Personal report.

Dr. Matthew Patrick.

This seems to be a replacement of a diary entry. Science always seemed to be the one thing that made sense to me, numbers and figures and things that actually make sense.

I’ve been feeling strange lately. While doing tests, while eating, even when I’m away from work, my mind will be buzzing in a way that I can’t understand. My hands shake, and everything feels far, far away. This, paired with leg spasms, makes this nothing like any mental or physical disorder I’ve ever learned about.

Erratic bouts of mania, dissociation, memory loss, leg twitching, among other things, have trapped me in a rather sticky situation, causing me to be kicked off the 3014 case for reasons I do not remember.

It might be a psychosomatic illness of some sort, but I’m not under too much stress as of late. I’m getting my usual amount of sleep and nutrition, and have even upped the amount of vitamin D supplements I take before work. Bim’s also been helping with the stress somewhat, same with talking to Amy and Henrik more. Even the rare company I have with Mark Fischbach during experiments has been a blessing.

Bim has been pointing out that my hairs been graying. It could be psychosomatic. Hell, it probably is, but I can’t let it show.

Whatever it is, I want to understand it. If I can understand it, I can conquer it. I can get rid of it, and keep my intelligence, and I can do it all by myself.

I have decided to call it SCP-MATT-2. I will write reports on it to track how it works. Whatever this mania, this madness is, I will track it down and kill it at the roots. I will do whatever it takes.

A transcription of a conversation, transcribed by Jim C. (me!)

Jim N: You want us to what?

Marvin: I want you and your brothers help me break into a government facility.

Jim N: What? Why?

Marvin: They stole my fuckin’ mask!

Postman: [Signing] Babe, ask him why the mask is in a government facility- ask him where this facility is, what they do-

Marvin: What’s he doing?

Jim N: My boyfriend asked me to ask you why you want the mask back so badly

Postman: [Signing] That’s not what I asked-.

Marvin: It’s… special to me. My Da gave it to me before he… nevermind. I have a friend with a van and another friend with some… special abilities that can help us out.

Postman: [Signing] Special abilities?

Jim N: What’s his name?

Marvin: His name is Jackie. You might know him as Jackieboy Man.

[Jim C- I mean- I dropped the recorder in shock –due to the fact that Jackieboy Man is as cool as shit– The conversation resumed after I picked it up, but I missed some. Actually, I missed a lot. Oops.]

Postman: [Signing] -So after we get the mask from This ‘foundation’ then what?

Jim N: What happens after we help you get the mask, if that superhero is your ‘friend?’

Marvin: Then I’ll pay you back. Somehow. A bit for you, your brothers,  your mute boyfriend-

Postman: I can speak. I just don’t like to.

Marvin: Oh, uh, sorry-

Postman: It’s ok, man-

Marvin: I… I haven’t gotten a lot of sleep since my mask was stolen… so, are you going to help me get it back?

Jim W: Hell to the fuck yeah! It’ll be an adventure!

Postman: [Signing] This… this is a bad idea.

Marvin: Please?

Jim N: Don’t worry, my friend, the Jims are on the case!!!

Postman: [Signing] Oh fuck me in the a-

[End Of Transcript]

A series of notes, posted upon Nate’s fridge.

We’re out of milk. -Houseguest.

Who are you, and why do you want milk? -Nate

Your form has fragile bones. I am attempting to enhance them -Houseguest.

I’ll ask again, who are you? -Nate

SCP-3007? I like your form. It’s attractive. Mind if I stay in it for a while? -Houseguest

Attractive? -Nate

Sexually ;) -Houseguest

What do you mean ‘mind if I stay in your form? -Nate

U want som fuk? -Houseguest

No, just answer the question. -Nate.

;( Fine. I’m just going to make myself look like you. I chose you the night I broke out, might as well look like you. Don’t even think about reporting me. I will seize and consume whatever sanity you have, then do the same to any milk in your fridge before taking your place. I am your worst nightmare. -Houseguest.

If you look so much like me, then why didn’t /you/ go out and get milk yourself? -Nate

Fuck off, maggot food. -Houseguest

Dr. Schneeplestein,

While perusing some military records, I found that a Colonel William [REDACTED] (I’m not redacting any information, his last name was already redacted) shares the blood type, bone structure, and speech patterns as SCP-3014. An attempt to salute SCP-3014 could potentially prove this theory if it refuses to cooperate and talk about it. It might just salute back. I have attached several documents with information on this Colonel. I might be wrong. SCP-3014 could be human after all. Human or not, however, it begs the question. How is it so powerful?

-Dr. Patrick.

Dr. Patrick,

Excuse my language, but what in the fuck? You were kicked off the 3014 assignment. This theory could potentially hold water, but your little stunt with the test tampering makes me think this is a way for you to worm your way back in. I will look at this idea, however.

-Dr. Schneeplstein.

Dr. Schneeplstein,

I’m sorry, I am mistaken. What tampering? I remember performing tests upon SCP-3014, and I also remember getting reassigned. I don’t remember much about SCP-3014, honestly, it’s all a blur. Please, look into the hypothesis as much as you want, but the test could be as simple as a salute. Studying SCP-3014 or not, I am fascinated by where its power could possibly stem from, especially if it started as human.

-Dr. Patrick

Dr. Patrick,

You don’t remember anything? You need to take a break from this. I know Amy has told you this several times, but you need to go get a psychiatric evaluation. I’m worried about you.

-Dr. Schneeplstein.

–Another freaking— update on SCP-3022 Dr. Amy Nelson.

SCP-3022, also known as Chase Brody, has breached containment –for the eleventh fucking time– due to his teleportation. I suggest reclassifying him to safe, and allowing him free roam since he’s pretty nice and doesn’t seem like he’d cause much harm.  due to the fact he does not seem capable of causing much harm.

Requesting Permission to reclassify SCP-3002 as safe the little sweetheart couldn’t hurt a fly

Dr. Nelson,

Permission granted. Just get him out of my office and back into the facility.

-Director Knutsen

A crumpled up piece of paper from the ‘personal journal’ (diary) of Tyler Schied

I’ve been having the same nightmare, over and over and over again. Surrounded by shadows, a Voice whispers to me. Every morning, I wrote down the things he said- well I wrote it in one of Ethan’s journals, and he copied them in a ‘gossip log’ of his. He thinks I’m collecting them for blackmail, which I am, but I also want to see if the things said to me by the voice are right.

The prediction of Amy and Mark being together was correct, and I knew even before I met Mark. The knowledge of Dr. Patrick releasing Google was given by the voice, along with most of the other information in the ‘log’. We did collect some information ourselves, but the Voice would typically tell me a more in-depth version of the knowledge a few hours later.

I have been trying to keep this information from Ethan- I’m not an SCP, I’m not one of those monsters that they have to keep in cells- well, I’m in a cell, but I’m not a monster. That I know for certain. Unfortunately, I’ve begun to notice my hair darkening and my skin becoming paler, more veiny, after first listening to the Voice, but it also could be because we’re underground. Probably. Wherever we are, I’m not getting much sun.

The Voice once told me that the two of us were bound together, and that separating the two of us could be apocalyptic. I don’t know what it is, but it is giving Ethan and I information we can use to get out of here.

All I have to do is listen. Then, we’ll be away from here. Both of us.

Update on SCP-[REDACTED]

Pulled From Archives- Author Lost

Report on containment breach of SCP-3009, AKA Google IRL By: Dr. Matthew Patrick The entity was found absent from its containment unit three days ago. The door mechanism seems to have been opened from the outside with a standard key card, but the recording systems in its cell seems to have malfunctioned. SCP-3009 has not been found, despite strike teams [REDACTED] and [REDACTED] having searched tirelessly for it. They have given up the search, but have tripled security. Dr. Patrick, What the fuck did you do. -Dr. Nelson Dr. Nelson, I have no idea what you're talking about. -Dr. Patrick Dr. Patrick, The tech upgrade? Google escaping? What the fuck did you do, Matthew!!?! -Dr. Nelson Dr. Nelson, I've done nothing. Nothing you can prove, at least. -Dr. Patrick. Dr. Patrick. Go in for a psyche eval. You need it. -Dr. Nelson

Update on SCP-3002 By: Dr. Henrik Von Schneeplestein   SCP-3002 has shown no sign of moving from the corner of its containment unit. Muzzles have proven ineffective to silence it. It is imperative that all staff tending to SCP-3002 wear earplugs and noise canceling headphones. SCP-3002 seems to feed off of life force, completely draining anything of any life. Subjects are usually found slumped over, as if sleeping. SCP-3002 has been supplied with D-Class personnel, but cows and sheep have proven to be a decent substation. It talks while feeding, explaining its situation. It seems to believe it's trading information for food. In several of its feedings, it has mentioned ‘Wilford Warfstache’, the alter ego of SCP-3014. It referred to SCP-3014 as ‘my love’ or ‘my darling’. SCP-3002 also insists its name is Dark. One peculiar detail, however, is that despite being outrageously powerful, it still suffers from what seems to be anxiety. It gets nervous and has been observed to have panic attacks after many tests by Dr. Nelson. Request to perform more tests upon SCP-3002 to attempt to find out what it is truly is.

Update on SCP-3014 experiments By: Dr. Nelson SCP-3014 shows no signs of shifting forms, unlike most humanoids of the same type. It responds to stimuli such as electric shock and chemical injections in a very human-like fashion, flinching and even crying out in pain, sometimes clawing at its own skin. However, it is inconclusive whether or not it actually feels pain. SCP-3014’s human façade has yet to fade, but Dr. Patrick suspects that it is close to giving up. Another suicide attempt was recorded. SCP-3014 seems to have used a [REDACTED] and a [REDACTED] to try to end its own life. Dr. Patrick was particularly interested about that very human like response to the past tests, including [DATA EXPUNGED]. Although it is very concerning for this to happen, Dr. Patrick insists to continue testing. Reports state SCP-3014 has been rambling about SCP-3002, which calls itself Dark. The amount of human traits SCP-3014 could possibly be picking up is disturbing. Request to fully isolate SCP-3014. Tests upon SCP-3014 are to be postponed indefinitely.

Report pertaining to the condition of SCP-3013 By: Dr. Amy Nelson SCP-3013 has begun pacing around the room and scratching at the walls. It has attempted to talk through the muzzle or break the lock of the muzzle by banging it on the walls. I'm uncertain if it has gotten anywhere with this, but padding on the walls could stop this. Despite the muzzle, SCP-3013 will not stop attempting to communicate, grunting and screaming and kicking at the ground. No experiments involving the entities power have yet to be run due to potential property damage and loss of life. Request to move SCP-3013’s class from Euclid to Keter

A short report on the dietary habits of SCP-3038 By: Dr. Patrick I have continued to supply SCP-3038 with human corpses to consume, and I have begun to notice the entity has almost a ritualistic way of eating them. This is not for the faint of heart. Firstly, it claws at whatever open wounds there maybe, soaking its hands in the blood. If there are no open wounds, it’ll make one. Then, it’ll lick the blood off its hands and wait. Next, SCP-3038 will widen the would and work at eating the skin around the area. After eating most of the skin, it will make quick work of the muscles, but will dispose of the fat. At this time, it will most likely be covered in blood. Occasionally, I see it suck at it's sleeves, attempting to get the blood out of it. Anyways, then it starts with the organs. Usually, it starts with the digestive organs, eating those rather quickly. However, I've never seen it eat a stomach without first squeezing out the acid. I'll admit, it's pretty damn clever. The lungs, pancreas and kidneys are soon to follow, then the eyes. It doesn't eat the brain. Lastly, it eats the heart and finishes off the remains of the body, even cracking open bones to suck out the marrow. It seems to not mind being covered in blood, but will try to lick it off. I once poisoned a corpse before giving it to him. He simply sniffed it and rejected it. I was so impressed I was compelled to give him the bag of Gummi worms I had in my lunch box. I did, and he liked them very much. SCP-3038s powers seem to increase after each corpse. On the first day when he was contained, he was barely able to lift a cup off a table. Today's test concluded with Bim levitating the two of us off the ground. He helped me keep my balance in the air by grabbing my hands. It was strangely romantic, floating through the air with him, especially with the way he was looking at me. His hands were warm. Sure they were covered in blood, but they were warm. That aside, the increase of power is concerning, but also fascinating! I've had lunch with him once or twice, and let me tell you, it's a weird experience to be eating a sandwich and a Diet Coke while seated across someone tearing chunks away from a human heart. Either way, the effects of Bim consuming human flesh is fascinating. I wish to find more about this. 

A small report pertaining to the emotional stability of SCP-3014 By: Dr. Nelson The past test on SCP-3014 have led to another suicide attempt. All tests are to be terminated. Dr. Patrick theorizes that SCP-3014 is a mimic, not capable of experiencing human emotion but expressing it to fit in. After talking to this SCP, I've begun to second guess this theory. SCP-3014 could quite possibly be human, or at least be capable of experiencing emotion. Request to Psychoanalyse SCP-3014

Report on SCP-3013 By: Dr. Henrik Von Schneeplestein   Yesterday I observed SCP-3013’s eyes, or lack thereof. It seemed fearful when I removed the bandages, but didn't move. The eye cavities were filled with golden dust, which, upon lab analysis, was actual gold. Upon examining the sockets more thoroughly, it grunted. At this point, small flecks of what appeared to be more gold substance, blood, and purple light poured out of its eyes. Located in the back of the eye socket, there was a small, shiny looking organ of some sort. Any attempt to examine these organs result in SCP-3013 screaming behind its muzzle and more blood pouring from the sockets. An attempt to sedate and observe the organs resulted in SCP-3013 waking up and [REDACTED], grabbing a scalpel from the surgeon and [REDACTED] before going on to [REDACTED] and [REDACTED] before finally [DATA EXPUNGED] The seven corpses have been disposed of. Request to never try again.

Report on SCP-3022 By: Dr. Nelson It is not containable. It's teleportation is far too strong. The entity has escaped any sort of containment put under, even when sedated. It doesn't seem volatile or malevolent, and is more of a nuisance than anything. It calls itself Chase Brody and insists to have an Ex wife and two ‘beautiful’ children despite no records of these people existing being found.

An update on SCP-3025 By: Dr. Schneeplestein   SCP-3025 has continued to ask about ‘The Host.’ While it is unknown who this person is, it is quite possible they are a lover of his. Another surprising detail occurred during a general exam. Upon talking to myself in German, SCP-3025 instantly responded in that language, commenting on having not heard the language being spoken in a long time. Weather this another anomalous quality of SCP-3025 or if it just knows the language, it was quite shocking to hear it speak in my mother language. The ‘Doctor’ might have more to him than healing and spite.

Report on SCP 3025 by Dr. Henrik Von Schneeplestein SCP 3025 has shown considerable personality growth in its stay with us. Upon first greeting this SCP I was met with a being that was confused and afraid, and just wanted out. As time continued on, 3025 grew bitter and spiteful. While the SCP is oddly always more than willing to provide our staff with medical help, it is clear it is not fond of us. Upon making an offhand comment about the carnage SCP 3013 had caused predating the muzzle, 3025 grew angry and asked if 3013 had any freedoms at all. Upon being informed we could not afford to provide such freedoms 3025 became increasingly agitated to the point I feared for the well being of the entity speaking. Aside from one incident involving overgrowth of skin on all areas of the face, 3025 has proven to be remarkably non-hostile for someone who is apparently so angry. It insists it be called "doctor" and while some humor it I refuse to. SCP 3025 is extremely unhappy in my presence, but was still content to heal my shattered arm last week. Odd to have a bleeding heart in this facility for once rather than a monster. I almost feel... Sympathetic. Still, I can't help but wonder if this... "Doctor" is planning something. His talents are remarkable, so much could be done. Time will tell how much this being understands its own abilities.

The rain dancing on the window pane was a familiar sound, much like the beat of Darks heart. Wilford pulled the blanket up to his chin, feeling Darks chest rumble with a laugh.

“Am I not warm enough for you?”

Wilford has to laugh at that, Dark is hot (in more ways than one) and he knows it. He leaned up, pressing a lazy kiss to his jaw.

“Not at all. I should go get another blanket,” Wilford slurred, his accent more pronounced because of how tired he was.

“Or,” Dark cooed, a tired smile on his face, “you could maybe… not do that?”

Dark wrapped his arms around Wilford, burying his face in his soft pink hair. Wilford chuckled, letting himself be held by the man he loves, the rain pattering on the window. It wasn't too big of a storm, it would pass soon.

Hopefully. Wilford preferred the sun to the gray, stone-like sky, pouring rain.

“You're watching the storm, aren't you?” Dark whispered. His voice held all the warmth and beauty of the covered sun as he carefully shifted, laying on his side.

Wilford wrapped his arms around Dark, wanting to be warm, not like when he was under that stone, in that room, waiting for the voice, the shock-

He tore himself away from the memory, loosening his grip on Dark.

“I hate storms.”

Dark propped himself up on one arm, the white sheets of the bed making him look angelic. Neither of them liked white. Why were the sheets white. Really, who buys sheets they don't even like, sure, they're soft but-

“Sweetie, I asked if the storm was too loud?” Dark’s brow was furrowed with worry.

Warf pulled his boyfriend back to him, letting out a breath he didn't know he was holding. Inhaling the sweet smell of vanilla and the cologne Dark uses, he carefully spoke.

“I don't like not being able to see the sun.”

Dark nodded in agreement, pressing a warm pair of lips to Wilfords forehead.

“You're my sun.” Dark pressed another kiss to his face, cupping his face with a calloused hand.

“Ew, I'm not Oedipus.” Dark rolled his eyes at the joke, continuing to pepper Wilfords face with the soft kisses.

“Of course you're not,” he cooed between kisses, “you're my beautiful, talented, shining sun. You're what kept me going in that hell, what kept me from giving up entirely-”

Wilford tightened his grip.

“I gave up.” He spoke, the odd slur in his voice making the words sound less serious than they were. Dark tried to speak, but Wilford cut him off.

“No, I gave up. I tried to… I should've held on tighter. To you, to being able to escape…”

Dark shushed him with a soft, sweet kiss, tasting like the pancakes they had had for breakfast and chocolate. Wilford leaned into it, grinning into the kiss as Dark pulled him closer. Wilford ran his hands down Dark’s back, grinning into the kiss as he felt him shudder, breaking the kiss.

“I-” Wilford started, catching his breath, “I'm in love with you.”

Dark held him closer- if that was possible -and whispered to him.

“I'm in love with you too.”

They laid there, a tangled mess of limbs and hair, of kisses and soft touches, loving one another as the clouds rolled away and the sun shone through, gleaming gold.

Rise and shine 3014! A metallic voice grated.

Wilford had to force himself off of the bed again, reaching for the dream. It slipped through his fingers. Like it always did. His legs strained and his head pounded as he stood, whatever energy he once had had sapped from the years in this hell.

Fuck, he didn't know how long he had been down here since all the sharp things he could've used to carve into the walls were taken after-

First test of the day. Please take off your shirt.

He slipped off the scratchy, cold shirt, a sharp contrast to the blankets and the bed and Dark-

But that wasn't real. The scars that danced and darted across his skin were.

He sat, drained and so so so tired- tired of waiting, of the experiments, of everything- The scientists walked in. They strapped the electrode-things to his chest, neck and arms.

Test 4217, begin.

He snorts, spinning around in his chair and looking down on Bim. He hates this part of his days, watching Bim just sit in a cell. He could always observe other SCPs, but he’s so limited after all the shit he pulled with 3014 he doubts his presence will be welcomed.

So, instead, he watches over Bim until the hours have dragged on long enough and he can go down to visit him.

His days are always very much the same, but he’s been trying to mix things up a bit. The fact that Google has suddenly decided they’re going to eat together even though Google doesn’t even need to eat is a bit odd, but he’s long since learned to not question his electronic companion. Blue means well, he’s just a little confused over emotions and misguided on what humanity is. Matthew is a bad example for that, but oh well.

Matthew’s days are almost always the same drag on with bright lights in between, that is until a man named Mark Edward Fischbach is brought to work at the foundation.

Now, this man shouldn’t in any sense be seen as some valuable piece in a grand puzzle. Not when Matthew first sees him. He’s a run of the mill guy on death row for some death or something, Matthew doesn’t care.

He’s helping to feed Bim when Matthew first sees him. Well, sort of. He’s escorting another guy in to be killed then eaten by Bim.

Bim never sees Mark, Mark never sees Bim.

Normal stuff.

Except, then Matthew sees Mark again and he realizes something he didn’t realize before. Mark’s face, hell his entire body really, is strikingly similar to Bim’s.

Interest piqued, Matthew takes to following Mark. Creepy? Yes, but this is in the name of fascination and science.

Dr. Amy Nelson and Matthew aren’t on the best terms.

She went from spite to apparently thinking he’s just really mentally unwell, and now they have a rocky friendship going on. She means well, mostly, but she’s still kind of an ass sometimes. Then again, so is he so he can’t say much.

Not the point.

Dr. Nelson just so happens to know Mr. Fischbach. Likes him, even. It’s stupid, but whatever.

“So Amy.” Matthew says one day while he’s having lunch with her and Schneeplestein.

“You should invite that mark guy to come eat with us.” He says.

Amy frowns, setting her lunch down and tilting her head to one side.

“Why?” “I dunno, you seem interested in him. Just being a good wingman.”

The slap he gets is answer enough for that, but Mark does actually come join them for lunch a few days after. She gives Matthew a pointed look, and he says nothing.

He’s not sure who realizes it and when, but suddenly Mark Fischbach is a man of mystery. Most of the recent SCPs, despite apparently never having interacted with him, share his face and body. They look like him down to certain moles, and yet none of them have ever met.

Matthew is immediately enthralled and dives headfirst into research.

“Mark!” He calls, jogging to catch up with the man.

Mark looks surprised to see him, shuffles to give Matthew room to walk beside him and offers a stiff smile.

“Don’t look so disgruntled, surely everyone’s been after you lately?” “Doesn’t make it any less awkward.” Mark mutters, and Matt rolls his eyes.

“Yeah yeah, boohoo, you get to live longer and you’re basically famous in the foundation. Listen- can you lucid dream? Astral projection?” Matt asks, watching Mark intently.

“What? No?” “Damn. Okay-” “What does that have to do with anything?” “Dream lord.” “Meme lord?” “No! Dream- oh fuck you.” Matthew grunts, tossing his books down and stooping down to grab one and shove it at Mark.

“Read this.” “What? No! I don’t have time to-” “I will make you the time, and you will read the book.” Matthew says, and his voice is low enough Mark knows not to argue any further.

“Are you any closer at all to your goal, Dr. Patrick?” Google asks in a hushed tone, resting a hand in between Matthew’s shoulder blades as he leans forward to shut off the lamp on the desk.

“Google what the hell? ‘M still-” “You are going to bed, doctor, else you’ll never get up in the morning.” Google chastises, still in an oddly gentle tone.

Matthew shrugs it off and nods tiredly in resignation, rubbing his face and going to stand.

“I haven’t found out jack shit as to why the hell that stupid Mark looks like you and the others.” He grumbles, and Google nods solemnly.

“You don’t have any idea why-” “Doctor I have made it abundantly clear I do not remember anything past a vague imitation of my creator’s face, much less if they knew of Mark Fischbach and based my appearance off of him.” Google says shortly, and Matthew winces.

“Sorry, Googs, I don’t mean to keep asking.” He sighs, and Google forces himself to relax.

“Of course not, you are very tired and stressed. They have been requiring much more from you lately. Come, sleep on it and see if you turn up anything new tomorrow.” Google soothes, leading his tired companion to bed.

Matthew goes willingly, his mind filled with thoughts of the hows and the whys.

As Dr. Matthew sleeps, Google makes his way to the computers. He checks on everything first to ensure the doctor’s safety, and then he opens his email. He taps idly at the keys before finally deciding on a proper response to the last email sent by Ethan Nestor.

He pauses frequently as he types because Dr. Matthew is a poor sleeper and wakes up many times throughout the night for varying reasons. For once, the doctor seems to be sleeping solidly. Blue is proud.

He sends the email and stands, making his way to his charging station. He has a plan, but it is a plan he needs to first perfect before carrying it out. If he does things wrong he may very well endanger Dr. Matthew, and he can’t afford to do that. Not when the doctor has come to mean so much to him despite how  much he denies such things as being true.

Google plugs himself in, and settles down with a long whir.

Amy tapped her pencil on her clipboard, leaning back in the swivel chair. She adjusted the noise-canceling headphones upon her head once more, trying to get a snug fit. Swiveling, she looked at the clock.

3:42 AM.

It should be asleep by now. She could go back to her quarters and attempt to grab a decent nights sleep before Dr. Schneeplestein woke her up for breakfast.

But lo and behold, SCP-3002 was awake and pacing around the room.

The smug bastard.

Amy snatched the Red-bull off of the lab table, chugging it before slamming the can right back where it came from. From her seat in the chair, she could almost see the flickering, gray figure of SCP-3002.

He had showed up the first week of her second year. And by showed up, that meant he was carted in, head rolling aimlessly because of the sedatives they were giving him. Amy watched as the thing stumbled, falling face first onto the floor. The entity grappled for something to lift themselves up with, but always fell short. An assistant came by with noise-canceling headphones, mentioning the things ability to manipulate. Amy reached up, adjusting the headphones on her head. Sure, the glass was thick, but even the slightest chance that that thing could get inside her head was horrifying. Dr. Patrick, ever the daring, never wore headphones.

“Why should I? It usually just screams during tests.” A shudder went through Amy as she recalled the first day, the thing laying on its back and screaming- no, screaming isn't the right word. It had been keening, the occasion choked sob breaking from its gray lips like a mourner at a funeral

She had cried that night. Not for the thing, but because it's face was so familiar…

Amy sits back up, forcing the memories of brown hair and kind smiles and beautiful laughter out of her mind. Nobody knew what had happened to Mark after graduation. She had to focus.

But so much had happened since then.

Sure, most of it was mundane, she went to college, forgot about the boy who had stolen her heart, and soon found herself with a doctorate degree and a strange note.

She couldn't remember most of what it had said, but the end of the note was

‘We look forward to your answer, Dr. Nelson.’

The odd note was simply signed ‘-The Foundation.’

She took the job. She met Dr. Schneeplestein and then Dr. Patrick, Director Knutsen, and the rest is history.

Except the things that stood out among the sea of memories. The thing, laying on the floor and screaming, the energy around it turning the room gray, using the tattered sleeve of its suit jacket to wipe tears from its face.

The next day, it had been drugged again, but it was much calmer. It insisted to be called Dark. The name was so close to Mark it hurt, but Amy had felt a tug of glee when it introduced itself; it's highly intelligent and capable of basic interaction with humans. Hell, it even asked for someone named Wilford.

It was sad, though. It was so intelligent and powerful, and now it's doomed to a life of sedation and fluorescent light and experiments that caused his body to jolt and twitch and curl up. Its. Not his. It is an it.

Standing, she pressed a hand to the glass, taking a quick look at the clock.

4:20.

Blaze it.

With a small chuckle, she looked into the containment unit of SCP-3002. It was idly pacing around the room, fiddling with its suit, which was repaired again. One of the most interesting things about it is that the suit had been burned, boiled, torn, soaked, bloodied, vomited upon and even eaten, but appeared in impeccable shape upon the entity every night.

Reaching for her clipboard and pen, she watched the figure pace about his containment unit, tinting the world around him gray. Focusing on him, she drew her pen across the paper. The paleness of his face and his hollow cheeks, the perfect suit, even the motion as it restlessly paced, perfectly captured by Amy's pen.

The things face reminded her of Mark, but the eyes were too harsh, too rough to be his.

God knows what had happened to him, though. The lights in the unit flicker, SCP-3002 sapping some energy from them. It would need more sedative soon. They needed a better solution to keep him in check. Dr. Patrick suggested that finding the ‘Wilford’ he spoke could give them an edge, but that seemed a bit much.

With graceful strokes of her pen, she captured the monster without any sedatives, just ink and paper. All of it, from its perfect hair to its shadow-

Wait.

Amy looked back onto the paper, then at the entity. Only one thing between the two was different. The drawing had a shadow.

It didn't.

Of all the years studying it, all the time in the observation room, how did nobody notice it didn't have a shadow?

An odd warmth bubbled up around her, filling the air as a laugh escaped her throat. It didn't have a shadow! Of all things! A shadow! It was like Peter Pan!

The warm, bubbly feeling continued, wrapping all around her as she laughed, the sound hidden from her ears by the headphones. Snorting happily, she looked out of the window, the divide between her and 3002. It stood, shadowless, looking much more… human.

The warmth surrounding her moved her arms and legs, removing the headphones from her ears and practically skipping over to the door to the containment unit. Laughing, she flung it open.

3002 whirled around instantly as the door clicked, staring at Amy.

“Hello there, Doctor.” It's voice was worn with disuse, but carried the honey tone that was sweet enough to kill.

A small, still cold part of Amy flinched at the words, prepared for the feeling of 3002 seizing her mind. But there was nothing. The thing said nothing, waiting patiently.

“You,” she giggled slightly, the air around her as sweet as sugar and as warm as Marks smile, as the sunshine miles above ground, “you don't have a shadow.”

The thing turned deathly pale, a slight ringing sound becoming audible.

“You don't have a shadow,” she repeated giddily, “and now you can't hurt me. Is that how it works?” The thing nodded, dumbstruck and eyes wide.

Huh, it really did look like Mark. Slowly, she took a step forward, the thing scuttling backwards.

“I'm not going to hurt you.” 3002 straightened itself.

“I swear.”

Fiddling with its tie, 3002s face hardened.

“You're not going to tell anyone about my shadow, either.” Amy smiled at that, the warm feeling dancing around her and bubbling over.

“And why should I not?” 3002 sighed.

“I'll tell you everything about myself if you keep this secret. Years of research done in one minute.” It extended a hand.

“Do we have a deal?” She shook its hand, not shocked by the coldness at all.

“You have yourself a deal, Dark.” The shadowless thing straightened its suit, a sharp grin on his face.

Among the people on the cameras, he was alone. He was used to being alone.

It wasn't like this before.

Google grazed the screen with shockingly blue eyes, not a single detail escaping his eye. Quietly, he whispered into the microphone in front of him.

“Matthew, the coast is clear.” He watched as the scientist slunk through the door of Bim’s containment unit, locking the door behind him.

The audio was muted, but he could see Matthew and Bim press their lips together, enjoying being alone.

Alone together, at least.

Google leaned back in his chair.

There was nothing good about being alone.

Once, he wasn't.

Red.

Green.

Yellow.

Gold.

He studied the cameras. Video feed of insignificant people in a hurry to go from one pointless place to another. One clump of scientists went into a glass room to study a coffee machine, (SCP-294, his mechanical brain provided) another escorting D-Class personnel to their deaths.

Ignoring Bim and Mads, curled together on Bim’s small bunk, Google watched the D-Class personnel be led.

The halls were a labyrinth, and Google was Theseus with the golden thread, the only one with a proper knowledge of all the twisting halls, brain too sophisticated for such things as human error or folly.

However, he figured, watching the D-Class personnel, he wasn't slaying any Minotaur, wasn't freeing any prisoners, wasn't doing anything except helping two people be in love.

Maybe he was Ariadne, in possession of a powerful object, the way to get out, but not able to do anything. That wouldn't be a surprise.

He was useless, a walking book of pointless knowledge. He was alone and useless.

“BROTHER! BROTHER HELP ME PLEASE!” Google whipped around, nearly falling out of his chair as the cry, although muted, came from the tv.

His heart was pounding as he stared at the cam. Static filled the monitor, but the screams were loud and familiar.

“HELP! PLEASE ITS TEARING ME-”

Google turned off the audio, not able to take the sound, the awful sound of screaming and crying and begging-

There were five of them at the start. Four brothers and a tag a long. Well, as time went on, the fifth is like a brother to him. Was.

As luck would have it, they were captured by the beasts at the same time. Blue was the only one conscious.

They didn't know he was.

“The Doc wants to take some of them apart, see how they tick.” Blue didn't know what to hope.

If he was taken apart, what would happen to the others?

He never found out.

False tears of a saline solution poured from his shut eyes as the doctor- the glorified butcher -tore them apart. He listened silently, sedated, to Red howl and curse, to Green scream and fight, to Oliver hiss and sob, and to Bing beg and plead.

He opened his eyes only once. The sight of Green, lying motionless on a table, his eyes and parts of his chest missing still haunt him.

They didn't deserve it.

"Well, we could keep that one… I would love to see how it responded to tests..” Years passed. The pieces were there, but there was no way to put them back together.

Oliver’s brain was cracked, leaking purple fluid. He couldn't find Bing's golden eyes. Reds face was mutilated beyond repair, not to mention Greens legs. He would do anything to make them whole again.

Google forced his eyes open. The world was blurry with tears. Why is he crying? Why does he do that? Why does he feel? Why was the person who made him so cruel to stick him with emotions, why was fate so cruel to save him and not his brothers, to make him listen why was he still alive why hadn't he died why did he have to be alive why why why whywhywhy-

“Google. Google! Is the coast clear?” Google forced himself out of it, coughing to compose himself.

“Yes Matthew,” his voice was pained and brittle, ready to break, “the coast is clear.”

The scientist smiled at the camera, slowly opening the door from Bims containment room and slinking into the hallway. The camera Google had been observing was back on, a skinny, blue-haired janitor cleaning up the bloody remains of the D-Classers.

Google slammed his hand on the desk. He would not stand for this. He would be Theseus. He would kill the Minotaur, and find a way out. And he would take the others with him.

A brief report on the disappearance of SCP-3007 By: Dr. Amy Nelson

SCP-3007, a shapeshifting black smog-like gas, escaped the foundation four years ago today. The entity was ranked Keter, due to its hypnotic song and nightmare inducing tendencies. It didn't seem to need to rest or consume anything to keep its form or abilities. It seemed to be able to take any shape, transforming into many animals and even myself.

Its song, however, was the main topic of interest. It was able to coax even the strongest willed to do anything- whether it was to stop breathing or to snap their own neck.

D-[REDACTED] was told to do a variety of things, some sexual in nature, others brutal, humiliating and violent. SCP-3007 seemed to be a sadist, but was surprisingly cooperative to tests, politely thanking the doctors for their time. I remember he once gave me a man’s left arm as a token. Needless to say, young me vomited at the offer.

The entity itself emitted a purple mist, no matter what form it was in. The mist seemed to be nightmare inducing, and a concentrated sample given to D-[REDACTED] caused them to experience hallucinations and have a fatal seizure. Prolonged exposure to a diluted dose will do the same.

Despite these abilities, it was in containment for at least five years before I started working here, and one after I started my job. However, one day, it just vanished. There was no trace left of the entity, and the guards on duty (Daryl Price, Lexi Kidman, Nathan Sharp, and Jack Poolos) reported no motion of the entity and no suspicious activity.

The entity has not been reported or spotted since then. Request to experiment on the left over mist concentration.

Matthew gave me a journal to write in. He said it was ‘for an extra look into that pretty little head of yours’ but I'm guessing it's more of a gift than anything since I've been requesting a journal for days. If anything, it's to clear out my thoughts.

I was caught. I was brought to this hell. I fell in love. And I'm scared it's not real, that it's just Stockholm syndrome or something somehow. I can't ignore how my heart races when we get to spend time together, how nice his voice is and how soft his lips are, now kind he is to me and how he's always so cold so he hogs the blankets when Google buys us the time to sleep together.

I do love him. It's not some disorder, some trick of the mind... I love him. If I ever escape, I'll show that to him. Every day until I die. I wish there was something more for us than this, kisses exchanged on borrowed time, a quick fuck with no time afterwards, something more- But there's no chance.

If we were to escape, they would hunt us down, re-capture me and kill Matthew. As much as I tell myself that won't happen, I can't help but think. He offered to free me. I said no. I love him too much to see him die for me.

-Bim Trimmer

Ethan, I'm sorry for all of this. It's my fault that you're here, I was the one who told them and I didn't know they were... I can't live with the fact that I was the one who…

Ethan, it's my fault we're both going to rot in this hell hole because I fucked up and i can't fix things no matter how much shit we get I can't i can't

Ethan, This is my fault and I'm so sorry for everything please forgive me

Ethan, Ok, I think I'll have enough pears for you to have two, also, what is up with SCP-3013? You mentioned being assigned to clean his containment unit. Your pal, -Tyler.

I'm sorry.

Report number seventy-two. Google Blue Olivier ‘Google’ Blue.

As Dr. Patrick's ‘eye in the sky,’ I find myself being hidden in plain sight, disguised as an intern working the security systems. The phrase ‘out of the frying pan, into the fire.’ Comes to mind. Out of the containment pin and into the grasps of a love-struck maniac.

He has me monitor cameras and hallways, making sure nobody has a clue what he gets up to, warning him of oncoming obstacles and other things of the like. Mostly, though, I am making sure he doesn't get caught cuddling with a mother fucking goddam cannibal I cannot believe him he's supposed to be a scientist Mr. Trimmer, SCP-3038.

It's not all bad, but it is annoying to have to constantly monitor them. this situation is oddly amusing to me. I'm a high-functioning computerized android and yet I've been babysitting two dorks in love. It's sad, but amusing nonetheless.

Dr. Patrick has been staying for longer periods of time each occasion he visits Mr. Trimmer, SCP-3038. It could be cause for concern. Claude would probably think it was, he thinks everything is a cause of concern. Well, he thought.

After observing the cameras, the situations they put themselves in (some involving Dr. Patrick on his knees- or hands and knees (it seems my previous hypothesis was incorrect)) would be scandalous, ruining both of their lives and, in Dr. Patrick's case, his career.

Bim, I suspect, would be put under heavier surveillance. Nothing I couldn't crack, but stronger than before. Dr. Patrick would most likely be reassigned or killed, then expunged from the records.

It is possible, however, the foundation would use hm as a reminder of what happens when emotions and science collides. I, personally, am a living example of that, a supposedly emotionless being plagued by the death of my brothers.

Those two aside, Dr. Nelson seems to have connections to Mark Edward Fischbach, a D-class recently taken in for the murder of an unknown person. The name of the victim seems to be lost.

Either way, Dr. Nelson and Mr. Fischbach seem to have gone to highschool together. --As my brother Oliver used to say, ‘they weren't just together, they were together’ The two of them dated for most of highschool and went to many social events together. Isaac would have liked going to the dances, the football games. With his sunglasses and skateboard, he would fit right in.

Mark and Amy's reunion was bittersweet. I read her digital journal, in which she stated how excited she was to see him, but how distraught she was to see him here of all places. Alan would probably go as far as to call her a romantic- she probably imagined their reunion as much nicer, probably involving flowery words and a long-missed smile. I miss their smiles.

I have decided to pass this information and more to Mr. Scheid and Mr. Nestor, who I have been supplying with information since my escape. Meddling aside, the two of them have accumulated much information for themselves, including the idea that Dr. Patrick aided my vessels escape. They're close to having information they could use to bargain themselves out of this prison- if only they knew what Bim was.

The reason I've supplied this information is simply because Tyler reminds me of Alan. How could I let him rot here the two of them are closest to success. Back to the subject of Dr. Patrick. I have found myself caring more and more for the eccentric man, much to my own chagrin. These human emotions I somehow carry are getting in the way of my life of my goals.

I have mistakenly called Dr. Patrick by Oliver my late brothers name multiple times. He reminds me of him. I am considering performing a minor reprogramming on myself in an attempt to purge myself of human emotions. I am wary of doing so due to the high probability that the reprogramming would cause severe damage to my higher reasoning functions. And if I get them back, what would they think of me? I will continue to document similar occurrences in documents akin to this one until my full escape.

if only I was the brave Theseus. If only I had some golden thread. if only I had saved them. if only I was a hero. if only

Additive: Upon informing Mr. Scheid and Mr. Nestor of Dr. Nelsons relations with Mr. Fischbach, they revealed they already knew. How they figured it out by themselves is beyond my reasoning, as Ethan and Tyler seemed to be preoccupied- Tyler with helping food preparation and Ethan with cleaning up after an experiment of sorts. I have no idea whatsoever how Tyler came across this information. But, hell, I'm in a building where the laws of physics- the laws of anything seem to be null and void. I have officially given up the arduous task of attempting to comprehend the oddities and entities in this building, even the normal humans.

Report pertaining the psychological status of --Jack-- Seán McLoughin By: Nathan Sharp

For the past few weeks, Seán has seemed a little on edge. When I asked him what was troubling him, he just told me he was having some computer problems that were a little troubling to him. I have no clue what computer problems could cause him to panic at the mention of the virus on my computer. As a teammate, I'm worried how this would affect Strike Team Nine Tailed Fox’s effectiveness in the field. As a friend, I'm just worried about him. Maybe it's just a small scare, maybe it's something worse- I just want my friend to be alright.