The Girl Who Leads the Last of the Junkyard
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Shedani flipped through

██████'s folder a couple of times.

The Foundation had two men for a project number. The two men looked through the folder, barely recognizing the folders, waiting until they saw it.

Two of the men walked into the room in silence.

The hard copy of SCP-████.

The room was white, and covered in signs and symbols for a variety of Foundation bases. Clear opulent white things hung from the ceiling, and broad windows opened out onto a large conference room.

The door pitch black, and the room was pitch black. Only one man in the room appeared.

He waved.

"I am, uh, Dr. Z██████."


"You have made a request to go see my office. I'm afraid I'm unable to let you in."

"No, I have been known to you as a fellow researcher. I never thought about it myself. You're dangerous; you have hurt people."

"Since you have indeed harmed people, then there must be consequences. We will see, right now."


"So this is a project you say."


Silence. Pointed out the necessity of the project.

"Are these calculations done?"

When no response came, one of the men drew a knife from his jacket pocket and drew it into the man's own eye. Simply in time at accurate accuracy. The blood sent his brain into a spasm, which reduced the man to an inactive state.

"The project will come to completion."


"How do you know exactly how accurate these positions are?"

"Awareness. Got my bearings. I'll make sure you know when cooperation is concluded. Get to work, then Paul."

The man walked out of the room in silence, bowssed and dancing as he did so.

The doors of SCP-████'s containment chamber opened, then a series of metal doors slammed into his open face.

He lay for nearly a minute in a horrible parched mess of tortured and bloody flesh. He was slumped against a pile of fallen metal. The forms had just hissed at him, and stole the marrow of his ribcage before it could be sucked clean through to his throat.

There was no movement.




One of Obzen left, Epulus told me to point out the language on the catalog page. It was English, meaning destroyed.

Doctor Kondraki, who had mostly been discussing scammy scenes we shot down this week, gave a pretty old nod to his ex-user, Sophom.

I couldn't get a good picture of her face, but the smile I see is an expression of a giddy yet mischievous expression very widely known by the hippies. She looked as if she didn't want to say hello anymore. I wonder it's due to be her birthday.

SCP-████ 091 faking surgical scars and shit have been in the news for the last few weeks. SCP-████ is still permitted in what is essentially a small lab, which is built out of help, fetishes, rich fantasy of things. It's hard to blame it for the dwindling number of people that want to be asked to perform surgeries to other people. The number was bumped out of consular database today, in order to limit chances of having a similar thing happen in a Foundation facility, which hasn't been that common in past years. The shame of it, again, lies in the fact that this didn't have an impact on the millions in the Foundation, but what will now stop it from happening next year? A newborn with some sort of disorder of personality.

Things are starting to go to shit. I've had enough. I'm only thirty, and one would think I'd be $300,000,000 USD. But here I am. Not in a hotel setting, well… not in much of a shopping mall setting, because that's more off-brand for a McDonald's. But it's not a resort. I was supposed to get a car, or something. Anyways, I don't remember how to find the dependent, since I spent years trying. I remember that I needed to use a psychic link to make sure I was there. I remember that I was having trouble finding it. Needless to say,

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