SCP-7000 : The Loser

On 7 July 2022 webcrawler I/O LORENZ reported unusual behaviour from RANDOM.ORG, an online number generation service serving as a bellwether for changes in universal probability. Computers can only generate pseudorandom values due to the inherent predictability of programming code; RANDOM.ORG circumvents this by converting natural atmospheric radio noise, achieving true randomness. I/O LORENZ issues daily requests for ten random numbers between one and ten, one and one hundred, and one and one thousand as an early warning signal for probability collapse. The results for 6 July 2022 had been as follows:

9, 2, 6, 8, 10, 4, 7, 7, 5, 10
83, 66, 32, 58, 34, 29, 91, 8, 56, 54
37, 190, 581, 848, 63, 767, 166, 668, 564, 932

The results for the following day were as follows:

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10
1, 20, 30, 40, 50, 60, 70, 80, 90, 100
1, 200, 300, 400, 500, 600, 700, 800, 900, 1000

Meteorological investigation revealed that all atmospheric noise, regardless of weather conditions, now produces non-random numbers in discernable sequence. I/O LORENZ immediately activated a brute-force redirect from RANDOM.ORG's number generator to itself, and began generating pseudorandom numbers for public consumption until the anomaly could be identified and contained. The Emergent Threat Tactical Response Authority and the Analytics Department were informed, and the latter quickly generated the following list of statistically-unlikely events occurring on the same date testifying to a rapid and widespread ontokinetic event.

Infiltrator belonging to GoI-003 (the 'Chaos Insurgency') captured whilst engaged in a series of cryptic acts at Area-150. Infiltrator possessed a partial 'Step Compilation', an operational overview prepared by the Insurgency's chief operative (the 'Engineer') from data provided by an enigmatic stochastic prediction device (the 'Engine'). Step 22/617 suggested travel between two structures via a tarmac path; infiltrator interrupted by the sudden onset of a violent storm, and knocked unconscious by a large hailstone.

Subject detained, interrogation underway. As the Engine's master plan and ultimate goal are never made clear to any individual insurgent, it remains possible that this was the desired outcome.

Sudden and wholesale collapse of all extant cryptocurrency markets.

None taken; event fully consistent with long-term probability models.

SCP-179 expressing obvious confusion, identifying threats in eight directions corresponding to the cardinal compass points — though the relationship is purely visual, as SCP-179 is located not on Earth but in close proximity to the heliosphere.

Due to the prohibitive expense of replacing solar probes after mishap, no attempt made to communicate directly with SCP-179 until stable probability restored. Area-08-C monitoring remotely.

Repeated eruption of the 'Old Faithful' cone geyser in Yellowstone National Park, every thirteen minutes — deviating from a bimodal pattern of approximately 65 or 91 minutes followed since at least 1870.

Evacuation of the area and implementation of a scientific cordon to disguise parascientific investigation.

Uncorrelated yield curve shifts of multiple low-yield investments by anomalous insurer Goldbaker-Reinz Insurance Group Ltd., adjusted book value now in the hundreds of millions of dollars USD.

Goldbaker-Reinz representatives respond to all inquiries with the following: "We would be pleased to discuss these unforeseen (by you) developments in person, should you wish to trigger an early review of your policies at this time." No action taken; investments crash the following day, erasing all gains made. G-R representatives unresponsive to further inquiries.

The Emergent Threat Tactical Response Authority declared a state of emergency on 8 July. The O5 Council granted ETTRA amnesty powers over staff with undeclared anomalous conditions, to encourage self-identification; unaccounted-for ontokinetic or thaumaturgical factors could theoretically complicate scenario mitigation efforts.

Multiple staff members at Site-43 came forward for anomalous classification over the following week. The last was Dr. William Wettle, interviewed on 13 July.

Interview Log

Officer of Record: Dr. D. Sokolsky (Deputy Director, ETTRA)
Subject: Dr. W. Wettle (Replication Studies, Site-43)

They've got you doing interviews now? Something happen to the people-persons?

Every able body's got an obligation to help if they can, pal. We're facing an all-hands-on-deck crisis.

Are those getting closer together, or is it just me? I swear we had one only last year.

Okay, I'm gonna skip the boilerplate and level with you. We're extremely busy, what with the world having found a fun and creative new way to end, so don't waste my time. I know you're a time waster, and a hypochondriac to boot, but give it to me straight and simple so I can dismiss it out of hand: what anomalous condition do you think you possess?

I'm unlucky.

Jesus Christ.

No, honest. I'm extremely unlucky. Good things don't happen to me, period. Game-changingly bad things don't happen to me either. I'm stuck in a cycle where nothing I do turns out right.

This is a walk-in clinic for closeted reality benders, you realize that? I'm a disaster response coordinator, not a therapist.

You're not listening. I'm in charge of replication studies, yeah? Well, I've done replication studies on myself.

What you do in the privacy of your room—

Fucking listen, alright? Or you know what… let me just…

<Dr. Wettle reaches into his labcoat pocket and produces, in slow sequence: three large pieces of pocket lint, a plastic bottle cap, a labcoat button, a pushpin (with the point piercing his thumb) and a Canadian quarter. He sucks on his thumb for a moment, then places the quarter on top of it.>

Gonna call it in the air.

<Dr. Wettle flips the coin.>

Heads.

Who puts gum on a ceiling tile?

Alright, doesn't matter. Think of a number between one and ten.

Okay.

Ten.

No.

Three.

No.

Five.

No.

One.

No.

Nine.

No.

Eight.

No. Come on.

Three.

You said three.

Four.

No.

Two.

No.

Six.

No.

Seven.

No. I mean, yes. Jesus. That was entrancing.

Let's do it again.

Let's not. You have any other data?

<The coin lands on Dr. Wettle's head. He reaches up to remove it from his hair; it is stuck, as the gum is still attached. He sighs.>

Coin flip records going back twenty years. I've never called it correctly.

Never?

Never. And this?

<Dr. Wettle gestures at his hair.>

This is my whole life, has been since I don't know when. Every decision I make is a mistake. Everything that can go wrong, does go wrong. I've been exposed to so many batshit anomalies that they stopped bothering with the one week E-class quarantine. I've been kidnapped by VKTM so many times I've lost count. I've got no agency, I've got no control. Everybody else moves forward, and I stand still because my foot is stuck between the train track boards. I'm a negative probability sink.

Does it affect other people?

I think it can. I make my staff run through a few periodic exercises to reset their luck, which seems to protect them from the backwash. I was going to write a paper about it. I thought I'd have to write from a containment cell.

Yeah, about that. Why are you sharing this now? You could've kept it secret indefinitely. Folks around here think you're just a clumsy idiot; I thought I had experimental proof you're just a clumsy idiot.

Because if this kind of shit is getting worse, random stuff not being random anymore, predictable stuff going haywire, I'm liable to get pasted by a bus the moment I walk out the topside elevator.

Buses don't run around here.

With my bad luck and our bad luck combined, they might make an exception.

Hmm. Well… wait a second. You said you've been keeping records.

Yeah.

Any change in the past week?

Nope. Every call goes wrong. Every single one.

Every single one.

Yeah. Why?

There are one hundred and thirty-six probabilistic anomalies on record. You just became the one hundred and thirty-seventh.

Yay me. So what?

For the first time in your miserable life, Willie, you're someone special.

Dr. Sokolsky developed a tentative theory to explain the above, rejecting some of Dr. Wettle's conclusions out of hand. He engaged in a short program of informal interviews, primarily with the staff of Site-43, to confirm his suspicions.

You're friends with Wettle, right?

Gonna tell him, if I say yes?

No, Harry, I'm not going to go out of my way to engage Wee Willie Wettle in conversation. Think about it.

Then yeah. Sure. We're friends.

And what does that consist of?

He follows me around, I make fun of him, he eventually falls over or walks into something, and I help him get up or call the medics. We've got a kind of give-and-take thing going, where he gives me headaches and I take the piss out of him. We probably seem like an odd pair.

Not really. You kinda look like him.

What?

<Dr. Sokolsky points.>

Big head, weird beard. Dad glasses. No style.

Fuck off.

Bet he thinks about that a lot. "I could almost be this guy. How come he's got a better job, and more friends, and a real human wife instead of a—"

However that sentence ends, I do not want to hear it.

Point is, but for the grace of Fortuna, there go you.

I prefer to think of it as the grace of having absolutely any grace. I feel bad for him sometimes, but he lives down to his station. He's an ass.

You ever think there's anything anomalous about his blundering about?

…one or two times, maybe.

Spill.

Spill is right. My wedding, last month.

Oh, yeah. The flood.

First damn day in decades I wasn't wearing work boots.

And the other time?

…have you talked to his ex-wife?

I've never heard of Silly Crab Productions.

You will! But we're still finding our knobbly little feet, so to speak.

I guess that explains why you'd hire such a shitty expert. He ever tell you the grades he got at college? They only let him in his PhD program because my father was a donor.

Wettle's a bit of a donor too, isn't he? If you get my drift.

Villar stares at Dr. Sokolsky for a moment, then bursts out laughing.

Alright, that was good. You've got five minutes.

Terrific. So yes, we're doing a background check on him. Want to know if there's any skeletons in the closet, so the company doesn't get embarrassed when some paparazzo digs up an old Tweet.

Doubt he uses Twitter. He's all thumbs in everything else, but all pinkies with electronics.

That's good, I'll have to remember that one. But how about his character? What kind of man was your ex-husband?

He was a selfish, worthless piece of shit, Mr. Vasilyev. And I doubt he's improved much since.

Wow. Not exactly the answer I was hoping for. Care to clarify?

When he accidentally dropped my Nikon off Niagara Falls on our honeymoon, I kept my cool. When he faceplanted into my father's cake on his seventieth birthday, I took it in stride. When I had to get a second job because he'd accidentally showed up to the wrong office for two weeks, said he'd never noticed, said nobody even told him, and he got fired? I let it slide. But the crash…

Crash?

It's not his fault. The crash was not his fault. I was driving mad — mad at him, of course, it was always mad at him, at his stupid puppydog-shat-on-the-rug face and oh-so-believable bullshit about how he didn't mean to cut the bottoms off my best jeans with our weed trimmer, it just happened, and then our house… what was I…

The crash.

Yeah. The crash. I was furious with him over… some shit, can't even remember, and I saw red — except not where there actually was red. T-boned a minivan, at speed. Lost my license, lost my car, nearly lost my job… and I lost my husband, too. The day after I got out of the hospital, he just fucking left.

Jeez.

Can you imagine? Blaming somebody for getting hurt. Couldn't handle the least amount of responsibility. I was better off without him, still am, but it sure as hell didn't feel that way at the time. Healthcare might be free in Canada, but down here it can cost you your whole life.

I understand. Rest assured, we'll be taking all of this into careful consideration in our hiring decisions.

Good. Because no matter how hard up you guys are for help, you still need someone you can trust. You'll be better off without him too.

Tell me what you think of Wettle.

Uh.

It's okay, this file is above his clearance level.

Wow. That sounds kind of… mean?

Come on, shit-talk your boss. I'm giving you a free pass here.

Yeah, I… I wasn't saying I disapprove. Being mean to the guy is a pretty natural reaction. I've never met a more inconsiderate person, you know? I don't know how many times I've caught him taking the last drop of coffee and leaving without making more.

Maybe he thinks his time is worth…

<Dr. Sokolsky laughs.>

Man, I couldn't even get through that sentence.

No kidding. But no, his excuse was even better: "If I made the coffee, you'd probably all get bean poisoning."

Bean poisoning.

Right? That's not a thing. If you're going to be a jerk, own up to it. Be a jerk about being a jerk. Don't sugarcoat it.

Yeah, no point sweetening jerk coffee. Would you characterize him as unlucky?

I'd characterize it as karma. But yeah, for sure. You'd want to ask Bast about that, though; he's made a study of it.

Bast?

<Researcher O'Conner blushes.>

Researcher LeBlanc.

Gabby thinks you've got the scoop on Wettle.

Why are you talking like a fifties newsboy?

He ever tell you about his luck anomaly?

He's come clean. To ETTRA. For the amnesty.

I kinda didn't believe that was for real? And he's a lot more cynical than me, so… he must've been really freaked out.

Does he have reason to be?

I think so. He thinks he's a bad luck magnet. Got rituals to make sure the luck doesn't rub off on anyone else.

He told me about that. Do you think it's plausible?

All I know is he's worried about it.

Your girlfriend doesn't think he worries about other people at all.

He have any problem with his employees dating?

It's only been a month, but he's never mentioned it. Why would he? He's… he can be a jackass, sure, but he's not cruel.

You actually like the guy, don't you?

Yeah. I kinda do. He's stuck in a bad pattern, and he's trying to break out of it. He's not all that bad, once you get to know him.

I've known him for twenty years, kid. Maybe you don't know him well enough. He's spent that entire time talking himself up, trying to get noticed, trying to out-do everyone around him, and it's never worked out. Now he's too old to change.

I think he has changed. He hasn't been doing any of that for months! If anything he's been avoiding attention, trying to keep under the radar. What if you've been misjudging him for twenty years?

What if he's been misjudging himself?

What's that supposed to mean?

Has his bad luck ever rubbed off on you?

How would I even measure that?

Well, would you say your luck's been bad or good since you transferred here?

I guess it's been pretty good.

Yeah, your girlfriend seems nice. Okay, Replication Studies keeps the accident logs, right? For the whole Site?

Right…

Who's logging this week?

Me, actually.

How many accidents have you logged?

Uh. None, as of yet.

Haven't put the reports in?

Haven't gotten any reports.

I'm just now hearing how that sounds.

Don't beat yourself up about it. Absent trends are the hardest to spot.

On the back of these interviews Dr. Sokolsky approached Dr. Dan ███████, Director of ETTRA, with an experimental proposal involving SCP-7000 and Dr. Wettle. The probabilistic breakdown continued to progress, with effects felt most keenly by the paranormal community.

Sloth's Pit, Wisconsin in Nx-18 ceases to operate according to the rules of narrative logic. Nx-18's prime effect being effectively probabilistic in nature — the exploitation of tropes and literary devices consistently producing desired effects — this reduces Sloth's Pit to the status of an average Midwestern American town.

Nexus occlusion measures continue in the expectation SCP-7000 will eventually be neutralized and this effect reversed. Counselling provided by Site-87 staff to affected civilians and myth-figures in the area.

Senior associate at Marshall, Carter & Dark Ltd. killed in a folding couch accident.

None taken; folding couch accidents, though uncommon, do occur 'naturally'.

Earthquake in Antarctica, the least earthquake-prone continent on Earth. Epicentral investigation uncovers a buried Chaos Insurgency Firebase, all fifty-three personnel dead of asphyxiation.

Excavation for future use.

Dr. Dan presented a brief to the O5 Council on 16 July.

We have to do something about this; it's simply not sustainable. We've got butterflies causing super typhoons in the South China Sea — and we've got the asshole who decided that would be a fun experiment in irons at Area-06. We've got black cats, mirrors and ladders changing the arcs of people's lives out there. We've had to task two .aics with sniping eBay auctions, because… I don't know if you know this, everybody always labels everything 'rare' on eBay but suddenly everything is rare, unless it should be. There were fifteen auctions for pieces of toast with Jesus' face burned into them when I got up this morning, and only three of them were faked. Procurement and Liquidation reports that EVERY agent who goes to a garage sale now comes home with a handful of anomalies. Half the kittens in the world are being born polydactyl — six or more toes on each foot — and we're going to have to brainwash the entire scientific establishment into believing some bogus argument about atmospheric factors to explain it away. That, or put a lot of cats back into the bag, and the bag into one hell of a deep dark river.

Quite the preamble. Was it worth wasting precious time you could've spent pressing us to a solution?

Yes. Absolutely. Because here's the thing about that preamble: not everything I've just told you about is strictly probabilistic. Polydactyly is a heritable mutation. Rare items for sale — not talking about the Jesus bread here — have nothing to do with random chance. Probability doesn't make valuable objects, man-made valuable objects, start existing where they didn't exist before. And hen's teeth? That just doesn't happen at all, outside of the lab.

You didn't even mention hen's teeth.

I haven't mentioned about five hundred other things, either.

But what you're saying is, this isn't actually a probability crisis.

No, it definitely is that. It just isn't entirely that. Everyone who ate that potentially deadly blowfish yesterday lived; everybody who ate it today, died. Dice come up snake eyes today, after twenty-four hours of natural sixes or twenties or whatever the max is. So many people are catching shiny Pokémon — I could explain what that is, thanks to my staff, but you don't and shouldn't care — that we've had to knock out Nintendo's online services, every fansite, and a few Reddit communities to avoid the word getting 'round. We've had to slot agents into every extant gaming commission to manipulate their numbers, or where possible just close the casinos entirely on the pretext that it's too dangerous to operate them during COVID.

Which it is.

Which it is, so that's lucky… meaning the disease will probably dry up tomorrow, and we'll need to find a new excuse! And it didn't even take in Vegas, so we had to go wackier still. Site-666 brokered a deal with the Undervegas demons to run fixed games on the Strip, to hide the fact that honest gambling — to the extent that such a thing exists — straight up doesn't work anymore. They were, I'm sure you won't be surprised to hear, thrilled to help. But that's just a Band-Aid solution, and since you're going to absolutely hate my short-but-a-little-longer-term fix, I need to make it perfectly clear that we're dealing with an extremely complex constellation of strictly probabilistic and superstitious luck effects which we're calling one anomaly for lack of a better explanation.

Alright, well, rip the Band-Aid off then. What's your terrible solution?

Every probabilistic anomaly in the SCP database is either dead as a doornail, or operating wildly outside of established parameters, as of right now. Every single one. That won't be the case when, with your permission, I update the SCP-7000 file to include Dr. William Wettle.

Who's Dr. William… Wettle? Did you say Wettle? That's a real name?

He's a low-life lifer at Site-43, you've got very little reason to know who he is. But at this time, he's potentially the most important employee we have. He just self-identified as a serial loser, and experimental data backs it up. This guy literally cannot ever catch a break, which is sad, but what isn't sad is this: he's the only probabilistic anomaly still ticking over.

You're certain?

Absolutely.

Do you know why?

Absolutely not. We haven't had the time to study him; all we have is his data to go on, and a hunch from my deputy, but! That data is extensive, Wet Willie lacks the imagination to lie, and my deputy knows his shit. As of this moment, Dr. William Wettle is the only reliable probability factor on the planet Earth.

Good lord. And what can that do for us?

On the face of it, not much. If he had good luck, well, obviously we could use that. But bad luck? We could let him get corrupted by some GoI or other, have him fuck them up with his good intentions, but that's a very limited utility in a very wide problem field.

Yes, let's not do that.

If the guy is just plain unlucky, him, personally, it's nothing better than a baseline for predictable probability.

Obviously you think it might be something more.

I do indeed. There are two theories; Wettle's own, and Dr. Sokolsky's. Here's what Wettle thinks: bad luck clings to him like an ontokinetic cloud. The universe will take any opportunity to get a cheap shot in on him. And if he gets an overload, it can bleed into his surroundings and cause chaos. This mostly fits with the observed facts.

Dr. Sokolsky's hunch goes deeper, I presume.

A lot deeper. Based on his initial interviews with Wettle's colleagues, he had the Analytics Department compare negative probability events from every facility since 7k started. Here's what they discovered: Site-43 is the luckiest place on Earth right now. They're still seeing random luck effects, but only good ones. So Sokolsky had them pull the older data, and while they're still going over everything, it looks like a general trend. Allowing for the occasional unavoidable cataclysm, Site-43 has always been one of the luckiest places on Earth. And I think that's because of Dr. Wettle.

You don't think his bad luck wears off. You think everyone else's wears off on him.

Precisely. And unavoidable, unpredictable bad luck is presently our biggest issue in dealing with the effects of 7000. We rush in to fix one problem, and encounter three more on the way. I want to use Dr. Wettle as a stabilizing agent for our spot treatments. Put together a Mobile Task Force, append him to it, and let them swoop in to save the day wherever necessary. Call it MTF Something-7000, "The Magnificent Seven" or whatever.

Not that.

No, definitely not that. Half of the Magnificent Seven die.

I'm just spitballing, Logistics can come up with something better. We'll use them for all high-value deployments where possible, to ensure success — six expert super-soldiers and one walking time-bomb. Let him wander around soaking up the bad karma, while our folks in the forces get the job done regardless of probabilistic bullshit. I call it OPERATION: BLACK SWAN.

It's nice to know you had the time to name all these things, what with the world falling apart around us.

Not giving them names would be unlucky, sir, and I'm operating on the assumption that at some point fortune will smile on us again. I have a theory about that, too, but I'd rather it not go on the record at present — don't wanna jinx myself, since, well, you know.

I'll allow it. What's your theory?

[REDACTED]

You can't be serious.

[sighing] Of course he can't. Ask him what that slide he's been pointing at the entire time is.

I'd assumed it was some sort of chaos theory… heat map projection.

I'd assumed he was going to explain it eventually.

Did I not? Sorry, it's my breakfast.

Every egg in my house has two yolks now.

The point is, this is going to affect every aspect of our lives before long. And that means I'm as serious as I've ever been in my life about potential solutions.

I think we know enough to be getting on with. We'll put your black swan to a vote; I move to accept. All in favour?

Thank you for your time. You won't regret this.

The success-to-failure ratio of that particular statement is—

—presently up in the air, like everything else. With respect, sir.

Dr. Dan and Dr. Sokolsky immediately began preparations for OPERATION: BLACK SWAN as the probability collapse continued. Captain Andrea Adams assembled five of her top-performing agents to fill out the ranks of MTF Theta-7000 ("Fortunate Sons"), and began a rigorous training period.

Despite possessing advanced survival instruction as a consequence of his existing esoteric containment duties, Dr. Wettle scored significantly lower than the previous bottom percentile on all Mobile Task Force training metrics. The acceleration of SCP-7000 phenomena nevertheless necessitated the denial of his repeated requests to be relieved of this new duty, as well as similar requests on his behalf by Captain Adams.

Steady increase in accounts of chickens born with monophyodontic dentition.

Creation of a thread on the conspiracy website Parawatch.org suggesting that the phrase "rare as hen's teeth" refers not to a scientific impossibility, but instead a hereditary mutation which the proliferation of genetically modified organisms in modern farmscapes has re-awakened. Theory saturates the globe due to predatory news aggregators within one week.

Three Chaos Insurgency infiltrators captured attempting to gain access to Site-91. Step 22/624 of their Step Compilation details an up-to-date schema of security patrols; one patrol's route significantly delayed when all five officers discover pebbles in their footwear and stop to remove them, leading to a confrontation with no Foundation casualties.

Patrols increased at all large containment facilities, resulting in eleven further captures and six terminations.

SCP-4040, namesake of Sloth's Pit, Wisconsin, transformed from a bottomless pit to a pit of variable depth.

As the only civilians aware of the pit's former nature are already residents of the Nexus, response limited to active monitoring at this time. Site-87 thaumaturges Dr. Katherine Sinclair and Dr. Montgomery Reynolds remain stationed at the pit with radio equipment and supplies for long-term occupancy.

Despite the misgivings of his Captain, Dr. Wettle was declared officially fit for combat on 30 July. Theta-7000 were deployed to attempt insertion into Firebase-5, a Chaos Insurgency facility uncovered via the accidental encoding of its location on a cognitohazardous carrier wave directed at Site-01. No previous attempt had been made to exploit this information, as the SCP-7000 effect was expected to nullify the professional advantage Foundation agents enjoy over Chaos Insurgents; it was therefore deemed the likeliest test case for Dr. Wettle as a field asset.

OPERATION: BLACK SWAN's first mission took place on 3 August.

Mission Transcript

MTF Theta-7000: ("Fortunate Sons")

• Captain Andrea Adams ("ADAMS")
• Dr. William Wettle ("LUCK")
• Agent Daria Ozols ("CHICO")
• Agent Brandon Bruce ("LEE")
• Agent Seong-Jin Han ("O'REILLY")
• Agent Nastya Koslova ("BRITT")
• Agent Murad Quliyev ("TANNER")

Sound ready.

Ready.

Ready!

Ready.

Ready.

I don't want to be here!

Ready.

All ready. Drop!

<Theta-7000 rappel to the rooftop. ADAMS, BRITT, CHICO, O'REILLY, TANNER and LEE land without incident. LUCK twists his ankle.>

Shit! FUCK!

Breach.

Breaching!

<TANNER sets an explosive on the roof as the team heads for cover behind an exterior air conditioning unit. LUCK leans on LEE for support; their helmets strike, and LUCK is momentarily dazed.>

Get down!

ADAMS pulls LUCK behind the air conditioner. LUCK stumbles and falls, losing one combat boot as the breaching charges detonate.

Get his damn boot on.

I'll do it my—

Not taking that chance. Get his damn boot on.

<LEE replaces LUCK's boot.>

All set, kiddo.

Piss off.

Positions!

Clean cut. Good work.

Thanks—

<A sudden crack appears at the edge of the aperture, and the section of roof LUCK is standing on collapses. He falls into the structure.>

Did we lose LUCK already?!

Move in! Move in now!

<Theta-7000 enter the facility via the aperture, which has not collapsed further. LEE finds LUCK sprawled on top of a presumed Chaos Insurgent, who is now unconscious.>

Guess your name means something after all.

I don't want to do this!

<Theta-7000 are standing in an access corridor. There are red flashing lights in semispherical globes on the ceiling, illuminating two rows of doors: some open, some closed. ADAMS gestures, and the team begin cautiously checking each door.>

O'REILLY?

On it.

<O'REILLY locates a wall panel, then pulls on various components until wires are exposed. He retrieves an electronic multitool from his belt, and carefully affixes the leads to it. LUCK twists his other ankle as O'REILLY checks the readout.>

Jesus fuck.

All clear ahead, Cap.

They had three different gas systems ready to go, if you can believe it. All disabled now. Got a schematic for traps ahead, too.

How many?

It's the CI, boss. Over a hundred in the next few rooms alone. I've shut down everything that triggers remotely; just watch your step and you should be fine.

Alright. Moving on, people!

<Theta-7000 proceed down the hall at a brisk pace. LUCK runs to catch up, falling flat on his face twice. The third time he turns in mid-air, landing on his back; he is unable to right himself.>

Halt!

Wired for current. How'd you miss that, O'REILLY?

Sorry, Cap. Wasn't on the schematic.

Fucking CI. Good thing it wasn't… active.

I can't see.

Cover.

<Theta-7000 take cover to either side of the door. LUCK crouches down behind LEE; both microphones capture the sound of fabric tearing.>

God dammit.

<A series of gunshots ring out, striking the doorframe. The team is positioned such that no round finds its mark.>

Dazzle!

Heads down!

<LUCK begins to sneeze again; his head is raised when the grenade detonates.>

[incoherent screaming]

Forward!

<Theta-7000 enter the next room, a wide t-junction. LUCK continues to scream, and struggles to his feet.>

I CAN'T FUCKING SEE!

<Theta-7000 subdue five Insurgents in tactical gear with minimal expenditure of ammunition. LUCK staggers along the wall behind them, occasionally walking directly into it with muffled curses.>

Where's the main breaker?

Judging by the power draw profile, probably on a lower level.

We need to find some stairs.

<LUCK walks through a door and directly into the waist-high railing of a wide, well-lit stairwell.>

OOF

<Luck pitches over the railing, and falls.>

We lost him again!

<Theta-7000 rush into the stairwell, forgoing operational caution to retrieve the asset. LUCK's belt has caught on a lower railing, and he is hanging with his pants half-down.>

I don't want to be here…

Get him loose.

<Theta-7000 explore the stairwell and attached hallway as LEE detaches LUCK's belt. LUCK falls to the floor.>

I want to go home.

Is your home child-proofed?

Suck m—

Looks like two fire teams, Cap. Stuck in good.

Which way's the breaker?

<O'REILLY quickly checks his device, then scans the halls. He points.>

Take LUCK and LEE. We'll hold them off.

I don't—

Shut the fuck up.

<ADAMS, BRITT, TANNER and CHICO provide cover fire as O'REILLY, LEE and LUCK take the indicated door and rush along a new passage. The sound of gunfire recedes. O'REILLY notices a wall-mounted electrical panel.>

Here we go.

<O'REILLY trips a series of circuit breakers. A distant groaning sound can be heard.>

Front door's opening. Send in the cavalry.

They're jamming our signal.

Dammit. Can't do jack from in here; ops outside might be able to crack the code, but there's a lot of luck involved in those CI ciphers.

Help.

We've got a signal! Control, this is ADAMS. Send in the ASVs, expect heavy resistance. We'll give cover.

<ADAMS, BRITT, TANNER and CHICO advance on the insurgents.>

<O'REILLY suddenly sneezes, removing his hand from the circuit breaker at the moment it begins to spark and catch flame. LUCK, in attempting to remove his hand from his helmet, has lodged his index finger in one nostril.>

That was a close one.

<Ceiling-mounted sprinklers briefly activate, then cease. There is a flash, and a muffled explosion beneath their feet.>

What was that? Get back here, pronto!

<LEE and O'REILLY head back down the hall. LUCK trips on a loose floor tile and stumbles through a plate glass office window.>

Oh, for fuck's—

<There is a loud crashing sound from the office LUCK now occupies. LEE and O'REILLY rush to the broken window to see that the floor has caved in again, and LUCK is gone.>

Must've overloaded some system in the floor when the breaker blew.

That stairwell goes down at least one more level.

<O'REILLY sighs. The two agents return to the hall; their teammates have pushed into an attached atrium, and are trading fire with Insurgents now boxed in by more agents advancing from the entrance.>

Gonna grab the albatross, boss.

Give him a pat for me, tell him he's a good boy. BRITT, go with them.

<BRITT, O'REILLY and LEE cautiously head down the stairs to the bottom level, then proceed along the attached hallway until they reach a large storage facility. LUCK is visible in the centre, dazed, headed towards a door on the far wall. One Insurgent is standing nearby, rifle trained on him.>

Shit.

I got this.

<BRITT advances into the room, taking cover behind wooden crates and steel shipping containers. As the Insurgent raises his weapon to shoot LUCK, BRITT springs out of the shadows and slits his throat at the precise instant the door opens and a second Insurgent appears, rifle at the ready.>

Bad lu—

<The roof collapses. The Insurgent is struck by a piece of falling masonry, crushing his helmet and presumably his skull. LUCK is covered in debris.>

Shit! LUCK! Are you alright?

I hate—

<LUCK swallows his helmet microphone, and begins to choke.>

Firebase-5 was taken with minimal Foundation casualties. Dr. Wettle was treated for a broken collarbone; no other member of Theta-7000 sustained serious injury. Chaos Insurgency losses total thirty-seven individuals incapacitated or killed, and one major supply and repair depot now under Foundation control. Seven stolen SCP objects, multiple vehicles employing paratechnical components and three prisoners recovered on-site.

Analytics Department review of shoulder camera footage reveals the near-absence of anomalous probability factors in the atrium firefight, suggesting Dr. Wettle did in fact absorb all SCP-7000 effects over the course of the operation. In the interim between missions, SCP-7000 continued to take its toll.

Seven Chaos Insurgency infiltrators captured installing explosive devices at Site-120. All seven attempted to destroy their Step Compilations before capture; one was unable to do so, as her portable lighter would not produce flame. Surviving Step Compilation carried the impression of handwriting, presumably from a note written on top of it on a separate piece of paper.

Handwriting decryption leads to the discovery of an Insurgency safehouse in Poland and the detention or neutralization of a 'cell' of twenty-three individuals.

SCP-3856-1, the multiversal iteration of Researcher Samuel Lloyd residing in baseline reality, chokes on a ham sandwich and expires.

SCP Foundation placed on high alert for the imminent escalation of the present K-class scenario, ending with the termination of all life on Earth — the inevitable result of any universe's loss of its iteration of Researcher Lloyd. No change in the scenario's course noted thus far.

Three senior Mekhanite priests, one for each primary faith, killed in freak Murphy bed accidents.

Per the Triumvirate Accords, expressions of sympathy made on behalf of Overwatch Command and funeral costs partially defrayed.

After a brief recuperative period, Dr. Wettle was cleared for active duty again and Theta-7000 was officially commissioned. A series of missions over the following weeks served to mitigate the worst of SCP-7000's Veil-threatening elements, though the search for a permanent solution remained ongoing. A digest of representative operations is appended below.

Attack on Deepwell systems at Outpost-316 by Serpent's Hand agents.

Theta-7000 repelled the attackers while technicians attempted to reverse thaumaturgical damage and corrupted code. Dr. Wettle supervised.

Only minor difficulties encountered, operation declared successful. Dr. Wettle sustained a variety of minor injuries:

• Stubbed toe (2)
• Chipped tooth (1)
• Broken collarbone (1)
• Broken fingernail (7)
• Herniated disc (2)

On-site paramedical services returned him immediately to active duty.

Due to recalcitrance on the part of Dr. Wettle, Researcher LeBlanc was appended to the taskforce to conduct the asset's debriefings. Partial transcript appended below.

But I didn't do anything.

They estimate the damaged code involved some seven million independent variables. Every one of them was a minute but extant threat to the success of the repair process. You stopped them from going off. You saved a computer system carrying more information than—

I DIDN'T. DO. ANYTHING.

So, they got me a handler.

I prefer to think of myself as an agent.

If you were my agent, I'd fire you.

If you were my client, I'd get you fired.

<Dr. Wettle smiles.>

I know you would, kid.

Expert defusal of an improvised thaumonuclear bomb in the Free Port of Three Portlands by the Unusual Incidents Unit.

Joint action with the SCP Foundation via the presence of Dr. Wettle. Exhausted from an earlier operation that same day, Dr. Wettle attended in his sleep via the provision of an army cot.

Post-defusal investigation revealed three separate anti-tampering measures on hair triggers which had not been tripped. Dr. Wettle swallowed three flies during the operation. UIU representatives and Dr. Dan agreed the technician would not be informed of this correlation.

Partial transcript appended below.

I did what?

You mean about the fl—

I MEAN ABOUT THE BOMB!

O5 Council required escort to a classified location on the Asian subcontinent.

Theta-7000 partnered with MTF Alpha-1 ("Red Right Hand") to complete the pilgrimage.

Success, with no operational complications. Per regulations, as an active anomaly Dr. Wettle was kept as far distant from Council members as was feasible. Nevertheless, O5-1 encountered him in compromising positions on three separate occasions.

Partial transcript appended below.

I don't want to do this.

I know you don't.

The universe has something to say, Bastien, about whether my pants are up or down. It has a LOT to say, BASTIEN, about whether my PANTS are UP or DOWN.

Man, I'm really sorry.

I can't do this anymore. I can't. Don't let them make me.

<Dr. Wettle sobs.>

Okay. I won't.

I promise. I won't.

What?

I won't let them make you. We'll miss the next appointment, let them come get us if they want. What're they gonna do, shoot a researcher and the goose that lays the golden egg?

You get it?

Bastien…

'Laying an egg' is slang for messing—

BASTIEN! You have one job. What is it?

To kick my sorry ass in gear! So DO IT!

Well. I guess I forgot that geese can bite. After you, Dr. Wettle.

They spit, too, so watch the fuck out.

SCP-682 breached containment at Site-45 and approached the town of Augusta, Western Australia, during a folk music festival.

Theta-7000 attempted to recapture the anomaly whilst evading the scrutiny of approximately one thousand people, including media representatives.

Dr. Wettle was stationed between the operational zone and the festival; as containment efforts failed and SCP-682 approached, he was forced to move into the crowd. The anomaly was finally disabled within one hundred metres of the event, an action nevertheless escaping civilian notice as their attention was fixed on Dr. Wettle's altercation with a rogue kangaroo. SCP-682 returned to containment without incident, while video footage of Dr. Wettle being kicked into an industrial barbecue immediately saturated the internet.

Partial transcript appended below.

This isn't working.

No, but it's helping.

<Dr. Wettle spits. It does not escape his beard. He wipes his face with a labcoat sleeve.>

Helping. I'm making an all-time ass out of myself to prolong my own worst nightmare.

You're a hero.

I don't want to be a hero.

You're named after William Wallace! Braveheart! One of the most famous heroes of all time. Where would he have gotten without sticking his neck out for others?

Not famous enough, apparently. He got his neck stretched.

Well, he did get a movie.

A Mel Gibson movie. You call that luck? I don't.

Look. I'm sure they have a backup plan. This'll only go on for a little while longer.

Why?

What?

Why are you sure they have a backup plan? When I said this wasn't working, I meant it wasn't working for me. It's working just fine for them.

William…

They're gonna roll me up the hill and let me fall back down for the rest of my life, like Sisyphus. You know that's true.

For one thing, the myth is actually—

GREAT! PERFECT! CHANGE THE SUBJECT TO WHAT A HAPLESS ASSHOLE I AM! I hadn't heard about that for all of one hour. Wow, it's like Harry's right here with me. I bet we soaked up enough bad luck for ten people just now. Hooray!

I didn't mean—

You having fun writing those reports? I've read 'em. Really tight phrasing there, Bast. Dry comedy. Bet they get a real chuckle around all the water coolers. But you wouldn't know anything about that, right?

I never—

You remember what I told you? When you said you wanted to be my friend?

Well, now I regret it. So fuck off back to 43, and tell them your next set of funny stories in person.

<Silence on recording. After a moment, Researcher LeBlanc leaves.>

At this time Dr. Wettle advanced the theory that the SCP-7000 phenomenon was seasonal and would soon dissipate; Analytics Department studies suggested this was unlikely. Dr. Wettle further theorized that SCP Foundation containment efforts might be responsible, as per the (discredited) allegations levelled by various Groups of Interest during the SCP-6500 crisis. This, too, was rejected. Whatever the cause, the actions of Theta-7000 did not appear to neutralize or recognizably worsen the anomaly, merely offsetting its most problematic consequences for the time being.

'Economics' temporarily reflective of actual reality.

None taken; market will correct itself.

Two Chaos Insurgency infiltrators evade capture after attempting to enter Site-79; chief of security had changed the daily password 'on a hunch'.

Five days later, Foundation personnel intercept an urgent call for medical aid from a townhouse on the outskirts of Yumegēmu, discovering a 'cell' of twelve insurgents violently ill with COVID-19. The agent who encountered the infiltrators at Site-79 had tested positive shortly after their escape. A series of Step Compilations found in the townhouse outline a grandiose series of sabotages and thefts to be carried out at Japanese facilities. On inspection, each is found to have been individually impractical due to unforeseeable on-the-ground exigencies.

Bunk theory of 'manifesting' popularized by Rhonda Byrne's The Secret, with no basis in either science or parascience, becomes inexplicably efficacious.

None taken; neither evidence nor the lack thereof have any apparent effect on individual belief in the technique's efficacy, as before SCP-7000.

On August 24, an encoded transmission originating from the Chaos Insurgency's Hardened Mobile Array was received by Overwatch Command at Site-01. Though deemed a low priority at the time due to the Insurgency's vastly reduced profile in light of their recent heavy losses, the ensuing conversation did finally present one possible causal explanation for the scenario itself.

Hazard screening?

ACTIVE AND PROACTIVE.

Very well. Let's hear what he has to say.

<A white-silhouetted face appears on the screen, frontlit by a glowing Chaos Insurgency insignia.>

Time's almost up, friends. Do you have a response?

To what? Time almost being up? Not as such.

The message, [EXPUNGED]. You have less than one hour to make your decision.

Should I know what message you're talking about, [REDACTED]? Because I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage.

The ultimatum we delivered you.

Let me put you on hold for a moment.

What game are you p—

Any idea what he's on about?

We haven't received a message from the Insurgency in months.

Not unless we're speaking metaphorically.

<The Engineer's face retreats further into shadow, obscuring his features.>

I think he means it literally. Anybody else? No?

—your misguided mission of 'containment', which you know to be disastrous, and yet—

Sorry, were you still going? Cut you off there. You know we can't see your mouth?

<The Engineer's silhouette visibly stiffens.>

So, this is a little embarrassing, but we're pretty sure we never got any messages from you. At all.

Your vengeance has been particularly intermittent of late.

That always bothered me. The word is 'intermitted'. Why even quote if you're not going to do it right?

You think this is a good time to stall? When you only have minutes to spare?

[REDACTED], please. We didn't receive any message. When did you send it?

On the Day of Chaos. The 13th of July!

13/07. Apropos.

Have we any record of suppressed communications on the 13th, 2?

YES. THIRTEEN MESSAGES FROM IP ADDRESSES ASSOCIATED WITH KNOWN HACKERS. THE FILESIZE AND PACKAGING WAS CONSISTENT WITH RANDOM CYBERTERROR ATTACKS ORIGINATING FROM THE RUSSIAN FEDERATION, AND AS SUCH THE MESSAGES WERE SCANNED FOR VIRAL CONTENT, RETURNED POSITIVE RESULTS IN EACH CASE, AND WERE DELETED UNREAD.

What? That's ridiculous. We chose the addresses at random!

Oops.

Oops.

We'll send it again. Don't block us this time.

You could just tell—

Be like that. 2?

YES, WE'VE RECEIVED SOMETHING. THE IP ADDRESS THEY'RE SPOOFING THIS TIME BELONGS TO A ROBOCALL CENTRE IN MUMBAI, AND OUR ANTIVIRUS SYSTEMS RETURN ANOTHER FALSE POSITIVE. I HAVE EXAMINED THE FILE PERSONALLY, AND IT APPEARS SAFE TO VIEW.

So, it's a video? Suppose we ought to.

<The holographic video screen in the centre of the room flickers to life. The insignia of the Chaos Insurgency is displayed. The Engineer's voice begins to speak.>

What if the breath that kindled those grim fires, awaked, should blow them into sevenfold rage, and plunge us in the flames—

Skip.

—long struggle is at an end. The rotten paste of lies of which the false Foundation is composed will finally crumble, and all they have built atop will tumble down to dust. For the first time, the numbers are not on their side; for the first time, the Red Right Hand holds all the cards.

Speed it up.

The KISMET Device now exercises total control over the course of fate athwart the globe. All mechanisms of chance and contingency will be irrevocably broken. The suffocating Veil of the enemy will fall away, and the truth will be known.

Preambles are always so damn long.

There is, however, an alternative. A means of preserving the long night you have cast over mankind entire. Surrender your seats to the Red Right Hand. Return your loyal soldiers to the fold. Become that which you were meant to be, remember your great purpose, and admit the righteous victory of the Chaos Insurgency.

You will respond by midnight on August the twenty-fourth, in the year of our crusade two thousand and twenty-two, or we will know the reason why and you will know the meaning of misfortune. Hereafter we of Delta Command and the Engineer of the Insurgency await your swift response. Capitulate, or be swept aside.

…bullshit.

THE KISMET DEVICE LOOKS SUSPICIOUSLY LIKE THE CMS MUON DETECTOR OF THE LARGE HADRON COLLIDER.

What's their operational status versus us, since the LK started?

Estimate over two hundred personnel dead, catastrophic loss of equipment and facilities, complete disarray.

Field victories?

Not a one.

They've escalated to open warfare in desperation, and our folks are their betters across the board. It's a foregone conclusion, to the extent that those still exist these days.

Well, I'm glad we didn't get this message on the 13th, then. That was—

Don't.

I was going to say 'fortuitous'.

Still don't.

But yes, if they're in control of this situation, they've got a funny way of showing it.

Should we call them back?

Let's not.

The Engineer's explanation for SCP-7000 was filed for further study. Despite the apparent passing of the deadline presented in his ultimatum, however, the character of the LK scenario did not appear to change in the coming days.

7-year-old Stephanie Belanger of Lyon, France becomes World Champion in Chess, having begun playing for the first time on 07/07/22. She has never lost a game.

Further investigation reveals that Belanger is the grandchild of [DATA EXPUNGED], encouraged to pursue the game at this time due to [DATA EXPUNGED]'s knowledge of the LK-class event. [DATA EXPUNGED] was also responsible for moving the event up from its next planned occurrence in 2023, and his granddaughter's unorthodox inclusion on the roster. Due to [DATA EXPUNGED]'s seniority, matter has not been pursued further.

Predictive meteorology becomes ineffective (beyond the existing alterations to atmospheric noise).

None taken; change has escaped public notice at this time.

Site-41 occupied by Chaos Insurgency. The periodic and unpredictable amnestic effect plaguing all facilities and personnel relating to the Antimemetics Division strikes the insurgents full force during their occupation; disoriented, they exit the Site and are immediately detained by guards stationed at the perimeter.

Foundation researchers repeatedly attempt to further weaponize this anomaly, but are immediately afflicted by the same condition in each case.

Having been relieved from his post with Theta-7000 by Dr. Wettle, Researcher LeBlanc began a personal investigation into the LK-class scenario at this time. After consultation with Dr. Blank, he visited Dr. Wettle's elderly parents in their home at the Foundation-operated retirement village of Sunset Cove, Pensacola in the American state of Florida on 24 August 2022.

Interview Log

Officer of Record: Researcher B. LeBlanc (Replication Studies, Site-43)
Subjects: Mindy and Simon Wettle (Civilians, retired)

Did you ever get the impression your son was… carrying some sort of burden?

Of course. You know William. Always thinking about others.

Something funny?

No, uh… sorry. I was… remembering something. Yes. Go on.

Like Min said, he never spared a thought for himself. Spent all his time fussing over what could go wrong with other people, what he could do about it.

What he had to do about it. He couldn't live with himself if something happened, and he'd passed up the chance to help.

I think it started in his twenties. My brother died in '75, and—

No, Simon, it wasn't that. It started much, much earlier. When I was sick.

Sick?

Lung cancer. They didn't expect me to make it. Willie was only twelve at the time.

You're right. That's when it started. He'd stay up at night, praying.

He never struck me as a particularly religious guy.

I don't think it was religious. I think… no.

I can't quite get at it. The destination is there, of course, but the bridge is out.

I don't remember any praying.

I have some medicine with me. To help you remember. If you're interested…

You mean mnestics?

How did you…?

We've taken them before, back in… god, it was ages ago. They were checking up on William after some accident at work, asking if it could've been his fault, if he was reliable. They wanted to know everything about him.

I think about those mnestics a lot — when I can remember it. There's irony for you. Imagine how much good they could do in a place like this.

One of our friends doesn't remember her own children. She remembers me, because we go back farther than that. I tried to tell her about the mnestics once, but… I can't. The words won't come.

Something to do with where you work? Where William works?

Yes. I'm sorry about that, and I'm sorry I can't tell you more, but… it's not my secret to reveal, and Dr. Wettle wouldn't want to put you in any danger. In fact… I think this is all about that need to protect people you were talking about. He's trying to protect everyone, and I don't think he even really knows what from. I can't ask him, but…

You can ask me. Alright. For William, I'll do it. But you have to promise me something first.

If I can.

You can. Promise you'll tell him to think of himself from time to time.

Well?

Yeah. Yes. Yes, I think I can manage that.

Following his return to Site-43, Researcher LeBlanc attempted to make contact with Dr. Wettle. The latter disregarded the former's entreaties, and at any event was rarely present due to repeated deployments with Theta-7000.

On 26 August, after his sixty-eighth operation with Theta-7000, Dr. Wettle abandoned his post. He was recovered almost immediately by MTF Pi-43 ("Garbage In, Garbage Out"), having failed to either disable the tracking devices installed on his personal telephone or turn the device off entirely. He had recorded the following video during his brief period AWOL.

<The camera view is zoomed in close to Dr. Wettle's face. He appears to be out of doors, in the dark. Inadequate colour correction filters are enabled.>

So, this is it. I'm putting my damn foot down.

<Dr. Wettle shifts, as though stamping his foot. His expression darkens; he looks down, then back up in obvious irritation and disgust.>

You're probably going to lobotomize me when you get this message. I get that. I don't blame you… hmm. Actually, let me Google lobotomies for a second.

<Dr. Wettle's hand obscures the camera as he presumably scrolls his screen.>

[muttering] No, but what does it do. Fuckshit app.

Oh, come on. Can't fucking find anything these… no, yeah, okay. Apathy. That sounds nice. So when you do that, I'll get it. Maybe I'll be a funnier clown when I don't even give a shit that it's happening to me. But I can't keep tripping on my dick so the universe can laugh; this can't be the rest of my life.

<Dr. Wettle drops the device. It takes two attempts for him to pick it back up.>

It's not like I liked the way my life was going before. This is just more of the same… a lot more of the same. The replication study straight out of hell. You know, when I joined up back in '98, the Director told me something like "our world is filled with hidden terrors, strange…" Okay, my memory is crap, and I wasn't really listening, but it was something like "stranger stuff than you could possibly imagine." He wanted me to know what I was getting into. I told him it didn't matter, that the shit I'd seen was already strange in a real bad way, and I was looking forward to seeing the scary stuff. And you know what happened?

<Dr. Wettle shakes his head. His glasses fall off; he retrieves them.>

I found out that scary stuff isn't always different from stupid stuff. And I guess that makes sense; the scary stuff comes out of our fears, our every-day bullshit, and a little bit of everything in the world is already stupid. Why would the scary stuff be any different? I just didn't expect that all the weirdness I'd be seeing would be so…

<Dr. Wettle sighs.>

So fucking dumb. Everybody thinks it's funny, what happens to me. It's not funny. And I guess I thought it would end, when I joined up. I thought I could replace my bullshit with yours. But it just… all ended up in the same pot. And now the pot's filling up, and it's coming over the edge, and I'm too old to learn how to mop. I don't know where this metaphor is going.

<Dr. Wettle purses his lips.>

I'm too old for a lot of things. They never get tired of reminding me.

<Dr. Wettle drops the device. He is able to retrieve it with only one attempt, though he is forced to bend over again to retrieve his glasses for a second time.>

Replication studies. The point, the entire point is that once you know something's true, you can damn well stop repeating it. But this fucking shit-show went on well past the point of scientific proof. I figured fate just wanted me to give up, you know? So I gave up. And it got fucking worse! So what am I supposed to do? Wave at everybody as they pass me by, wait up for them like I'm their goddamn mom, and die the death of a thousand stubbed toes for my trouble? Like fucking fuck.

<Dr. Wettle stares into the screen for several seconds.>

I didn't even get to be the anomaly. I'm not the main character in my own story. I put in my dues, all this time, and what's my big break? How do I get to save the day? A goddamn treadmill of Buster Brown. Buster Brown? Is that the right…? Doesn't matter. Point is, this isn't how I wanted to be remembered. But you don't get to decide that, do you? Everybody else does. And everybody else is an asshole.

<Dr. Wettle shakes his head.>

I'm fifty-four years old, and I've been a joke for… I don't know how long. Most of that time. And I'm done with it. I know it's selfish, but you're going to have to find some way to fix this shit that doesn't involve me. I'm going to do the only thing I can do; I'm going to end it all.

<Dr. Wettle taps the screen, and the view shifts rapidly. He has presumably placed the device in his pocket, after unsuccessfully attempting to cease filming.>

<The view returns suddenly to Dr. Wettle's face.>

Okay, that came out wrong. I meant I'm gonna run away. I just heard how it sounded in my head. Alright. Running away for real now.

<Dr. Wettle's face is suddenly illuminated by bright lights. Footsteps can be heard approaching.>

Ah, shit.

Dr. Wettle was remanded to the custody of the Emergent Threat Tactical Response Authority; Dr. Dan requested his transportation to Area-08-C for debriefing.

Debriefing Log

Officer of Record: Dr. Dan ███████ ( Director, ETTRA)
Subject: Dr. W. Wettle (Replication Studies, Site-43)

<Dr. Dan and Dr. Wettle are standing in Foundation Mission Control. Technicians are monitoring all Foundation probes, stellar phenomena and civilian satellites or spaceflights. Dr. Richard Barnard is overseeing operations from the rear.>

It's time you had a little perspective, I think. Take a wider view.

Show, don't tell.

Well-spoken, for a change. Bring her up.

Her?

Tyche watching over us.

What in the hell is that?

The heavens, actually, though no doubt it's hot enough. Her name is Sauelsuesor. She stands vigil over the stars, directs our attention to potential threats.

Looks more like she's directing our attention to Chaos Undivided.

What?

Warhammer 40k. They've got a wagon wheel logo. You don't care.

Yeah, not really. But you're not the first person to look at this and think 'chaos'; she normally has a lot fewer arms, and they're usually pointing in specific directions. Or, you know, less-specific ones. Most of my colleagues are convinced the LK has driven her batty, and she's just acting out of confusion.

I'm guessing 'life is confusing' isn't the big important life lesson you brought me here to learn.

No, it's not. I do think her threat compass is on the fritz, but I don't think that's what we're seeing. I don't think this is her equivalent of a Blue Screen of Death.

Hey, did I ever tell you I'm the only guy at the office who can reliably get Windows 10 to BSOD?

The point is, I think she's still trying to communicate something to us.

If it's the cardinal directions, someone ought to tell her we already know those.

I think she's pantomiming the wheel of fortune.

I'd like to buy an… explanation.

The wheel of fortune is a tarot card. It represents change, the alteration of one's situation. Success. Fate.

Luck?

Luck. It's a reminder that there are intractable, implacable, impersonal forces constricting and constructing our destinies.

Always seemed plenty personal to me.

Good. That's a start. You're taking offence, which is the first step towards treating this as a conversation with the universe. So, why not raise the tenor? Make it a positive conversation.

I'm stuck in a loop of bullshit, Dan. If fortune is a wheel, I'm strapped to it. And it's spinning. And everybody, everybody is chucking knives at me.

You think you're being punished? By your own sudden usefulness?

Yes. I do. I liked being useless. Useless people get left alone. You don't know what it's like.

I was in detention for ten years. I know what it's like to be left alone.

I'd give anything to be a pariah. I'm a laughingstock instead. You can't know what that's like.

You wouldn't say that if you knew what was behind the blackboxes.

What?

In my name.

Oh. Pfft. What's with that, anyway?

<Dr. Dan shrugs.>

It's a gimmick. I was at Site-19 in the late 2000s, we all had them. Kondraki had his camera and his hat, Gerald drove the way you do everything else—

Clef had a shotgun.

Clef had a shotgun. If they'd told me I could have a shotgun, I wouldn't have just blackboxed my name.

I bet it's something really dumb.

Mmm.

What would it take for me to weasel it out of you?

Outsmart me. Now drop the tangent; we were discussing your chronic inability to accept the attention of others.

<Dr. Wettle grimaces.>

I've had enough 'attention' for a lifetime. Just once, I'd like to step on a rake without anybody around to point and giggle. I'd just as soon nobody ever looked in my direction again. Blank and LeBlanc want to get fawned over, that's their business.

Those are two different people?

Might as well not be, from my perspective. Everybody else is charmed, and I'm cursed.

<Dr. Wettle laughs.>

I still can't believe it.

What?

I swear to god, two months ago I actually said out loud: "It can't get any worse."

<Dr. Dan considers.>

Well I don't mind telling you, this is the new status quo. We don't see any way out of it. You're going to be working with Theta-7000 for the foreseeable future, at least until we give up and drop the Veil.

Give it to me, and it'll drop in seconds.

Conversation with the universe, remember? Think bigger.

<Dr. Dan points at the screen again.>

The messenger of the cosmos is trying to send you, specifically you, a message, and that message is to seize the moment.

You think she's doing hot yoga for me? That's dumb.

Who else would it be for? You're the only one this event has singled out. Just you. Nobody else on Earth has that distinction.

Flare activity. Getting chromatic aberration; we're about to lose the feed from DSCOVR-2.

Back off. Can't afford to lose another one.

Wave goodbye, Dr. Wettle.

She can't fucking see me.

Still, it's only polite.

<Dr. Wettle sighs, and waves at the main board as the connection deteriorates. Before the transmission cuts off entirely, SCP-179 appears to return the gesture with all eight arms.>

What the fuck. You trained her to do that.

She's a lookout, not a watch dog. Still think you're nothing special?

Even anecdotal space evidence is still just anecdotal.

God, you really don't see it, do you. This is your debut on the world stage! You're making a positive change, not just for you but for everybody. For all we know, it's what you were always meant to do! Your destiny.

To fall on my face at the end of the world.

Literally, yes. Metaphorically, you're rising to the occasion. You're the most important person in creation right now. Everybody knows your name.

Great. Everybody knows that I peed myself to prevent an asteroid strike. I'll bet that makes me the toast of the town.

You'd be surprised. People love an underdog. Sympathy leads to empathy, and empathy… well, that can lead to all sorts of complicated relationships. Haven't you been stuck in your simple rut long enough?

Yeah, all the ladies love a man who gets kicked in the groin by a horse so another man can pull off a sweet slam dunk with a hand grenade.

Exactly! They love sensitive men.

You think I ought to try enjoying this.

What's the worst that can happen? I'm allowed to say that now, since the entire human race has lost their tempting fate privileges. Everyone except you.

You think… I should embrace this insane nonsense. You really think that.

Think of it this way. Have you ever not been miserable?

No.

Have you ever tried?

Maybe she's doing a clock face.

Clocks have twelve hour markers. She's only got eight arms right now.

OH! Shit! She's a SUNDIAL! You get it?!

…sundials are just clocks, buddy.

Dr. Wettle agreed to return to duty with Theta-7000. Captain Adams reported he appeared calm, and resigned to his station. Dr. Dan indicated to the O5 Council that his plan for neutralizing SCP-7000 was now in motion; the LK-class event nevertheless continued apace for the following two days.

SCP-6263, an anomaly formerly triggering spelling and grammar mistakes in all attempts to point out spelling and grammar mistakes, resumes operation for precisely the amount of time required to precipitate, over the course of three days, the incarceration of outgoing United Kingdom Prime Minister Boris Johnson.

None taken.

Three rogue sharks discovered in Martha's Vineyard.

Capture and release by SCPS vehicles disguised as American coast guard, and implementation of a cover story involving filming of the fictitious Jaws 5: Return to Amity Island.

Tactical nuclear detonation detected over the unoccupied Auckland Islands in New Zealand. As no conventional launch was detected, Foundation personnel respond to the scene. They discover the remains of the Chaos Insurgency's Hardened Mobile Array burning in Carnley Harbour; documents recovered from the site attest to an apparently lost Step Compilation culminating with a nuclear strike on Site-01. Though the state of the wreckage and unfamiliarity with the platform make precise determinations impossible, Foundation engineers report the likeliest explanation for the apparent accident is a catastrophic launch bay door failure. Further forensic investigation reveals the presence of anomalous components suffused with chronons, antichronons and tachyons, suggesting the Engine itself may have been present on the array at the time of detonation.

In light of its recent loss of materiel and manpower, the Chaos Insurgency's Activity Class is re-assessed from Level 5 (VARMT) to Level 2 (KULDE), falling below the Serpent's Hand, each sect of the Church of the Broken God, and Are We Cool Yet? among others for the first time since their respective Group of Interest classifications.

Frustrated with being stonewalled by Dr. Wettle, Researcher LeBlanc confronted him in his quarters on the night of 28 August.

<Researcher LeBlanc enters the dorm room. Dr. Wettle is lying on the couch, in his underwear.>

I locked that damn door.

Yeah, I figured you wanted to be alone. So I just hit a bunch of random numbers, and guess what?

Fuck.

<Dr. Wettle laughs.>

Yeah, that would work.

So, I've been talking to your parents.

What? Why?

<Dr. Wettle sits up on the couch, banging both knees on his coffee table as he does so. The table collapses.>

Because you're stuck in a holding pattern, William, and I wouldn't be a very good friend if I left you there.

I'm a gold medallist at the Shitty Friend Olympics, you don't owe me anything. But why my parents, specifically?

While I was with Theta-7000, I got to see a lot of the SCP file. "This is my whole life, has been since I don't know when." If you didn't know, I figured…

Sorry you wasted a trip. To fucking Florida, of all places. That's what they call a double-waste.

It wasn't a waste. Put some clothes on.

Why?

Because there's places in this Site where the cameras don't see, but there's public corridors between here and there and nobody wants to see that.

No offence.

How would I not take offence?

Dr. Wettle and Researcher LeBlanc exited the former's quarters and proceeded into the Acroamatic Abatement Section, escaping the effective audiovisual range of the Site's surveillance cameras. On returning to view, Dr. Wettle appeared distraught and agitated. He returned to his quarters alone, pacing for several hours before pushing a variety of random items off his bed and lying down to sleep.

Just after midnight, he began speaking to himself.

It can't be that simple.

It really… it can't be that simple. It can't be…

"SCP-7000-1 is inconsequential and requires no containment." Exactly. Exactly. That's all there is to it. He's full of shit.

He's right, isn't he.

Well, what do you want me to say? I've learned my lesson? I'm overflowing with the milk of fucking human kindness, here? Fuck you. Fuck you forever.

[inaudible]

[inaudible]

You fucking hear me?!

<A light fixture detaches from the ceiling and falls, shattering in a hail of sparks as it hits the bedframe.>

Yeah, you hear me.

Dr. Wettle reported for duty once more the following morning. Captain Adams reported that he seemed "refreshed, but also rueful, but also more than a little bit smug, and I don't know why." Updates will be appended as the situation develops further.

O5 COUNCIL CREDENTIALS CONFIRMED

THE FOLLOWING PENDING UPDATES TO THE SCP-7000 FILE ARE CLASSIFIED OVERSEER-EYES ONLY.

As Dr. Dan had predicted, following his debriefing of Dr. Wettle at Area-08-C, the SCP-7000 phenomenon gradually decreased in severity. Thorough Analytics Department canvassing returned the following new probabilistic effects on 29 August.

None identified.

None required.

Probabilistic anomalies resumed their prior functionality at staggered intervals over the course of the day. The Narrative returned to Nx-18, SCP-4040 regained its former depth, and SCP-179 demanifested five arms before resuming her usual routine of threat identification.

The SCP Foundation had suffered thirty-eight casualties over the course of the LK-class scenario; of those killed as a result of the scenario itself, rather than direct enemy action, thirty-six have been posthumously identified as double agents for the Chaos Insurgency. The remaining two are under continued investigation. Despite significant global economic reshuffling, structural and material destruction and immeasurable interpersonal catastrophe, all civilian deaths attributed to SCP-7000 appear to have involved individual moral failing or spectacularly poor decision-making processes. Cover-up operations, including

• smear campaigns against the present generation of mathematicians;
• fraudulent scientific discourse to account for unusual mutations and atmospheric effects;
• the creation of the nonexistent Sagitteried meteor shower;
• fabrication of explanations for the total collapse of all futures markets; and
• the containment of inexplicably-resurrected deceased professional baseball player Lou Gehrig, with his sudden appearance at Yankee Stadium explained away as an impersonation in bad taste,

will require extensive ongoing maintenance for the forseeable future.

Nevertheless, with the immediate crisis apparently over, Theta-7000 was placed on indefinite hiatus and its members returned to their former stations. The Emergent Threat Tactical Response Authority internally declared SCP-7000 tentatively neutralized, and stood down from priority alert after the autopsy of SCP-3856-1, Researcher Samuel Lloyd, revealed deviant Hume levels — indicating that he was not, in fact, the multiversal iteration belonging to baseline reality, which was therefore unlikely to collapse. The correct iteration was subsequently located alive and in good health in a Chaos Insurgency safehouse after a rash of surrenders and defections during said organization's general disarray in the wake of SCP-7000.

Official pronouncement of the end of OPERATION: BLACK SWAN is scheduled for 30 August.

Dr. Dan encountered Dr. Wettle at the Foundation-run food and drinks establishment Sam's Canadian Pub in Grand Bend, Ontario near Site-43 on the evening of 29 August.

<Dr. Wettle is sitting at the bar, drinking from a bottle of beer. Most patrons are watching the television, where a news report is detailing the sudden dispersal of seven large storm systems around the globe.>

There's our Willy Nilly! Drowning your sorrows?

My sorrows can swim. I'll bet they could drown me.

Who'd you get that one from?

Harry. He writes most of my lines.

Seriously though, how you holding up?

I'm upright enough for a guy with a knife in his back.

Look.

No, I get it. I'm not mad. This is what you're known for, right? You're the guy who doesn't need to play a game of chess to see how it ends. You know how all the pieces move already.

Everyone knows how the pieces move in chess. That's pretty basic.

See? Didn't even miss a beat. That's Dr. Dan.

So I suppose you figured it out, then.

No, I didn't. Of course I didn't. I never figured anything out in my life before the other day. Someone else figured it out for me, and then I figured out they were right. God-damn replication studies all over again.

Who's the someone?

A friend.

And what did your friend tell you?

That this was all about me. From the start, it was all about me. I caused it. This was my crisis.

Did he figure out why?

He did.

You don't mind if I gloat, and exposit?

I've had three beers, I don't mind much.

It started with Blank's wedding, and your assistants dating.

It started a long damn time before that.

Sure, fine, but it was the romance that set you off. It's a pretty chummy crowd at 43, and it hasn't changed that much while you've been there, but now they're all pulling away from you and you lost your shit.

I wanted to make something of myself. I wanted to be someone. I wanted a wife…

Until you thought you were putting her in danger…

And I wanted a family…

Until you thought your bad luck was contagious…

And in the end I just wanted everything to stay the same, and I couldn't even have that. So yeah, I lost my shit. I really thought my life would turn around at some point; I thought it for twenty damn years. Everybody says I'm slow, but I guess twenty years is my minimum speed.

You decided you were done. You gave up. You were never gonna be popular, you were never gonna be noticed. You let the universe win.

But the universe wasn't done playing.

You tried to be content with nothing, so your anomaly made you the single most important, invaluable, famous person in the Foundation, in precisely the worst possible way. Because it wasn't what you wanted.

Uh huh.

SCP-7000 happened because of you.

I don't even want to know what the body count was.

Universally assholes or idiots, far as the AD can tell, and a whole lot of people got a violent wakeup call they won't soon forget. They got a second chance to chart their courses in life, because of you, indirectly. And that's the key word, indirectly. It's not your fault. It's not like you ever had control over what was happening. Like everything else in your life, it just sort of happened to you. And as soon as you decided you kinda liked it, after our little pep talk, the corner turned again. You're not allowed to enjoy anything that much, right? So it took back everything it gave. Turned you back into nothing. No offence.

'Nothing' is one of the nicest things anyone's ever called me. But yeah, sure, that's a sensible explanation.

I'm pretty pleased with it.

You singlehandedly tricked me into ending a K-class scenario.

It's what I do.

You didn't, though.

Because you're wrong.

Pardon?

A long time ago, I made a pact with the universe. To live a sucky life, but not too sucky. And then I forgot, and then I broke it. This was the revenge.

What are you talking about?

I remember it like it's happening right now in front of me. It was in our old house on Stockwell Row, back in Peoria. I was going to bed; I'd been smoking in the garage, Simon was already asleep. I thought William would be, too, but just as I was walking past his room I heard him whispering to himself.

Can you remember what he said?

I can hear it. He's saying: "Take anything else you want. Take all my stuff. Take all my friends. Take all my chances, take everything good and keep it… just don't…"

"…don't take my mom. "

<Simon Wettle places a hand on his wife's shoulder.>

"Don't hurt my parents. Hurt me instead, for as long as you want. I can take it. I promise. Please."

Jesus.

Just a boy. He shouldn't have had to go through that.

I never smoked again.

Turns out I was talking to the universe a long time before I met you. I told it to use me as a punching bag, and then I went to sleep. You ever remember those late-night thoughts the next day? I don't.

So what, you're a two-time reality bender? Or you prayed to the ceiling, and Fortuna heard you?

Something heard me, and it took me up on the offer. It got good value for the next few decades, and then… well, you got one thing right. Everybody else was moving on and up, except me. Everybody else had change in their lives. I wanted that. I needed that. And on some new unmemorable night, half-drunk, lying on my couch in my dorm in my underwear, I asked for it out loud. I didn't even remember until my friend thought to check the security feed.

Let me get this straight. You think you caused your own luck anomaly, and you think you made it worse by breaking the terms, and then… and then what? Deciding you liked it wouldn't fix that problem.

No. Sorry, buddy.

<Dr. Wettle pats Dr. Dan on the back.>

You're talking to the guy who beat the no-luck scenario. Because I decided I didn't like it, didn't like being important at everyone else's expense — you should try introspection sometimes, I'm new to it and it's a rush — so I did something about it. Because it turns out I might be fat and dumb and slow, and a magnet for other people's bullshit, but I am not helpless.

Wait.

I thought this was all happening to me, right? I thought I was stuck, but it was me all along! My life might be fucked up, but it's my life. I'm in control. I set the terms. I just never knew it until now.

Wettle, are you saying you intentionally set things back to normal? Made your deal with the devil again? You spoke to the ceiling, and the ceiling answered?

Pretty much.

Your speech did help, though. Too flowery, but the sentiment was nice.

Have you grasped the full implications of this yet?

<Dr. Wettle shrugs.>

A lot of things, I guess. What's on your mind?

You, Dr. William Wettle, destroyed the Chaos Insurgency.

<Dr. Wettle laughs.>

Every clown has his day.

You're back to mixing metaphors.

Yeah, well, that's one of the perils of writing your own script. Hey, wait. There's another implication too.

Which is what?

I outsmarted you.

Well?

Well what.

Well, what's behind the blackboxes?

You prom—

[inaudible]

Huh?

[inaudible]

I can't hear y—

DANIELS!

<The other patrons turn to look at Dr. Dan, who is now standing with his arms in the air. He glances at them, then sits back down sheepishly.>

Daniels.

Yeah.

Dr. Dan Daniels.

Yeah.

Dr. Daniel Daniels.

Yes. Go on, have your guffaw.

<Dr. Wettle extends his hand.>

Dr. William Wettle.

<Dr. Dan raises an eyebrow, and considers Dr. Wettle for a moment before taking his hand and shaking it.>

I told them you were more than just a gimmick, you know. I wasn't wrong about everything.

<Dr. Wettle finishes his beer.>

So, are you gonna reclassify 7000? Neutralized?

You know what, I think I have a better idea.

Yeah, you shit. I'll bet you do.

How you losers doing?

Sore.

Who's buying?

Flip you for it.

Dr. Dan presented a brief on the future of the SCP-7000 file to the O5 Council the following day.

So, that's what I think. We do that, and we reclassify the LK scenario as 7000-D, and the invisible powers that be should be happy.

You're absolutely certain these are the explanations you want on record?

Definitely. It takes all the credit away from Wettle, which ought to satisfy the flagellistic urges of his anomaly, and it's not like the CI are in any position to argue. If I'm right — and minus one very embarrassing incident recently, I always am — we should never have to go through this ridiculous rigmarole again.

It all makes a certain hideous kind of sense.

I understand the -D proposal, but I'm interested to hear your rationale for the new 7000 file. You don't think this risks tipping the balance back in his favour, causing another crisis?

No, I think the loss of prestige ought to counterbalance it. I've run the whole thing past the Analytics Department, and they concur.

Still, why do it at all? He was never that important, never will be again.

I think we owe it to him. Don't you? For being such a good sport.

Once again, I move we accept in toto. Sound off.

It's been decided. Wettle will go along with this? Freely?

He'll be happy enough. After all, he had a hand in it. Did you see the new file photo for 7000?

Per Dr. Dan's request, the SCP-7000 file will be forked into two new database entries. Barebones drafts are presented below for review.

The remains of SCP-7000-D-1 are undergoing investigation at Site-19. No further containment measures are necessary.

SCP-7000-D was a progressive probability failure on the planet Earth during July and August of 2022, precipitated by an ontokinetic eigenweapon known as the KISMET Device (SCP-7000-D-1). The device was destroyed by the SCP Foundation via tactical nuclear deployment (see Operation NELSON'S REVENGE for further details). As the effects of the probability failure have subsequently receded, it is presumed that the device's ongoing intervention in baseline reality was required to sustain it.

Contact the Analytics Department for a full accounting of known and suspected SCP-7000-D effects and occurrences.

SCP-7000 is responsible for its own containment. No experimentation involving this anomaly is authorized without the explicit consent of the Emergent Threat Tactical Response Authority or SCP-7000 itself.

There is no relationship between SCP-7000 and SCP-7000-D.

SCP-7000 is a probability sink concentrating local misfortune on its own person — Dr. William Wallace Wettle, Deputy Chair of Replication Studies at Site-43.

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