrating the skin at various points, including the eyes, the nose, and the mouth. If the victim survived the previous stage of the process, they will expire due to the massive trauma inflicted here. The victim’s senses increase in efficiency, despite the destruction of various sensory organs by SCP-XXX’s chains. SCP-XXX was known to use victims in this stage of the transformation as means to restrain new victims or delay Foundation personnel attempting to contain it.
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| An incomplete instance of SCP-XXX-1 |
• Stage three: SCP-XXX begins replacing the victim’s flesh with chains, taken from its own body. SCP-XXX will begin to shape the amalgamation of flesh and chains into a new shape: this shape is usually humanoid, but on rare occasions the chains will instead form into a complicated series of knots. SCP-XXX showed a powerful protective urge towards the knot formations, and devoted all resources available to it to defend them from harm, including risking its own body.
• Stage four: SCP-XXX completely replaces all of the victim’s flesh, thereby completing the transformation process and making the victim into an instance of SCP-XXX-1. Humanoid instances stay connected to SCP-XXX and continue to serve it, but knot-like instances disconnect and vanish upon completion.
Notably, contact with SCP-XXX’s chains does not cause any of the above symptoms unless the subject initiates the conversion process by removing chains from its body.
SCP-XXX’s current disposition is docile, but prior to its containment it exhibited extreme aggression towards humans and attempted to convert them into instances of SCP-XXX-1 whenever possible. This behavior led it to actively seek human population centers, though it chose only such places which allowed it to act covertly. From information gathered in conversations with SCP-XXX and the observations of field agents involved with its capture, it has been deduced that the process of converting humans served as a sort of artistic outlet for SCP-XXX, and that it was compelled to perform it, possibly by an external force (see Interview Log). Since its containment, the subject showed no signs of this compulsion and all attempts at conversion on its part ceased, even when granted a helpless subject for the process.
Addendum XXX: The following are interviews made with SCP-XXX during various stages of its containment.
Interview Log XXX-1
Interviewer: Dr. ████
Interviewed: SCP-XXX
Forward: This interview was made immediately following SCP-XXX's capture. At this stage, no artistic stimulus was required.
<Begin Log>
SCP-XXX: Where is the air? No air, no flow, no reason. Blind, deaf, senseless. Where is the art?
Dr. ████: Excuse me, XXX, but I'm not following you.
SCP-XXX: Where is the storm? Shattered and left? Why? One Was always loyal, always obeyed, always followed. One gave it what it wanted, the knots. So perfect, they were, so whole. Greedy, wanted them all. Until it wanted them no longer. Wanted One no longer. One was angry, refused to cease its making [Subject crawls to the floor, enter fetal position] Such anger. Should have known better. Should have never defied the storm.
SCP-XXX:[whispers] it took away the hunger, it took away perfection, it took away the art. It took away everything.
<End Log>
Interview Log XXX-5
Interviewer: Dr. ████
Interviewed: SCP-XXX
Forward: This interview with SCP-XXX was made in one of its more lucid moments, and it was fairly responsive and coherent during it. Subject was showed a copy of Claude Monet's Waterlilies as a stimulus.
<Begin Log>
Dr. ████: Afternoon, SCP-XXX.
SCP-XXX: Not One's name. One is the Maker of Chains.
Dr. ████: Noted. Could you explain to me why you did what you did?
SCP-XXX: One was the Maker of Chains. One fed, One weaved, One flourished. Guided, trusted, loved. No longer. Forsaken.
Dr. ████: Forsaken by who?
SCP-XXX: Astrally. Whirls, twirls. It kissed the links, whispered kindly words, protected One and its brethren from harm. It showed One the knots. Such beauty, such complexity, such perfection. No more. The sweet zephyr became a blizzard . Took One's brethren away, took away perfection. Left One alone. One was of no more use to it. Never again.
Dr. ████: Is this what changed? What led to your capture?
SCP-XXX: One was among its brethren, and making more, weaving its art, making beauty and order of foul, chaotic flesh. The Whirlwind came, flowed between one's links, but carried no warning of the danger that drew ever closer, like it did before. Instead, it told One that it achieved its purpose, That perfection was no longer needed, the chains were no longer needed. It tore its brethren asunder, left the Maker of Chains to fall.
Dr. ████: Would you like to go back to the way you were?
SCP-XXX: [Subject turns its head, appears to be talking to the air] Master, One… One no longer wishs to come back. No more perfection. The brethren are gone, the chain is broken, inert, alone. No point. No hope. Best to sleep once more.
<End Log>
Closing statement: It appears SCP-XXX believes it has lost its ability to bind with humans, and indeed its motivation to do so. Nevertheless, considering the potential risks it still holds, current security measures are to be maintained. Recommending further investigation of the force SCP-XXX mentioned.
Subject: UI-56
From: Special Agent Laura Stanton, Unusual Incident Unit, Los Angeles Office
To: Director McNamara, FBI HQ, Washington D.C
Sir, here is the report for the item we recovered in the raid on Uncle Merl's call center. I have no idea who would buy a piece of shit like that, but apparently this guy has customers- that's how we reached him, after all. So, the item:
UI-56 is a novelty sword made of cheap, recycled metal (mostly aluminum). According to the box we found it in, it's an "Uncle Merl's Durendal Mark III™". There was a pamphlet in the box with it, with some sort of bullshit about what this thing does. I copied it here:
Are you tired of living in a callous, uncaring modern world? Do you wish to return to the old days of chivalry and honor? Now, with the Durendal Mark III™ , Paladin's Delight (Ultra light! With patented Dragon Grip!)", you can! This handy-dandy, multifunctional tool is everything a true knight could ask for! Features include:
- Defend the meek! With the Durendal Mark III™, no monster is beyond your just might! Guaranteed 100% effectiveness* against all ogres, trolls, orcs, hobgoblins, goblins and unusually large lizards with sharp teeth*!
- Inspire courage and resolve! With the Durendal Mark III™, every fight becomes an epic last stand! Show your boss you are not going to take his crap anymore, the old fashioned way! Use the included magic words to activate!
- Impress fair maidens! With the sleek style of the Durendal Mark III™, no comely lass is safe from your rugged, knightly charms! Introduce them to your long, hard length of steel, and watch those chastity belts melt away!
- Patented Dragon Grip! Forged in the secret mage-fire of Kromdar, this unique hilt allows for maximum swing power without sacrificing any of the reliability or style!**
*Disclaimer: Any injuries resulting from incorrect use of the Durendal Mark III™ are under the responsibility of the user only. By opening this box, the user waives any right to sue Uncle Merl's Discount Emporium and releases said company of all liability to his/her's medical expenses.
**Replacement hilts are available in gold, silver, black, and hot pink.
We tried doing some tests on the thing before the spooks took it away. Didn't manage much, but that's hardly new. We wouln't have gotten anything at all if it wasn't for the volunteers. I'm adding Dr. Charles' and Dr. Demagne's notes from the lab:
Researchers: Dr. Charles (reporting), Dr. Demagne
Test subject: Agent Carlson
Test: I placed Agent Carlson in a room with an out-of-order vending machine, gave him UI-56 and told him to buy a drink after speaking the "magic words" written on the back of the pamphlet (Latin, "Qui utitur hoc pharse est stultus"). The following result was recorded:
Agent Carlson: [inserts coin into the machine] Ah, soon the cool taste of this godly nectar will fill my mouth with heavenly delight!
[The machine does not produce the requested drink]
Agent Carlson: [visibly upset] What's this!? Ye knavish contraption! You shall dispense my drink forthright, and allow me to taste its frosty secrets, or you shall taste my cold steel!
[The threat appears ineffective]
Agent Carlson: So, Thy wish to face my might?! So be it, fiend! This shall be our final confrontation, a battle to shake the very foundations of the Earth, that will bring fear to the gods themselves! I will rip the sky asunder, cleave the ancient mountains like cheese paper! You will taste my wrath! Have at ye!
[Agent Carlson proceeds to attack the vending machine. UI-56 can't penetrate the vending machine, so he uses it as a blunt instrument. After attacking the machine for thirty minutes without results (other than mild denting), Agent Carlson collapses to the floor, exhausted.
Agent Carlson: I… I have failed. My ancestors peer at me from their lordly seats in disapproval and shame. If I cannot have victory, I shall have honorable death! Farewell, my unclaimed drink! My only regret is that I failed to save you from the clutches of this rectangular devil. Loyal sword, serve your master one last time.
[Agnet Carlson removes his shirt and attempts to fall on UI-56. UI-56 fails to penetrate Agent Carlson's skin, leaving him unharmed save for minor bruising. Test concluded. Agent Carlson suffers no lasting effects, other than a self-proclaimed desire for "silk pantaloons".
Conclusion: My hypothesis is that UI-56 posses mild mind-affecting proportions, causing subjects using it to experience trivial disputes as confrontations of the highest importance. UI-56 also seems to cause subjects to speak in what they perceive as medieval-like language, and makes them cocky too . It's a strange one, no doubt.
Dr. Charles
Research personnel: Dr. Charles, Dr. Demagne (reporting)
Test subjects: Agent Ricks (male), Agent Chan (female)
Test: In an attempt to verify UI-56's influence over women, I instructed Agent Ricks (who has a notably poor vocabulary) to hold the sword and speak the words, then introduced him to Agent Chan. The following result was recorded:
Agent Ricks: Do my eyes misguide my, or do I see an extra fine maiden in this here chamber?
Agent Chan: What is he talking about?
Agent Ricks: Come now, don't be shy! Yon bitch knows this knight has all the right gear!
Agent Chan: Did you just call me a bitch!?
Agent Ricks No need to be upset, my petite kumquat. Come, there is a great water serpent in my breeches, and it requires your attention!
[Agent Chan then grappled with Agent Ricks and removed UI-56 from his grasp. She attempted to use UI-56 to harm Agent Ricks in a highly inappropriate manner (in my humble opinion), before security personnel intervened. UI-56 was returned to storage, Agent Chan was reprimanded, and Agent Ricks was escorted to the infirmary]
I really don't know what to tell you about this one, Laura. It's a sword that makes you act like a pseudo-medieval asshole, as far as I can tell. Where do you even get this stuff?
Dr. Demagne.
We also found a coupon with with the pamphlet and UI-56, saying it was for a free tutorial tape. We sent for one and it arrived a few days later, starring no other than two of the clowns we captured during the raid. The spooks came and took that too, but I did manage to write a transcription of it beforehand:
[Camera opens to what appears to be a mail room. A figure enters the frame, wearing long robes, a pointed hat, and a flower-patterned tie. That's Daniel Monroe, though he likes to be called Danerius. He claims to be a Luxomancer, though I have no idea what that's supposed to mean]
Dan: Greetings, aspiring knights! Today, I, Danerius the Magnificent, will be your guide to the realm of the arcane! Let us begin. [to someone off-camera] minion, bring forth the Sword!
[He's talking to Edmund Sami, a low level manager who works at tech support at Merl's. Strange guy, always wears that mask on his face]
Sami: [off-camera] Who the hell are you calling a minion, Dan? I'm technically your superior!
Dan: Excuse me for a moment, dear sirs. [walks off-camera] Sami, Mr. Jamu placed me in charge of making the video, obviosuly because he knows which one of us is the real wizard around here!
Sami: Oh, don't you dare! You know the only reason Jamu did that was to spite me! Some cousin, he is. Now get back on camera and let's get this over with!
Dan: Not until you admit I'm the the one in charge.
Sami: If I do that, you'll never let me hear the end of it. No deal.
Dan: Fine, I guess I'll just have to tell Mr. Jamu you're being uncooperative. And that you haven't finish your quarterly status report, minion.
Sami: That's it, you dimwit Luxomancer, your ass is mine!
[you can hear a scuffle occurring off-camera]
Dan: Not the beard! Not the beard!
Sami: Yes the beard!
[The camera is knocked over. Video feed stops, audio continues]
Dan: Hmm. This didn't go well.
Sami: You better not tell Jamu anything about this!
Dan: No way! He'll blame me for ruining the tape!
Sami: Who the hell cares, Dan? No one is ever going to actually order the bloody thing. Let's just say we're done and get lunch. I think it's pizza day.
Dan: Pizza? Endorius take this accursed tape to the leaky Stygian Abyss then.
Sami: What?
Dan: Fuck it, lets eat.
Dan:
<End Log>
Anyway, that's all we have left from the raid. The spooks took everything else. I know I should be angry, but this is far more than we usually get. I wonder why they allowed me to get away with that, I'm sure they knew exactly what I was doing. They always do.
Sir, I'm… not sure we did the right thing here. This might sound hypocritical from the one who organized the raid, and I know we don't have the resources to handle this sort of things ourselves, but I still hate doing this. Those people we caught were weird, true, but giving them away to the spooks… You know no one ever comes back ones the spooks gets their hands on them. They weren't bad people. They didn't deserve this.
But I guess that's just what we do, isn't it.
Signing out,
Special Agent Stanton.
Subject: Re: UI-56
From: Director McNamara, FBI HQ, Washington D.C
To: Special Agent Laura Stanton, Unusual Incident Unit, Los Angeles Office
Don't rock the boat, kiddo. Just keep your head down and try not to think too much about it. Hang in there, eh? This assignment won't last forever. Soon the entire Huston incident will blow over and we can get you back to the big league. I promised your father I'll get you out of this, and I will.
Oh, and try not to swear so much, it looks unprofessional.
Director McNamara.
Rise
Professor Charles Burrows had no choice but to comply. He had no idea how he got here, or even where "here" was; one moment he was sitting at his home office, catching on some paperwork, and the next he was here, standing alone in an empty concrete room. Alone with the voice.
So good of you to join me, Professor. Come, there is much to see and so little time.
"What? Who are you? What is this place?"
So many questions. I suppose it is to be expected from a man in your position. All in due time, Professor. Let us begin our little tour.
A door appeared on the far wall of the chamber, seemingly from nowhere. Professor Burrows, seeing no other option, walked through it. He was not one to lose his cool quickly; he'd see what this thing wanted, and assess the situation accordingly. He found himself in a bustling office complex: Busy looking men and women in walked among rows of computers and filnig cabinets, occasionally stopping in one station or the other to check a monitor or peer at a file. The entire place was a hive of purposeful activity. No one appeared to notice the small man in jeans and a tweed jacket.
Welcome to Site-27, Professor.
He wasn't supposed to be here, Burrows thought. This was a dangerous situation; he might already be compromised. He wasn't sure the voice knew exactly who and what he was, though, and he wasn't about to give it any hints.
"Site-27? Is that some sort of government facility?" He said, feigning ignorance.
The government could never dream of being able to hide itself so well. Even this first level is hidden in plain sight, disguised as the regional headquarters of a major data analysis firm. Most of the employees you see here have no idea what lies beneath their feet. But I do. Let us continue.
Burrows felt his feet edging forward, never stopping to consult with his head. He approached one of the desks. A plain featured, slightly overweight man in a brown suit was sitting at it, staring at his monitor with a blank expression.
This is Robert Helms, junior data analyst. He's been working here for the last nine years, never knowing what this place was hiding under its dull facade. He's not a particularly smart man, although he considers himself one, nor is he especially talented in any meaningful way. He hates his job, likes to fish, loves his family, and overall just tries to get by until retirement. He never expected much from life, and never got much. He will be dead in twenty minutes. His position will be given to some other faceless cog, his family will grieve and move on, and soon enough, he will be utterly forgotten, having made no lasting impact on the world he spent forty two years living in.
"How can you possibly know that?" Burrows asked, more out of anger than anything else. The man, Helms, shook himself out his daze and stretched, his hand passing right through Burrows' chest. The professor jumped back, startled. Helms didn't seem to notice, and stepped away from his desk, heading for a nearby soda machine.
Professor, you disappoint me. I thought you would have realized by now you're not actually here, not in your limited sense of the word, at least. As for how I know what will become of poor Mr. Helms, well, perhaps our next stop will shed some light on that subject. Onward and downward, Professor. Always downwards.
Burrows felt a strange sinking feeling, and looked down to see his legs passing through the floor. He tried to struggle, but every movment he made only made him sink faster. After an extremely unpleasant moment where his eyes and the concrete occupied the same place at the same time, he found himself in a space quite unlike the one he just left; the buzzing chaos of the top floor was replaced with an almost total silence, broken only by the occasional whisper of the scientists working in one of the many stations.
This is the true Site-27, or at least its research wing, home to some of humanity's greatest minds. Like Dr. Spengler right here.
Once again, Burrows' body moved out of its own volition, this time approaching one of the scientists. The man couldn't have been much older than twenty five, a tall, bespectacled man in a white coat.
Dr. Henry Spengler, twenty six years old. With an IQ of 190, he's one of the smartest people alive on the planet. He could have been anything he wanted, and he chose to work for the Foundation. He sacrificed a career in the limelight of the scientific world in order work in the shadows, helping mankind defend itself from dangers most of them will never be allowed to know even exist. He is, by all accounts, a good, noble man. in his six years working for the Foundation, he saved the lives of at least fifty of his co-workers in one way or another, and his research into various SCP objects saved countless more. He'll be dead in fifteen minutes. For all of his good intentions and talent, his contributions will ultimately have no lasting effect on the fate of the world, and like Mr. Helms, he is doomed to be forgotten, having squandered his potential.
"Squandered his potential? If this man saved even one life, he squandered nothing."
If you were someone else, Professor, I might have thought you actually believe that. You know better, however, as do I. Come, one last stop.
Downwards again. This time, the professor found himself in a long, grey corridor, lined in both sides by massive steel doors.
Site-27's containment area, the heart of the facility. Twenty three Safe level items and seven Euclid level items are stored here. A few of them are of a particular interest to our little expedition.
Following the voice, the professor entered one of the cells. Inside was a small, shimmering creature made of what appeared to be multicolored glass. A humming bird.
This creature is completely harmless in its current form. It is classified as Euclid, since what makes it dangerous is so incredibly rare. It did not choose to be the way it is, it never wanted to be so dangerous. It is an innocent bystander of its own power. Still, they keep it locked up, just in case. If you think about it, "Just in case" covers about 90% of what the Foundation does. Such a careful organization. So…prepared. Or so they think.
A small clink. The door was opened by a large man in uniform. He took a small object from his pocket and laid it on the floor next to the shimmering bird, a metal bullion.
Captain Vincent Tallow, vice-head of security. He got tired of working twelve hours shifts for six days a week for the pay he was getting, so he went looking elsewhere. He found an organization more than willing to pay him what he wanted, an organization you will soon grew much more familiar with. He thinks he'll have enough time to escape. He's wrong.
The bird noticed the bullion, and quickly started to suck it dry, as if it was a flower. The glow grew stronger and brighter, quickly becoming blinding.
Iridium, its favorite. It will eat and eat until it can eat no more and then, well…
Despite himself, the professor spoke up. "The Foundation is prepared to deal with containment breaches. It's what it's here for. You're not going to do anything with that."
No more feigned ignorance? Good, it was getting tiresome. No, I agree, one containment breech wouldn't do much. But how about two?
The sound of alarms pierced the professor ears. It came from the next cell over.
Five?
More alarms, now coming from many more cells.
Ten?
The cacophony was ear splitting.
Thirty?
The sound of alarms was now punctuated by screams.
The professor looked around him in horror. The creature burned like a miniature sun, and the steel door of its cell was beginning to melt. "You've got to stop this! You have no idea what you're doing! Do you know how much damage this could cause, how many people will die!?"
Of course I do, and that is the point of this expedition. People will die because they choose to remain powerless, to restrain their ambitions for power in order to maintain a false sense of safety, of normalcy. So many mindless phenomena like that bird can strike you down without a second thought, without a first. Do you not realize the sort of power you may posses if you only allow yourselves to wield it? I'm destroying Site-27 because I can, because I choose to. When was the last time you made a choice, O5-03, a real choice? When did any of you?
The thing knew who he was. It knew all along. "What are you?" O5-03 asked.
I am the Flame in the South, the culmination of human ambition and desire. I am the greatest of the four, that which drives forward. I am the Pulse of the World. I am not your enemy, quite the opposite. I will be your savior, if you'll only let me. I will return humanity to its proper place at the top, even if I have to drag it there kicking and screaming. And the way to humanity lies through the Foundation, as we both know.
Burrows had nothing to say to that.
I believe I left you with quite a bit to think about. It is time for you to go home.
And just like that , Burrows found himself back at his desk, piles of unfinished paperwork undisturbed. Next to them, the red phone was ringing. He had no illusions about what the call was about.
