SCP-8000

Jer, I'm gonna be honest with you, there's not— The hell are you?

SCP-8000 is seated across the table.

Hi, Mr. Paul!

I— Where's… uh? The hell?

Sit. I don't bite.

I'm very confused.

That would be a sound reaction, I'd say.

Are you a seal?

Astute observation, Mr. Paul. You seemed to have something going on. What was it?

I— I don't remember. I think I had a meeting.

Hm. It's happening again.

What?

The thing.

What thing?

The thing.

What thing?

The memory thing. It's no bother, honestly. I usually work around it.

You're tweaking me out now.

I know I'm being rather vague, but I promise you one thing: As long as you're honest with me, I'll be honest with you.

That's not very fair.

How so?

I have no reason to believe that your version of honesty is honest.

You're here talking to me. I know you have that self-proclaimed sixth sense when it comes to quote 'talking weirdos,' and I like to think I slot nicely into that subsection of wacky doodads you intake here.

Alright. You're aware that I take those 'wacky doodads' and lock them in cages, often permanently.

Yes.

I would have to lock you in a cage.

And do tests and tests and tests and write a whole report and make a chamber for me. I know, I know. That won't be necessary. I've done the research and documentation on myself for you.

SCP-8000 nudges the SCP-8000 documentation towards Lague.

Why the 8000 slot?

I didn't choose that.

You said you wrote it.

Yes, but that was out of my hands.

Do you have a tail?

That's your biggest concern?

It's an odd detail to write about. Can't you infer?

I've never seen my tail. I wouldn't confirm something I have no evidence of.

You can slither through here, and I can confirm whether you have a tail.

Excuse you, I float. Daintily and whimsically.

Whatever. Who took this picture?

You do, in about six or seven minutes.

What are you talking about?

Do you ever run into issues where you master something and assume that everyone understands what you do?

Often; everyday, actually.

My job is somewhat of an intervener of sorts. So I humbly request you, Mr. Paul, to spend one day with me. You take that picture, so you know the answer already, but I can't force you. That would be rude and mean.

In my office?

SCP-8000 makes a biting motion. It latches onto the air, gripping the space with its jaw. The entity pulls its head to the left, tearing a rip into present reality.

SCP-8000 flies through the gateway and peeks its head out towards Lague.

No! It's right through here. Very cozy, if I do say so myself.

Hold on.

Yes, yes. 'How could you ever trust me?' Ask me whatever you want, and I will be truthful.

SCP-8000 raises its right flipper.

I swear on those magazines you keep hidden in your desk drawers.

(Lague silently locks eye with at SCP-8000, who winks in response.)

You're not going to kill me?

Wasteful.

Eat me?

My craving for human flesh has long since passed.

Is that a joke?

Yes. So touchy. Eating you would be redundant.

What about torturing me for millions of years? Burning my family alive in front of me? Driving me to insanity over and over again? Anything like that on the table?

How oddly specific.

Answer.

Gratuitous and reckless.

I don't know what I'm supposed to do here.

Mr. Paul, I'd just like to spend the day with you.

You said that.

I'm going to go into this rift very slowly. These things don't stay open long, and they're a real pain in the flipper to open again. So please, save us both the trouble. You wouldn't want to create a paradox by not taking the picture you just saw, would you, Mr. Paul?

SCP-8000 reenters the gateway. Director Lague stares at it as the edges of the tear slowly repair itself.

RECOVERED DOCUMENTATION 8000.1
02/13/2024

Director Paul Lague was ordered to a meeting with Ethics Committee Liaison Jeremiah Cimmerian regarding his behavior as Site-322's Director.

TRANSCRIPT

«BEGIN LOG»

How do you think you've been doing?

The fact you're here isn't a confidence booster.

We consider each other friends, right?

(Silence.)

Okay.

Cutting to the chase, you've missed twelve of the last fourteen O4 meetings, your Site's overall productivity — anomaly containment, research endeavors, et cetera — has plummeted over the last three months, I have sixteen different complaints here about an odor of "trash and shame" originating from your office, and people have been telling me that you're sleeping during working hours.

Hm.

Do you deny these claims?

I don't know. I— I'm just— Never mind.

Burnout?

Maybe? I think I'm just in a lull.

(Cimmerian looks at Lague silently.)

I don't know if I'm depressed or what even else it could be. I sit down in my chair, do whatever bullshit paperwork I need to do for the day, assign whatever projects are left over, and stare at the screen until I can go back home. I'm bored. Everything is boring.

This is probably stemming from a bigger issue.

The sun is hot.

When did all this start?

I was researching this anomaly. I can't be bothered to remember. And, like — I don't know — I sat there looking at this bullshit file of a bullshit anomaly and felt it was all for nothing. I think it killed the spark.

It happens. Look, Paul, I've dealt with a lot of people experiencing the same issues you are. How long have you been a Director?

Eight years.

Oh. Well, that's quicker than usual.

What's the point of whining? I'm doing the work I need to do. I'll pick it up.

Tell me what's going on. Why do you feel this way? Please, I'm here to help you.

Why? There's no point. None! I've had enough. Just— just give me a second to get myself together, and I'll get back to it. I appreciate it, Jer.

This meeting wasn't meant to kick you in the ass and magically make you love this job again. You know the level of work you can put out. We need that back. We need more than what you're giving now.

Believe me, I want more, but I can't find it. It's literally impossible. So why try?

«END LOG»

Director Lague and SCP-8000 exit the gateway into the study of a vast library. The grand doors are opened, giving a view to the hundreds of thousands of books seated on dark mahogany shelves, which stretch far beyond view in the distance and towards the ceiling. The air is still, with a hint of the smell of ash and old paper. Small orbs of light dance around the shelves, illuminating the tomes and hallways.

I've been to the Wanderers' Library before.

This library is mine. Those carnies got the infinite library idea from me. I borrowed it from Alexandria.

The pair walk out of the study. Stone archways wrapped in ivy and vines guard the front of each of the sprawling hallways.

I think I would have heard of a third library of this sort by now.

I dislike publicity, so I keep it to myself. That said, this is not my library per se. It's yours.

They approach an archway. Engraved into its keystone is "MEMORY LANE."

Care for a stroll?

Lague and SCP-8000 proceed. They enter into a subsection of the hallway.

This holds every experience, every moment, every bit of knowledge, and every emotion. It's a map of you, Mr. Paul.

How in-depth is this?

Piano muscle memory is up there. Very dusty. Four volumes on your childhood expertise in all things shark and shark-related are up ahead. I have every moment of every elementary school class you've sat through further up this way.

How in-depth?

I've read everything. […] I don't judge.

Even—

SCP-8000 soars above out of view, retrieving a dusty book from a shelf and dropping it to Lague. He opens it.

Lague is eight years old, swimming in a public pool.

Grabbing the bar of a ladder in the deepest part of the pool, Lague pushes himself under and then pulls himself back up. He does this four times.

Suddenly, Lague attempts to breach the surface but can't. The inside of his swim shorts are wrapped around the ripped stopper at the bottom of the bar.

Panicking, Lague splashes and tries to pull himself above the water but can't. He unties his shorts and swims out of them. He is naked, but alive.

Two girls, one Lague had romantic feelings for, observed the entire incident and stared at him.

Lague gasps for air and touches his chest and arms.

Even that, yes.

Jesus Christ! That felt so real.

It was. You were there before, and I placed you back so you may relive it.

Is this your whole gig?

Making you relive embarrassing moments? No. That was a trial run. I can make you relive, but we can also watch as spectators.

Can you please — for the love of everything — tell me what we're doing here?

We're here for your memories of failure. There are many. More than most people, somehow.

I'd rather you drown me again.

RECOVERED DOCUMENTATION 8000.2
02/14/2024

Dr. Jeremiah Cimmerian gathered several of Director Lague's close colleagues, believing it would alleviate Director Lague's current disposition.

TRANSCRIPT

Members Present
Dir. Daniel Asheworth
Dr. Harold Blank
Dr. Jeremiah Cimmerian
Dr. Anthony Coix
Dir. Randall House
Dr. Cole Thereven
SCP-5595

«BEGIN LOG»

(Guided by Cimmerian, Lague enters a Site-322 meeting space. In front of him are his colleagues, seated in a circle. An empty chair is in front of him.)

An intervention? Are you kidding me?

It's not an intervention.

IT'S CLEARLY AN INTERVENTION. HE'S AN IDIOT, NOT STUPID.

(Lague slumps in the empty chair, grumbling to himself.)

We want to discuss your career and your emotional state. A few of us have prepared statements. Does anyone want to go first?

(Thereven's arm shoots up.)

Cole?

(Thereven pulls a crumpled piece of paper from under his leg and begins reading it.)

Mr. Lague, I am very sorry for the loss you have experienced over the last few months. I can only imagine how hard it is to lose a pet. It makes me sad to think about my pet gecko, Clyde, dying like your dog did in a violent car accident. My condolences to you and all of the other dead dogs and pets out there.

Cole, this is abou—

(Lague holds his hand up to Cimmerian.)

I appreciate it, Cole. Thank you.1

Anthony?

I needed some documents looked at and signed by you last week. You said you'd get to them, but when I went into your office a few hours later, I found them under a book written by a pickup artist. I had to stay overtime for five days to do the necessary edits. On top of that, I had to fill in for you at six separate meetings where you were going to no-show. I didn't get paid overtime.

What? You didn't get overtime?

You removed those privileges.

No. No, I didn't.

OH YEAH. THAT WAS ME.

The hell?

HE CALLED ME AN ASSHOLE FOR SCALPING ERAS TOUR TICKETS.

What does this gumball machine do?

It's the first integrated anomaly. Lague put it in our financial department.

Probably not the finest idea.

Thanks, big guy. I definitely asked for your opinion there.

I'm just saying. It's an anomaly controlling Foundation resources. Maybe that wasn't the best of—

Don't start with me, Dan. Everyone here remembers Obearwatch and thinks about it every time they see you.

Fuck you!

(Asheworth moves to leave.)

It was a product of its time!

(Asheworth exits, slamming the door behind him.)

Every time.

I'll go. For the last eight years, you've been very independent — more independent than most. I'd get the rare call or email asking for a once-over on whatever report you're filing. More recently, though, you've become much less confident, needing to break down your methodology and philosophy instead of just doing it. You're a smart kid. Start acting like it.

I'm not allowed to ask for advice now?

That's not what he's saying.

So what? I'm just supposed to sit here and take this?

No one's attacking you.

Paul, you need to hear it. The fact of life is that there will be peaks and valleys. You think you reached a very, very high peak, and now you're back to a regular old valley, and you're not used to it because it's low in comparison. It's not the end of the world unless you let it be.

Randall?

I'll keep this short. You've become a whiny bitch. You know how much bullshit I deal with on a daily basis? I work in literal hell. I'd love the respite of researching something easy and chill every once in a while.

I AGREE WITH THE DOUCHEBAG.

It's annoying. You're being annoying. I've seen this downward spiral happen a thousand times. Do people have their qualms? Sure. I don't give a damn about those people, because 99% of the time it's someone whining because they think they're not good enough. I'm tired of this victim mentality. Grow your self-confidence back and stop whining.

Ha! Pot meet kettle.

Guys! I said 'non-judgmental' maybe thirty times.

HAVE YOU CONSIDERED BEING LESS ANNOYING WHEN YOU TALK?

He needs to hear it.

You want to talk about being a whiny bitch?

Watch yourself.

Look at the real honorable Site Director. Didn't you conscript demons to find that Gamers Against Weed guy? The one who kept drawing him as a white person, right? A whole lot of self-confidence there, Randy.

Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, buddy. How about this: the second you leave this room, take your hand and grab your life back by the balls.

You know what?

(Lague stands up.)

Grab my life back by the balls? I'll do it all by myself.

I'll believe it when I see it.

You watch me.

(Lague exits.)

Great work, guys. Astounding stuff. Really effective.

THANK YOU.

«END LOG»

I saw your tail, by the way.

No, you didn't.

I caught it for a second when you went into the portal.

That'd be impossible.

Is all of you inside of this library?

Yes. Hm. I see your point. What did it look like?

Normal seal tail.

Astounding. I'll update the documentation. Speaking of.

SCP-8000 flies rapidly from shelf to shelf, retrieving a myriad of books.

Your documentation. These tomes represent your childhood.

Director Lague and SCP-8000 appear in a child's bedroom. The walls are dark blue. Multiple trophies from Little League sports victories line a bookcase opposite the bed.

Oh, no way.

Lague strolls through, grabbing a Batman comic book off of a nightstand and flicking through the pages. He stops at the inside of the back cover.

What's that?

I used to draw my own Batman comics in the back of comic books. I think I have some more over here.

Lague walks to the opposite side of the bed.

How many did you make?

Dozens, maybe hundreds. I don't remember. I loved it, though. Before marine biologist and president, I wanted to do lineart for comics. I got a bunch of those 'How-To-Draw Comic" books. They never really helped other than giving you something to trace, but it was cool nonetheless. I just stopped one day. I don't remember why — maybe school picked up or— Oh shit!

A child, around six or seven years old, is slumped against the bed, silently crying. Several crumpled-up drawings are strewn around him.

Don't worry, he can't see you. That would cause a paradox.

This is so weird.

You mentioned you stopped.

I wish I didn't. It was a pipe dream, but you know, life happens.

A woman barges into the room. She looks around.

You alright?

She moves to find the child, sitting to meet his gaze.

What's wrong?

It's not good.

Well, I think that's wrong.

It's not good!

She wipes a tear from his face with her sleeve.

Honey, if you work yourself up like this you'll never be happy with anything.

I quit! I'll just be a fish doctor and never draw again.

I'll support you in whatever you decide to be. Wanna help me bread the chicken cutlets?

[…] Yeah.

The pair stand and move out of the room. The woman grasps the child's hand.

I don't know where I'm getting the money to pay for marine biology college, but if that's what you want to do, I support it.

That was the day I stopped. I think. You know, now that I look again, it's not that bad for a six-year-old. I guess I was just a brat.

Was?

That's nice.

Why didn't you stick with it?

The odds of me doing anything that mattered in that job were slim to none. I wanted to be the next Jack Kirby or Stan Lee, but that was never going to happen. My dad worked in scouting for college football. He would always talk about these athletes he watched; they were the best in their high school of three hundred kids, but he knew the second those kids stepped onto a college field, they were in the lowest percentile of real skill. He was never, ever wrong.

Do you think he's right about that? It's a bleak outlook on life to continually diminish the skills of yourself and others.

He would always go on this diatribe whenever I got some new interest. Always, always always, he'd manage to bring it up in conversation the next day.

So he was talking about you.

Astute observation.

Mr. Paul, you understand that your standards are what you make them, correct?

That's not true. That has never been true in the history of humankind.

Lague sits at a desk in a quiet, cold room. He's sixteen years old, surrounded by other teenagers at desks. The group stares at the standardized test they're taking.

Lague sits across from his mother. He opens a manila envelope.

Oh my god! Congratulations!

I'm trying to get into a good school, ma. 1520 doesn't cut it.

What are you talking about? That's the 99th percentile.

Henry, Nate, and Isabella got above 1540s.

Nate did? Did he cheat?

It's not the point. 1520 doesn't fu—freaking cut it.

1520 and 1540 are both in the 99th percentile of all scores. You're being ridiculous now; stop it.

It's not good en—

I've been dealing with this attitude for your entire life. Be happy for yourself for once. I'm proud of you, Paul. Doesn't that matter?

I was right in the end. I didn't get into the Ivies.

You switched majors in college five times, from computer engineering to graphic design to culinary arts to mechanical engineering, in a year and a half.

Lague sits on the ground of his dorm room. A physics book is opened to a section about elasticity. He is crying.

Throw that one away! I figured it out with biology in the end, and I graduated on time.

Why didn't you stick with your other choices?

Because the concepts were impossible to understand—

That's not true. You work for the Foundation. You're smart.

Mean it?

[…]

I— It wasn't groundbreaking. I was studying the work of much more successful people to graduate and become a cog in a machine based on those successful people's discoveries. No upward or downward movement, just stuck in a corporation. I couldn't do it. Maybe I self-sabotaged — I know my advisor hated me by the third switch, but I couldn't force myself into that life.

You wanted to leave a mark?

Yeah, is that a crime?

RECOVERED DOCUMENTATION 8000.3-4
02/18/2024 - 02/19/2024

Dir. Lague authorized the following project proposal to be presented to the Overseer Council.

PROJECT SEEKER
Finders keepers. Losers weepers.

SEEKER is a paratechnological machine created at Site-322 for the purpose of multiversal detection of anomalous events, objects, and entities that are currently unknown. The components of the system are listed below.

Localized Wormhole Stabilizer
The Localized Wormhole Stabilizer (LWS) is a system that automatically generates and maintains a localized and controlled Einstein-Rosen bridge. This contained rupture in reality allows SEEKER to look into adjacent universes. Negative-energy constructs have been embedded into the bridge, preventing physical material from passing through, but allowing for the exfiltration of information.

Quantum Computational Core
The Quantum Computational Core (QCC) is composed of a petaflop-scale qubit matrix. The main function of the QCC is to process and sort entangled information gathered from the LWS, significantly reducing potential uncertainty. This process is near-instantaneous, allowing for analysis of data from a maximum of 35,000,000 parallel universes.

Predictive Artificial Intelligence Construct (Quasimodo.AIC)
Quasimodo.AIC is a Foundation-made Artificial Intelligence Construct that has been trained on the Foundation’s historical anomaly repository, incident reports, and the extrapolated multiversal logs sourced from the LWS and sorted by the QCC. Quasimodo.AIC compiles this data, applies a proprietary classification model, and generates accurate predictions of anomaly manifestations, anomalous capabilities, location coordinates, and object classifications based on the frequency and variance seen across the various universes.

SEEKER is activated and operated through a graphical user interface and metric search. Operators can filter subjects of research with thousands of parameters and tags. When triggered, the LWS will survey the sample set and extract data from its multiversal sources. The QCC will then compile the results into a probability tree. Finally, Quasimodo.AIC will sort and synthesize the tree, returning a finalized anomaly profile.

A portion of Director Lague's presentation to the Overseer Council.

TRANSCRIPT

«BEGIN LOG»

Do you see your job as one big dick-measuring contest, Director?

No ma'am.

I'm failing to see a need to spend millions—

The estimates I've run—

Oh, even better. Billions of the Foundation's money on a theoretical tool that does something we already do. I fail to see the need for this past satiating your ego.

(A photocopier sits in the seat of O5-13. It speaks.)

BIG MACHINES ARE ALL THE RAGE NOWADAYS.

How shocked am I that you'd be interested in this, Thirt.

STOP CALLING ME THAT.

Who sent out the big-machine-all-the-rage memo?

SITE-17'S DEEPWELL.

Has anything positive ever come from them? They're always ruining reality or killing gods—

Because someone keeps throwing money at them.

MAYBE I DON'T WANT TO STAY LOCKED IN A PHOTOCOPIER. HAVE YOU EVER CONSIDERED THAT?

I did consult 17's Deepwell for this.

(O5-7 types on their keyboard.)

stop shooting yourself in the foot.

Mr. Lague, can I first say how nice it is to see you again? Firstly, I think this is a grand idea! How did you come up with this? So cool! Okay, so I'm convinced this could benefit us here at the Foundation. However, I'm wondering about the intention here. I did read a report from Mr. Cimmerian over at the Ethics Committee, and he said you have a small case of the blues.

Aren't those kinds of discussions supposed to be confidential?

(O5-7 types on their keyboard.)

we're not governed by the draconian rules of hipaa.

WE'RE FAR ENOUGH AWAY FROM AFRICA FOR THOSE BIG FREAKS TO BE OF NO ISSUE, SEVEN. GET ON THE SAME PAGE AS EVERYONE ELSE.

Paul, please answer Five's question.

Yes, I wasn't doing well, but those are for personal reasons. After evaluating myself and considering why, I poured myself into creating this project so that my Site and I will consistently be at the forefront of interesting, new research.

We have anomaly detection planted on every inch of this planet. You want us to uproot that?

No, this is a different initiative. This is for future predictions. Yes, the anomaly detection system we have is top of the line, I can't deny that or even try to make this project seem better. That is real-time; this would show us when, where, and why anomalies pop up before they even do. There's nothing like it.

«END LOG»

Director Lague's presentation to the Overseer Council.

TRANSCRIPT

«BEGIN LOG»

It went well?

They bought it.

They bought the insecurity machine wholesale?

I prefer the Grab-Your-Life-Back-By-The-Balls Machine for the colloquial term. And yes, it's been approved.

Maybe I know you too well, but if I can see past that thin veneer, I think they could, too.

Oh yeah. They saw through it.

[…] What did you do?

I didn't contact Deepwell, and I sure as hell didn't make this as an anomaly detection system.

[…]

I lied.

«END LOG»

Would you like it if I analyzed you? I'm not some case study, you know.

There was never a rule that you couldn't ask me questions.

You got a name?

Hm. I don't have one. I don't remember why. It's been a while since anyone's even broached that subject.

Alright. You seem like a William. Not a 'Will' William. More of a Bill.

Why the distinction?

The name Bill pops into my head when I see bald things. Not sure why.

I have hair. I'm covered in hair. Your eyes work; I'm sure of that.

Yeah but you look bald. What about Greg?

It feels less special without the reasoning behind a potential distinct nickname.

Francis; Frankie for short.

I remember why I never picked one now. I wouldn't have been taken seriously if I had shown up and said, "Hello, Mr. Paul. I am Frankie."

You're an incredibly long seal. Play into the ridiculousness of that scenario.

I think the tonal disparity between what I do and my coincidental resemblance to a rather dopey mammal is enough unrequited cosmic humor.

I'm the expert on these things here. You have to pick something. A few years back, I dealt with—

Yes, the God of Scrimshaw and Whalebone Carvings. Scordoh plays into his assignment very well. I take a different approach.

Please pick a name.

This is interesting.

Here we go again.

Looking into you, I've found you have a rather obsessive personality that never seems to be sufficed. Your art skill for an adolescent wasn't bad; some would even consider it pretty good. It wasn't good enough. That obsession for perfection led you to quit.

I don't think it's such a bad thing to stop yourself if you have no future in it.

You do this for most activities, academic, recreational, or otherwise, if you even sniff a hint of potential adversity within your rise.

SCP-8000 retrieves a nearby black paperback book.

Lague is playing for his university's intramural basketball league.

The game is tied in the fourth quarter. Lague's team has the ball with fifteen seconds remaining. Neither team has any timeouts.

The ball is passed to a teammate, who is quickly placed under pressure from two defenders. He makes a quick pass to the opposite corner to another teammate. Seven seconds remain.

The teammate fakes a shot, then dribbles into the paint, faking a layup and throwing the ball to Lague. Three seconds remain.

Lague misses the pass. The ball bounces into a defender's hands, who makes a fast break for the opposing basket. 1 second remains.

The player shoots the ball from behind the three-point line, sinking the basket and winning.

Lague leaves, missing the post-game meeting. He did not show up for the next practice.

Oh, come on! I think that's fair. Yeah, I was a baby about my art, and I was mad that I didn't get into the college I wanted to. This is just embarrassing.

You can downplay those events as much as you please, but they were very influential in regard to who you are now.

You can say that about anything. That's how socialization works.

You lost a single game and quit. Was the embarrassment that bad?

To have to look in the face of my teammates after I went butterfingers on an easy game-winner? Yeah. That's embarrassing.

Why are you so averse to that? Embarrassment is a normal part of life.

You know what, you're a hypocrite. You won't let yourself even consider having a name because you're afraid of what people think about you once they hear it. The loss was on me, no one else but me. I couldn't put that art into the world because it wasn't good enough for anyone else to look at. I was pissed I didn't get into an Ivy because how is anyone else supposed to know that I'm smart enough to be there. You're the same as me, and I'm not going to let these idiots think they're better than me as long as I can do something about it.

There it is.

Ooooh. Ooooh. You got me. Good job. You're still a hypocrite.

My name is Wallace, Mr. Paul. Wally, for short. I'm Wallace, and I always have been, but you're still stuck in the position you've trapped yourself in. I hope you'll see that I'm trying to help you.

RECOVERED DOCUMENTATION 8000.5-8
03/13/2024 - 03/20/2024

An abridged catalog of the anomalies discovered by Seeker.

SEEKER.01

Input Universes: 104,257
Parameters: 'CLOSE' 'ALIVE' 'BIG' 'DANGEROUS' 'IN-PHILADELPHIA'

Anomaly is triangulated to Citizen's Bank Park, the home field for the Philadelphia Phillies baseball team.

SCP-01-SEEK is a chimerical-humanoid anomaly resembling a green, rotund, avain wearing a Philadelphia Phillies uniform. SCP-01-SEEK is sentient, sapient, and capable of speech.

TRANSCRIPT

That's not a costume?

No.

You've been a living thing this whole time.

Yes. Have you read my book? Everything's explained.

Yeah, I know it says you're from the Galapagos islands, but there's historical documentation of the Henson monster shop making the Phanatic.

I've met Charles Darwin.

Have you, now?

I've been spreading anti-evolution rhetoric for seventy years. I'm the guy who came up with school choice.

Why didn't he write about you?

I forced him not to.

How?

I said I'd eat him.

Why would he believe you?

I ate his assistant.

Did you?

Swallowed him whole.

Delightful.

My nose hole unhinges like a snake.

You like eating people?

Probably my favorite thing to do.

You're okay with that?

Do you get mad at sharks for doing the same thing?

Sharks don't actively hunt people.

I never said I hunt people.

Do you hunt people?

Yeah, mostly kids. I like standing in their doorways until they notice I'm there.

Are you trying to get a reaction out of me?

You know my hotdog gun? The dogs I put in there are made of people meat. From the people I hunt.

Enchanting.

You ever got one of my hotdogs slung at you?

Nope.

They're made of people meat.

I'm finding it farfetched that you are a living creature that looks like that, you're almost 200 years old, and you eat people.

I'm finding it farfetched that you don't think I'll eat you.

SEEKER.04

Input Universes: 30,124,610
Parameters: 'BIG' 'SCARY' 'DANGEROUS' 'MONSTER'

Anomaly is triangulated to the Everglades in Florida, USA.

SCP-04-SEEK is a humanoid anomaly capable of translocation through the space-time continuum.

TRANSCRIPT

Hello?

Hey, what's up, man?

Do you live here?

Nah. I'm just chilling.

How'd you get here?

I like to teleport.

Is that all?

I can time travel.

Have you done anything of note with that?

You ever wonder why child mortality was so bad when there were knights and kings and shit?

Not particularly.

I travel back in time to eat kids.

Director Lague holds a meeting with those attending the first Seeker tests.

TRANSCRIPT

«BEGIN LOG»

What the hell did you guys do?

[…] Made the machine you wanted?

Why is it pumping out cannibals?

Maybe the AI heavily associates cannibals with the dangerous parameter.

Maybe you need to be more specific.

Maybe I should have been more specific to you. This machine isn't meant to find some thing you can just shove in a locker and call it a day.

That wasn't in the specifications.

Read between the lines!

Paul, you're being ridiculous.

No, no, I'm not. This project represents billions of dollars. This project represents me. I need to show that this can find a world-ending threat before it causes any damage.

Who said that?

Who said what?

That you needed to find a world-ending threat. The Overseers?

I need to find it. Me! I won't sit here with a billion-dollar piece of paratech that will just spit out the baby-eating Tickle-Me-Elmo. Do you understand how stupid I'd look?

You need to calm down.

Ant, I'm one second away from sending you to 120. Jim, what's the ceiling on the amount of universes this thing can scan?

You're just about there at thirty-five million.

I need that number bumped up.

Are you crazy? I can't just do that. The entire thing will need to be reassembled.

Why?

Technically, and maybe, I can move that number up to forty. But at that—

So you can change the numbers.

Yes.

What's the limit?

There isn't one. Listen, the stabilization on that machine—

You built it, Jim. You'll fix it if it breaks. Jesus Christ!

I'm not changing the universal limit.

Suit yourself. I have no problem with that.

Wait a second before you do something stupid. Didn't you fail out of engineering?

Start learning Polish.

«END LOG»

SCP-8000 soars away, retrieving 18 leather-bound books. All are emblazoned with the SCP Foundation's logo.

You're a Site Director; eight years running right now. On top of that, you're reasonably young for one, yes? Despite your appearance.

Yeah. Thanks.

SCP-8000 picks up a book and flips through its pages.

You climbed the ranks fairly quickly, mostly due to your friendships with people that mattered.

Real confidence booster there.

That's not criticism, Mr. Paul. These are facts. You weren't unqualified, but you only got those qualifications due to the opportunities people like Ms. Moose or Mr. McInnis provided.

Anyone could have been in my same spot. No one forced me to do the work I needed to do, and no one else was in a position to be Director when I was picked.

Why are you a Site Director?

What do you want me to do? Brag? I was the most qualified man for the job. I don't know. I was in the right place at the right time.

Remember our honesty pact, Mr. Paul. Here's a conversation between you and Mr. Anthony in 1993.

They gave that slimy bastard his own Site.

The Houses have dealt with the Tartareans since the 40s. It was bound to happen.

No, Ant. How is that fair?

I never said it was.

He's two goddamn years younger than me! What the hell!

I don't know why you're so upset. You're a senior researcher at 25. It took me until I was 34 to even sniff a project I could call my own, let alone a senior title.

I've been in a one-sided war with Randall since I joined this organization. He has the biggest leg up on me now.

Jesus Christ. You're impossible sometimes. Get it together and do the mountain of paperwork in your office. Sitting here and complaining to me won't make you an Overseer.

I was a kid, and I was jealous.

Why were you jealous? Wasn't Mr. Randall a friend of yours?

Yeah.

Do you hate Mr. Randall?

I don't hate him. I never hated him. He's been a mentor to me since I started.

But you were so hateful during that moment.

My god, what's wrong with me?

(SCP-8000 stares at Lague intently.)

I thought I should have been made a Director first.

Why?

Because I thought it would erase every single insecurity I have. If I beat him to the punch, no one would be able to look at me like I wasn't meant to be here.

You eventually got a Site of your own, regardless.

I did, but by then it felt like a consolation prize. Damn it, man. What am I doing to myself?

It wasn't good enough?

It was— It should have been. I— I wanted to do something important — make something that I could put my name at the top of. My entire life, I've been just one single step behind. All I ever, ever wanted was to get even the smallest bit of recognition. You've seen it!

Don't you think it's a bit ridiculous to believe an organization in charge of the utmost security and safety of the universe would give someone a Site as a "consolation prize?"

SCP-8000 flips to another page.

I need your opinion on this, considering you're an anomaly. Containment stuff.

THE WAY YOU SAY THAT WORD MAKES IT FEEL LIKE A SLUR.

I'm losing my mind over here. Give me a break. Look, one of the junior researchers decided to get the flu today, and no one else can fill in on this boring project.

WHAT IS IT?

A toaster that replaces the bread you put in with different types of bread. Anomalous item log entry.

I HOPE YOU VIEW THAT THING AS INFERIOR TO ME.

When did you get so insecure?

I EMULATE YOU.

I can't believe I'm sitting here typing this up. I'm a Director. This should not be my work for the day.

HAVE YOU EVER LED ANYONE IN YOUR LIFE? YOUR JOB IS TO PICK UP THE SCRAPS WHEN THE REST OF THE MICE CAN'T EAT THEM ALL. THEY — I — DON'T PAY YOU TO SIT AROUND AND ONLY DO WORK WHEN THE WORLD IS ABOUT TO EXPLODE. I WAS BETTER AT THIS JOB THAN YOU WERE, AND I WAS USURPED AFTER A MERE DAY.

You got what you were hunting for, and it's still not good enough.

I can't do this anymore. Can we stop, please? I get it. I get what you're trying to tell me. I swear.

Are you sure? You said you wanted recognition, but you are recognized. You were already successful before you became Site Director. Mr. Anthony said it himself: you reached a very high rank at a very young age, but that wasn't good enough, so you pushed further. When you became Site Director, the responsibility that came with it wasn't what you expected. It was fine, for a time, because the novelty hadn't worn off.

The recognition doesn't matter if the hunt turns me into the world's biggest asshole. I'm at a ceiling. I have everything I wanted since I was a kid — money, power, respect, friends who care — and it's still not enough. What's there to even reach from here? There's nothing above that.

You're right. There isn't much more to reach for. Despite that, you'll try to reach for it regardless.

RECOVERED DOCUMENTATION 8000.9-10
03/22/2024

An abridged catalog of the anomalies discovered by Seeker. Cont.

SEEKER.13

Input Universes: 629,814,230
Parameters: '' 'ALIVE' 'SAPIENT' 'WEAPON' 'OLD'

Anomaly is triangulated to a desert in Nevada.

SCP-13-SEEK is a sapient humanoid resembling common depictions of cowboys in media. SCP-13-SEEK is comprised entirely of spaghetti.

TRANSCRIPT

Howdy there.

What's your deal?

You got a name there?

Please, come on. What's your deal?

You're in a hurry to get nowhere fast, my friend. My name's Spaghetti Jones and this is my horse, Ricky-Tony.

(SCP-13-SEEK and its horse bow their heads in unison.)

What do you do?

I go where the wind takes me.

So you do nothing.

I guess you could say that. It's a peaceful life.

What do you eat?

Food.

Like what? What's your favorite food?

I love me a nice juicy steak, rare.

Like cow?

I don't believe they make steak of any other creature.

Okay. You're a guy who's made out of spaghetti and you think it's 1870.

It's not 1870?

If you were me, and you were looking for something amazing, would you be happy if you found you?

I'm happy with myself. I think I'm a nice guy. Ricky-Tony's a sweet fella, too. I'm content. Is that so bad?

That's not what I was asking.

You sure about that, partner? Are you happy with yourself?

I'm not happy that a billion-dollar piece of tech found you.

Welp, I didn't ask to be found. That wasn't an answer to my question either.

You're not good enough, I'm sorry.

My friend, as rude as you were, I hope you have a swell evening.

(SCP-13-SEEK and its horse bow their heads in unison and move away from Lague.)

SEEKER.22

Input Universes: 932,143,994
Parameters: '' 'ALIVE' 'KETER' 'HOSTILE' 'ROBOTIC'

Anomaly is triangulated to a residential home in New York City, New York, USA.

SCP-22-SEEK is a sapient Tickle-Me-Elmo branded toy.

SCP-22-SEEK's sapience can only be observed after a direct attempt at conversation combined with a tickling motion on its abdomen. Despite speaking like the fictional character of Elmo, SCP-22-SEEK displays no similarities to the character's personality.

TRANSCRIPT

Do you eat kids?

(Lague tickles SCP-22-SEEK.)

Hah-hah-hah. Hah-hah-hah. No. Are you sick in the head?

It's been a long few days.

(Lague tickles SCP-22-SEEK.)

Hah-hah-hah. Hah-hah-hah. Elmo doesn't know what monster would eat kids. Elmo sticks to the adults. Much more meat.

Dr. Cimmerian ordered Director Lague to an emergency meeting.

«BEGIN LOG»

Jer, I'm gonna be honest with you, there's not a single thing you can say to me that won't piss me off.

I don't know how gentle I need to be. I'm worried for you—

I've done this all alone for the past godforsaken month. You wanted me to do the work I needed to do. I'm looking for the most dangerous anomalies we don't have contained, and I'm containing them.

You've found 25 anomalies, most of which have a taste for human flesh.

Oh my god. I would think that you, of all people, would be able to understand how basic science works! I'm working on it. Before you forced me into this meeting, I was almost done with the remaining adjustments.

What do you want to find, exactly? A god?

That wouldn't be the worst thing.

And then what? Contain it yourself, too? You need to reevaluate this whole situation.

I am on the cusp of solving every single issue I have in my life.

I met with the engineers. They're convinced that if you go over the 1 billion universes mark, it will end very, very badly. You have a ticking timebomb in your Site. Do you understand the danger you're putting yourself and others in?

I'm done after today. I changed some parameters, and it's going to give me exactly what I've been looking for. Last time, scout's honor. See ya!

(Director Lague exits.)

«END LOG»

Director Lague calls a meeting with all Site-322 personnel in order to display the next anomaly discovered by Seeker.

«BEGIN LOG»

Lague ordered all Site-322 personnel to meet at the Seeker laboratory.

You're probably wondering why I've called everyone here. Today, I find my crowning achievement. The anomaly that this wonderful machine discovers today will not be a cannibal but instead will be my, and by extension, your Magnum Opus.

(Scattered applause.)

This was a lot of work. Far too much, some could even say. I've calibrated Seeker perfectly—

That thing is going explode.

Do you have to be so dark? Everything is all set up; parameters are in, and I even reconfigured the stabilization to account for the wormhole.

HUH?

All I need to do is push th—

(Camera feed dies.)

«END LOG»

The pair journey into the darkest part of the hall. The orbs of golden light are absent, replaced by small, dim lights resembling floating shards of glass.

To you, this hasn't happened yet. I plucked you out before, but you have made the decisions that led us to where we are now.

The shelves grow more and more empty.

All of this will happen should I release you now and let you go alone. Do you remember your meeting before I stepped in?

No. I mean, I remember the meeting, but I don't remember the details.

I'm always curious why this happens to my weary travelers. The forgetfulness.

SCP-8000 and Lague approach a final shelf. Immense emptiness fills the void beyond it. A single book lays on this shelf. It's white, with no back cover, as it appears to have been burnt away.

Read it.

A discussion with a worried friend.

A half-baked intervention.

A project proposal.

Dishonesty to the Overseer Council.

A man's bold-faced obstinance and belief he's the only one who can solve himself.

Four creatures who don't reach the unreachable standard.

A man's stubborn qualities flare in the face of the last person who reaches out.

An avoidable mistake.

Director Lague and SCP-8000 appear in a crater along the bank of a gated river. Crystalline shards lie around them, as well as chunks of concrete, rebar, and glass. The air is hot and smells of sulfur. Lague looks at his surroundings, palpable fear growing on his face.

Do you know where we are?

I—

You know, and I know you do.

[…]

What happened?

The Seeker machine had a meltdown, Mr. Paul. It collapsed in on itself. Wormholes are a fickle thing, I would know. Highly unstable, but you built it up to withstand a lot. You managed to push past that boundary with your obsessive search for glory. You put in some combination of parameters that didn't exist in any known universe — something so specific, so impossible — it cracked.

Lague paces around, finding tattered clothing and lab equipment.

Your Site is gone.

Lague encounters splinters of wood that once belonged to his desk.

Your people are gone.

He digs in the mud, and finds his lanyard for his Site-322 keycard.

You are gone.

(Silence.)

Mr. Paul?

You said this will happen. So, has it?

In the timeline where you didn't meet me, it did.

You stopped it?

I stopped nothing, Mr. Paul. My attention was only drawn towards you because of this tragedy. I see death and destruction every day; it almost all deals with groups of people making decisions with some form of history I could look at and maybe understand their reasoning, but I told you you were a unique case. I looked through your history, hoping to find some sort of triggering event that could explain what happened, but there wasn't one. Every step of the way, you ignored your better judgment and the advice of others. You let your worst tendencies smolder into an uncontrollable blaze, and it caused this.

Why? Let me fix it, please! I can fix this. I can. I know I can. You can give me that chance, just— just put me back!

I thought maybe, maybe I could stop it. I could intervene right as you jump into the deep end and see if I could draw you back over the edge. Cimmerian was your last lifeline. Starting there felt only natural.

Oh my god, I can't believe this. This isn't happening.

I tried, Mr. Paul. Believe me, but you're stubborn. You've been unreceptive to everything I've tried to show you.

I understood it. I understood it all; What does knowing that mean in the end? I am who I am. I'll never be satisfied, and that's the way it is.

That way of thinking has only led you to where we are now.

I can't fix this alone.

You can fix this by yourself. You need to reflect upon yourself; see what I see. You have success, but you need to appreciate it.

How? How can I fix this with everything you've seen?

I saw a kid who didn't believe in himself become a man who couldn't cope with the thought that no one else would believe in him. Despite all of this, look at you now.

SCP-8000 draws a Batman logo in the sand with a flipper. Lague's eyes well with tears.

I'm not in the business of cruelty, Mr. Paul. Let's leave this place.

SCP-8000 closes the book. The pair return to the library. The air feels more still, and the shards of light have dissipated, leaving them in almost total darkness.

I'm not happy with myself. I never have been.

The shelves rattle.

I know.

I can't let this happen. I can't. This— I wasn't made for this.

Most of us aren't, but we all find our way. You have.

I can't let all that work and time be for nothing. I can't let everything I've worked for be rendered a crater in the middle of nowhere. I can't be this hollow shell smiling through problems I made for myself.

Do you trust yourself?

Jesus Christ, what is wrong with me?

The shelves rattle violently. Echoed patters and smacks permeate the hall as books dance off the shelves and plunge to the floor.

You may have your issues, but you have the ability to fix all of this.

My god. I made a life and friends there. Everything I've ever worked for was in that building. That was my success. This is my success. I spent more time crying that I couldn't look myself in the mirror instead of what I did.

The ground below the pair rumbles. The flooring beneath Lague cracks as if struck by a large force. More books fall to the floor behind them, sounding like hailfall. The vines and foliage lining the shelves sway as if they're being blown by hurricane-level winds.

Do you trust yourself?

I can't live like this anymore. I'm tired of feeling like I'm never good enough. I can't look at someone else being happy and feel awful instead of happy with them. I'm good enough. I've always been good enough.

Suddenly, the empty shelves behind Lague burst with light. The rumbling stops. The books float back up to their original spots on the shelves. The foliage returns to its regular state. The cracks remain beneath Lague.

Mr. Paul. Do you trust yourself?

I trust myself. I can fix this.

There it is.

The previously empty shelves are now filled with hundreds of white books of varying sizes and shapes. Lague looks at them in awe.

What's this?

These are unwritten memories. Your life doesn't end prematurely anymore. Now, you can return to your home, to your friends, and to your work. You can succeed in your own way and fill these books.

Everything's determined?

No, Mr. Paul. These are empty books to be written and filled with the choices you may make. You may return and disregard every bit of advice and knowledge I've given you, and these books will vanish once more. Or, you can return and give me some more reading to catch up on. This is all up to you.

RECOVERED DOCUMENTATION 8000.9-10
03/22/2024

Dr. Cimmerian ordered Director Lague to an emergency meeting.

«BEGIN LOG»

Jer, I'm gonna be honest with you, there's not— Oh shit. Oh my god!

(Director Lague sits across from Dr. Cimmerian.)

You're manic.

Probably! Oh, thank god.

Look, Paul, I don't know how gentle I need to be. I'm worried for you. What I've seen and read over the last month makes you seem unfit for this position. This project is a ticking time bomb. I'm worried for the safety of everyone in this Site, and moreover, I'm concerned with your safety.

I know, you're right.

Are you serious?

[…] Yeah.

Oh. Alright. I feel like I'm watching you suffer in self-imposed silence. Please, and for the last time, tell me what is going on.

I—

[…]

I should have listened to you. I know you were trying to help.

I still am.

I'm sorry I pushed it all away, not just you, from everyone. All my life, I've been trapped in this cycle of jealousy and insecurity. I've only gotten out of it because of the people who genuinely cared for me.

Well, I'm not going to sit here and pretend I was expecting this.

You have no idea what I just dealt with. There was this seal and— and—

(Cimmerian furrows his brow.)

I'm not crazy. There was a seal, and I went into this library—

Do I need to call someone?

Doesn't matter.

I'm very confused.

A few weeks ago, you told me you were here to help me.

And I still am.

This whole problem for me started after I finished my 001 proposal.

Those are big achievements. As far as I was told, you were happy with it.

Yeah, I was happy. It's my crowning achievement. I got it all done up and published, but — like — that was it. It was well received by my peers and colleagues, I got the stamp of approval from the Council, and I went through hell to get it done. The hard work paid off. The second I hit that publish button, I was on top of the world. Then… it just was. It's over. Then I was back to the real world, where I was just back— I was just stuck in the regular monotonous shlub work.

You understand not everything you're going to work on will be these major projects, right?

No— I mean, I do now. I felt like it was only downhill from there.

That's fair. You were returning back to your normal workload, it could be a shock to the system.

I felt like I reached the peak of my research eight years into my spot as a Director. Eight years! I couldn't shake that sense of all-encompassing dread. We have people in the Foundation who are immortal. I couldn't imagine that the rest of my life, or a prolonged life, could be spent chasing a high that might never come again. Regardless of whatever you consider a 'major project,' something like a proposal being published sets a new standard and expectations, and I couldn't reach them. I'll never be able to reach them.

And that's—

It was like the day-to-day tasks — the things that were stepping stones into these larger accomplishments became a never-ending loop — a never-ending reminder that I wasn't there anymore. Responsibilities came back, and all it did was remind me that this major achievement was just a brief pause. I couldn't cope.

I understand that. I'd be a liar if I told you you were the only person to experience that feeling.

I know, but it never feels like that in the moment.

Fair enough.

You know what I realized?

Hm.

That was never my proposal. I didn't solve anything. The only reason I managed to get anything successful out of that ordeal was because everyone here stood behind me and believed I had something tangible. They were the ones who worked on the containment procedures with me; they were the ones who calmed my nerves when I thought I was going to lose this job, and they were the ones I've been ignoring during this ordeal. I wish I had seen it sooner.

You have the chance to fix that now.

I know. I know I'll never be able to get rid of that feeling; I've had it my entire life, and it's brought me to heights I never could have imagined. I couldn't see the self-destruction that came with it; the lost relationships, the time wasted, the all-encompassing feeling of 'whatever', and all of it never getting better. I can cope with that. I've done it from day one, but I let it break me for the first time. It can't happen again. I won't let it.

Paul, at the end of the day, disregarding all the politics and hoopla we put on ourselves and each other, your standards are what you make them.

God, do I know. You don't have to say that to me ever again.

«END LOG»

Director Lague calls a meeting with all Site-322 personnel.

«BEGIN LOG»

Lague ordered all Site-322 personnel to meet at the Seeker laboratory.

I know I was an asshole.

COUGH NOISE. STILL ARE. COUGH NOISE.

Thanks. I messed up. I messed up bad. I'm sorry; I know all of you had my best interest at heart. I've been in my own head and made it everyone else's problem for the sole reason I could. That's not a leader.

Paul, as much as we all appreciate that, the machine is still incredibly unstable.

I know. You have no goddamn idea how unstable it is.

(Murmurs among the personnel.)

We're going to be okay. Please don't worry. There was this seal— never mind. I'm going to sound more insane than I already have been. We're going to fix this together.

We need to lower its universal threshold to nothing and then reactivate it. That'll restabilize everything.

Got it.

(Lague activates Seeker's GUI. Lowering the number of universes to be scanned down to 1.)

Is that right?

Yeah. Reactivate it now.

SEEKER.25

Input Universes: 1
Parameters: N/A

Anomaly is triangulated to the sky above Site-322.

That's something.

That's the one.

«END LOG»

SCP-8000 is currently uncontained.

SCP-8000 is an unidentified entity resembling an elongated Harbor Seal (Phoca vitulina), estimated to be 75 to 150 meters in length. SCP-8000's exact anomalous properties are unknown; based on eyewitness accounts, SCP-8000 is capable of self-propelled flight via unknown means.

The origin of SCP-8000 is unknown, as the entity disappeared from view soon after its discovery. A Foundation aircraft was deployed to SCP-8000's last known location, only to discover a small, self-repairing, possibly extradimensional rift lingering in present reality.

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