> Site 16 - The Tartarus Gate
>  by Journeyman
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> The Foundation Creed
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

This is not our world. We are a grain of sand on the beach. A star in the fabric of the midnight sky. We share this world with horrors beyond imagining and comprehension, but the Foundation cannot ask for aid. We are alone in this war. We trudge through the darkness so that the world can enjoy one more day in the light. We do not steal the truth, we secure the truth so people may live normal lives. We do not lie to protect ourselves, we lie to contain evil and danger. We do not rule, we protect the innocent from the juggernauts of the earth. We suffer so that others may go about their lives in peace.

We Secure. We Contain. We Protect.

- “The Administrator”




SCP Foundation Homesite
Editors: Trachyon
> Wrong Place, Wrong Time
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Wrong Place, Wrong Time

Twilight could not help but indulge herself in the morning air. Breathing deeply, she inhaled the scents scattered on the winds: crisp leaves, fresh water from a nearby spring, and the earthy scent of soil and meager grasses. The sun warmed her back as she stretched her limbs to their limits, cracks and pops shooting both up and down her body.

She had slept under the shade of a girthy oak tree with a blanket form her saddlebags. Such rural and naturalistic features were far different than the cozy warmth of her Ponyville home, but such facts did not bother the studious unicorn at that moment. Twilight had a job to do, and she intended to complete it.

The dawn rays illuminated the deep rolling hills and cliff faces of lands far west of Canterlot or Ponyville. The usual beds of flowers or lengthy expanses of greenery were becoming fewer and farther in between the further she traveled. Daffodils, lilies, and other superfluously pleasurable flora were rare finds. Large patches of barren stone and earth were becoming more and more common.

“Big day,” she told herself before releasing a mighty yawn. “The Gates of Tartarus should be near.” Twilight had been escorting Cerberus across Equestria since the previous afternoon. It had been most uneventful, devoid of even local creatures. Strange... why were all the critters and small animals gone? They had been plentiful for the first several miles of her trek out of Ponyville, but ever since she had fallen asleep, they had been missing.

“Strange...” Twilight chalked up the incongruity to the proximity of Tartarus. It was the prison for some of the land's most dangerous monsters after all. If she wasn’t escorting Cerberus, she wouldn’t be caught anywhere near the blasted place.

“Although I could just check out some books in the Royal Canterlot Library to find out more about the place,” she thought out loud. But, of course, there was nothing quite like hoofs-on experience after all.

Twilight cantered over a small hill and smiled; Cerberus hadn’t moved from his temporary bed in the slightest. He had plopped himself down in the center of a large depression between hills. Large for a pony was, of course, just the right size for Cerberus. The dog had rolled onto his back in the throes of sleep. A procession of drool oozed out of its snoring jowls and dripped onto the dirt.

“Wake up, you overgrown pup. We have to get you back to the Gates.” Twilight walked up to the dog and began nudging one of his three head. “Come on.” Twilight looked around briefly and spotted the ball she had used to entice the gate guardian to follow her. Using her magic, she levitated the sphere above his nose. The ball was slathered in drool and she refused to touch it.

“Come on, Cerberus. It’s time to wake up.” Cerberus sniffed the air and kicked one of his hind legs. The action uprooted a small tree. Twilight sighed and nudged the massive head once again. “We have a disaster to stop! My future self said so!”

Next Tuesday morning. That was the deadline her future self had given... herself. To prevent some calamity in the future, she had seen fit to turn back the clock and warn herself about something terrible. The exact context of the disaster was unknown, as Future Twilight hadn’t had quite enough time to to elaborate. However, seeing Cerberus storm into town, it wasn’t hard to discover.

“Wake up!” Cerberus twitched and groaned, licking its lips with its lengthy tongue. “Yuck! You need a breath mint.” Dog breath was bad enough, but dog morning breath? Ew.

Nevertheless, all three of its heads yawned. “That’s a good Cerberus. Come on, we...” Twilight trailed off. Twilight had been rubbing one of Cerberus’ heads to coax it out of sleep. Beneath the blackened fur was a... groove? No... Twilight felt along the skull with a hoof, exploring curiously.

No, not a groove. A scar. Running right along the front of the skull where the frontal lobe was a large, singular surgical scar. The center was what looked like a puncture wound that fractured the skull in a spiderweb pattern.

“...What?” It was a grievous injury, if a fully healed one. The pain must have been agonizing. But how did the wound heal so perfectly? Twilight found it, and only by accident. Such care could have only been accomplished in the most state of the art facilities, not out in the open air of Equestria, far away from any civilization in general.

Twilight didn’t have time to ponder any further. Cerberus rose to his pawed feet and stretched. The popping occurring up and down his spine sounded more like a small explosion belonging in Twilight’s workshop than the displacement of bodily fluids and air. Two of his heads looked around blearily, while one focused on the ball currently in Twilight’s telekinetic grasp.

Twilight shrugged the thought off; it wasn’t as important as getting Cerberus back to the Gates. Whoever repaired the wound knew what they were doing, and for that, Twilight was thankful. Even the hulking, seemingly playful, guardian needed care by ponykind.

Twilight trotted, which quickly broke into a full gallop. The heightened speed was necessary; Cerberus was a medium-sized monster and outpaced her in a few strides. With a sliver of magic from her horn, Twilight linked out of existence and reappeared a good hundred meters ahead of Cerberus. The dog caught up quickly, and then Twilight repeated the process, Blinking out once more.

Even at such a greatly accelerated pace due to her magic-assisted speed, it was exhausting for the young unicorn. Twilight was by no means lazy, but the bookworm’s sedentary lifestyle did not grant her an excess of stamina. Not more than ten minutes at full gallop between Blinks, Twilight was already puffing and panting for breath. Twilight slowed to a meager canter and Cerberus halted in front of her, each head grinning vapidly with tongues hanging out.

“Okay, Cerberus.” Rather than levitate the ball any further, Twilight hurled it through the air. One head barked after the flying object and he scampered off, shaking the earth with each thunderous step.

Twilight sighed and panned her head across the landscape as she caught her breath. She had been paying just enough attention to avoid any precipices of difficult terrain, but the effort to keep running had produced a tunnel vision in which she could not break until she halted. Most of the flora had faded altogether, with the exception of hardy trees coated on tough, gnarled bark. The soil had become more rocky than earthy. Only the most fortuitous plants were capable of surviving in the harsher environment. It was hard to believe that the lush, if dangerous, Everfree Forest was less than a day’s gallop away. The land was slowly dying.

“No, not dying... withering.” Not even the pegasi lived in the area to help control the weather. The rocky landscape was as wild and untamed as the craggy outcroppings and barren land suggested. As unusual as it was, no animals were in sight still. “Odd.” Animals tended to at least take minimal care of themselves, but there were none. No animals, let alone ponies.






“Indeed I do, Red Leader. Primary target sighted. Civvie in proximity. A single pony. Purple coat. Civvie is taking a breather while SCP-284-N is moving forward. Terminate, Captain?” whispered a voice silently.

Up in the skies, hidden from even the most careful eyes, a single pegasus was donned in charcoal gray clothing to become nearly invisible on his cumulous cloud. Slung over his back was a bulky piece of cylindrical metal wrapped in gray cloth to disguise it. The pegasus reached around and shoved a hoof into the empty cylinder. His lined his eyes between two rails in the metal and placed his mouth around the quick release trigger. Each side of the cylinder contained a magical distribution node to propel any object placed between the grooves at blinding speed. An auto-injector accomplished such a task, but any substantially small piece of debris could be propelled with enough force to repaint walls with gray matter.

The pegasus had not yet received a reply from his CO, so he lay prone on the cloud and aimed his magic-propelled rail gun at the unsuspecting unicorn. The pegasus’ earpiece crackled with static momentarily before the voice of his captain spoke. “I see... her? Sending a visual to Command. Line up a shot and prepare to fire.”

“Copy.” The pegasus adjusted his shot to the unicorn’s eye. Unicorns had substantially thicker skull structure than earth ponies or pegasi. While a shot from the railgun would most likely kill the unicorn, there was a chance her skull could deflect most of the pellet’s energy. The chance was minute, but she might survive, unless he targeted the skull where it was thinnest or not present at all.

A small compartment opened on the rail gun and released a tiny, spherical pellet between each rail. All it took now was to bite down on the release, and the unicorn would be nothing but red mist. All he needed was just one, simple word...






SCP Foundation Homesite
Editors: Wolfmaster1337, Maverick Frond
> Oh, crap...
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Oh, crap...

Doctor Sylar was still dragging his hooves. Yeah, he’d woken up at eight o’clock for his shift at nine, but the fact that he was conscious and breathing fresh oxygen wasn’t enough to lift his downtrodden spirit. Sylar had the unfortunate privilege of being the Oracle for Mobile Task Force Beta-4 “Storm Chasers” as they tried to corral the pesky mutt Cerberus.

“Just put the Celestia damned dog under and be done with it.” Lobotomizing the three heads had been difficult, costly, and at the price of over two dozen agents. Cerberus was once revered to be a mad berzerker, but now it was little more than a pup in terms of mental faculties. That didn’t help much, as the blasted dog kept escaping while trying to play. 

After his shift as an Oracle was up, he was going to request a termination of the thing and get it over with.

“Morning, Sylar,” a unicorn crooned. Sylar looked at the one provoking his latent headache with bleary eyes. Doctor Sora was balancing on the very edge of his hooves.

Oh god, it was going to be a long day.

“Hello, Sora.”

“You look awful.”

“I wonder why,” Sylar replied dryly. Sora offered him a cup of coffee, which he gratefully accepted and drank. Bleh; espresso. No wonder Sora was so chip.

Sora kept the conversation brief and left, leaving Sylar to his own devices. Even if he hated the taste of espresso, he took a hearty dose of the caffeinated beverage to diminish the sleep clouding his brain.

Sylar passed rows upon rows of cubicles full of ponies. The Foundation was an equal opportunity employer, but ponies far outstripped the rest of the staff by almost two to one. Doctor Grayfeather and Grendel were discussing something near the water cooler, Rashid quietly enjoyed a sandwich on his break, and Willows was quickly galloping into an office with a bunch of other researchers. Sounds of chatter blended together in a noisy cacophony. He caught conversations about stock prices, recent additions to the SCP archive, another containment breach by SCP-267, aaaaand Sylar tuned everything else out afterwards. Despite the open cubicles and cheerful demeanor of his fellow researchers, Sylar couldn’t bring himself to care about any of the fuss he was or was not hearing.

The Foundation was a prison and a library, a nigh-impenetrable cell that housed some of the most dangerous creatures and items on the planet and a stockpile of all the information those oddities could provide. Honestly, Sylar was... bored. 

Sylar exited the cubicles and entered a blank hallway intermittently lined with cameras. In Site-16, there was always someone watching.

Sylar sighed, telekinetically removed his ID card from around his neck, and swiped it in the slot. Sylar chewed over the rampant thoughts colliding in his head. What was wrong with him today? He’d never before had he woken up giving so little of a fuck before. There was so much to learn and study and analyze, but maybe that was the trap he had fallen into. The Foundation hid such magnificent and terrible wonders from the eyes of the world, locking them behind gilded cages and walls of lies in the darkest holes imaginable. The Foundation was a prison, plain and simple, and host to the most fantastic things imaginable. But when the abnormal became normal, what made the allure so enticing diminishes. There really was too much of a good thing.

So Sylar levitated his coffee, opened another door, this one with actual armed griffons, and entered. He would do his job as an Oracle, instruct MTF Beta-4 if needed, and report any significant details as needed.

Wash, rinse, repeat, do paperwork. 

Sylar took another sip of his coffee and winced; he really didn’t like the taste of espresso. His eyes started wandering down the hallway he was traversing. it was nothing special, just the regular boring gray as all the rest of the facility. Of course, there was the occasional painting to decorate the bland walls, but he wasn’t quite feeling up to appreciating modern art.

The corridor he was walking down was interspaced by doors on either side. Each door had a single serial number printed across its surface with an Oracle contained behind most. Oracles were the lifelines of field agents and the mobile task forces. The MTFs were the eyes and ears, while the oracles were the brains. Need to call for a biohazard or clean-up crew? Why, your friendly neighborhood Oracle is only a phone call away. Need to carpet bomb a settlement to stop an infection? Call the Oracle. 

“I need backup, Oracle. What do I do, Oracle? Stop touching your dick, Oracle,” Sylar grumbled. Most Oracle input was routine to the point of excruciating. Summon back-up, give permission for Mnemonic Enchantments, catalog reports from agents and task forces, make a few calls to allow agents access into classified area. It was all so boring. It only got interesting when a new SCP was discovered or on the rare containment breach, Celestia forbid that ever happen. The last time Sylar checked, SCP-724 had a turnover of three agents a week.

“248... 249... 250... 251... 252...” The stallion halted at a door labeled ‘O16-253’. Well, it was his stop. Sylar swiped his card once again. His Level 3 access card got him permission to access all but the most dangerous SCPs and secure areas. The little red light next to the scanner turned green, and the door hissed open.

Another unicorn sat on a pile of cushions in front of a computer terminal. Upon hearing the door hiss, the unicorn articulated into his headset slowly, “Standby, Beta-4. Prepare for a new Oracle.” Some inarticulate garbage filtered over the comms. Whatever it was, Sylar was too far away to hear it out of the tiny headset.

The unicorn - Sylar forgot his name as soon as he read the nametag - gathered his meager gear and walked passed him. They bumped knees in warm camaraderie, and he quickly left. Sylar couldn’t blame him. The Oracle chambers were little more than enclosed cubicles with the light of half dozen monitors and a single incandescent bulb to illuminate the room. 

Sylar removed his saddlebags, set them in a corner, and drained his disgusting coffee in a final gulp. Shuddering at the taste, he placed the empty mug on his desk and sat down. Adjusting the cushions to suit him, he placed the headset firmly around his ears.

“Beta-4, this is Doctor Sylar, Level-3. Sing for me, everyone.”

“Copy, Oracle. Captain Talos, Red Leader.”

“Dawn, Red One.”

“Iron Sight, Red Two.”

“Bertha, Red Three.”

“Ghost, Red Four.”

“Tubalcain, Red Five.”

Sylar waited for a moment, but no further voices made themselves known. “Storm Chasers,” Sylar used the mobile task force’s pet name rather than their Foundation-given one, “where is the remainder of your team?”

Talos responded, “On hold in Site-16, Oracle. The first known telemetry of SCP-284-N was that it was heading for a civilian settlement. Orders were to not spook the locals, so we came in minimally.”

“Roger that.” Sylar chewed on his lower lip in thought, thinking. “Will mass amnesiacs be required, Red Leader?”

“Negative. SCP-284-N has already left the settlement with zero confirmed casualties and fatalities. Subject is supposedly being herded back to Site-16 by a lone pony.”

“How far from the subject are you?” Sylar placed a bobble-headed cat on the top of one of his many monitors. He tapped the head and the tabby started bobbing without conviction.

“Four clicks out, Oracle. Iron Sight has already been sent ahead for reconnaissance with Dawn as backup. We’ll be upon the civvie shortly.”

“Understood, Red Leader. Be prepared to administer a Class-B Mnemonic Enchantment with a suitable cover story. Arm yourselves in case the civilian proves hostile. Report any change in your mission as they occur.”

“Acknowledged. Over and out.”

The entirety of Beta-4 was silent for the next half hour. Deciding to kill some time now that his cat stopped bobbing its head, Sylar pulled the live feeds from each team member. Ghost and Tubalcain followed on the barren ground, while the remainder used their wings. Iron Sight and Dawn rose above the clouds to gain an eye for the land, and it was not long until they sighted their quarry.

“Target acquired. Ten minutes out.”

“Acknowledged, Iron Sight. Do you have confirmation on the presence of a civilian?” Talos asked over the radio.

“Indeed I do, Red Leader. Primary target sighted. Civvie in proximity. A single pony. Purple coat. Civvie is taking a breather while SCP-284-N is moving forward. Terminate, Captain?” Iron Sight’ feed was brought to the front of all the others. The land was the barren rocks that Sylar had long been a staple of Site-16. 

“Hold off on that.”

Sylar leaned to the left to a small water cooler. Using his magic to pull the tab, he filled his empty mug with water and took a sip.

“I see... her? Yes. Sending a visual to Command. Line up a shot and prepare to fire.”

“Copy.” In Iron Sight’ feed, he removed his weapon and lined up a shot. Talos, meanwhile, dabbled with his PDA and sent an image to Sylar's screen.

Sylar took a drink form his mug... and immediately spat it out.

“Oracle? Is everything alright?” Talos questioned. All he heard was a flood of static as Sylar’s headset was saturated in water.

Sylar grabbed his mic and readjusted it. “Hold your fire! I repeat, hold your fire! Do not engage!”

“Stand down, Iron Sight!” Talos called over the mic. He wasn’t quite sure what had the doctor so aggravated, but he knew better than to question an Oracle.

“Change of plans, Captain. Escort SCP-284-N back to Site-16 and secure the civilian. She is to not be harmed! Understood?”

“I gotcha, Oracle. Over and out.”

The line crackled static for a moment before cutting out entirely. Sylar could only stare at his screen, slackjawed. “What the hell is she doing here?” A freeze frame of a lavender unicorn with a starburst cutie mark was plastered across one of his monitors. He shook his head, snapping himself out of his stupor. He rose, not even bothering to collect his saddlebags. 

“Celestia fuck me with her horn or she’s going to kill us all.” Sylar swiped his card at the door and ran down the corridor at a full gallop.

On the plus side, Sylar wasn’t bored anymore.






SCP Foundation Homesite
Editors: Wolfmaster1337
> EMAIL SUBJECT: Object Class Revisions
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

TO: All Foundation Personnel
FROM: Director ███, Records and Information Security Administration
SUBJECT: Object Class Revisions

Given the circumstances of Incident Report D875-12, the O5 Council desired an update to the object classes. No, we will not tell you why. Any reports requesting a change back to the original designations will be ignored. Insistence will result in demotion to Level 1. Further insistence will result in demotion to Class D.

No, you will not be missed.

Anomalous: There are certain objects that we collect, but still do not garner any formal SCP designation. Such items are not given the rank out of uselessness, but they serve no functional purpose to the Foundation other than being mildly curious. Occasionally, we will receive an item that will eventually warrant a designation. When this happens, the item is removed from the Anomalous archive.

Neutralized: The most famous among the Foundation is SCP-284-N. These are objects that have no unusual or uncontainable effects. Any former SCP should have a note stating the reason for the declassification and what object class it was.

Ex. SCP-XXXX-N

Decommissioned: Whether through termination orders or lack of valid reasons to expend time and resources, the Foundation must sometimes destroy an SCP. Objects classified as decommissioned receive a decommissioned suffix.

Ex. SCP-XXXX-D

Explained: Any SCP that we have figured out beyond any reasonable doubt. We obtain items of interest that we do not understand all the time, but we occasionally discover the how behind the why. If an SCP is Explained, we know how it works.

Ex. SCP-XXXX-EX

Safe: A “Safe” item or subject is something that can be safely and reliably contained if the proper procedures are followed to the letter. That does not mean that Safe designations are harmless, it means we can safely contain it.

Safe protocols are often simple, maybe even short. These procedures are expected to succeed in case of mishandling, unlike the more involved “Keter” class designation.

Euclid: Euclid SCPs cannot be predicted or explained by any known means. Sometimes subjects may be friendly towards the Foundation, but more often than not, they display a degree of hostility to us or life. It is difficult, if not impossible, to understand the full nature and makeup of a Euclid SCP. 

All Euclid-class objects and subjects should have meticulous and precise containment protocols. Unlike Safe-class objects, such precautions are necessary and pose a grave threat if they fail. Procedures are often in place because we do not yet know the exact nature of the item in question.

Keter: This class is reserved for items or subjects that display extreme hostility to all known life and are extremely difficult to contain. Containment procedures are often extensive and redundant in order to minimize the threat, but extreme diligence is still required. Keter-class procedures must be followed to the letter at all times, lest the contained SCP inflict devastating harm on the people, environment, or the world itself. A mere desire for destruction is not enough to be considered Keter; the subject must have the will and/or ability to carry out such extreme damage and harm.





SCP Foundation Homesite
This is a slightly modified document of SCP subject classes
Editors: Trachyon
> SCP-1000 — White Horse
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Item #: SCP-1000

Object Class: Euclid

Special Containment Procedures: Containment Area 24 surrounds the ██████████ █████ ██████ area and is to be quarantined under the cover story of dangerous terrain. Any unauthorized personnel attempting to enter the grounds is to be detained for questioning and given a Class-A Mnemonic Enchantment. Should the perpetrator be prepubescent or younger, questioning is suspended and the subject shall be immediately escorted off site after the enchantment has been cast, as SCP-1000 hunts children with a greater tenacity than it hunts for adults. 

Bi-hourly patrols containing no less than four (4) agents must patrol the grounds. Recording devices are attached to all agents at all times with all feeds backed up on external and on site sources. Device corruption is used to predict SCP-1000 proximity. If there is any fault with the equipment, replacement equipment must be obtained immediately. All equipment must be tested for faults every half hour. No weapons of any kind are permitted inside or near the border of Containment Area 24.

No Foundation staff are allowed to enter Containment Area 24 alone unless granted approval by an O5 majority; failure to comply makes the risks punishment in of itself. All staff must pass rigorous psychological examination. Those with high resistance to psyonic manipulation or reality shifts are given preference. All instances of amnesia, paranoia, audio or visual hallucinations, violent or atypical behavior, anxiety, panic attacks, nightmares, or acute insomnia must be reported immediately. No D-Class are allowed on site at any time in order to decrease exposure to SCP-1000’s cognitohazardous effects.

No one is allowed to look near SCP-1000’s general direction, regardless of the situation. Anyone discovered in the presence of SCP-1000 is officially MIA and no rescue must be attempted. Should anyone deemed MIA ever be recovered, they must be placed under suicide watch and questioned about their experiences. Even if the missing agent or researcher is deemed sound of mind, he or she must not be released into active service until a minimum of six (6) months have passed.

Every eight (8) days, a single D-Class must be deposited near the geographical center of ██████████ █████ ██████. A visual and auditory recording device must be placed on each D-Class offered to SCP-1000. No agent or researcher may observe SCP-1000’s behavior by any direct or indirect means.  Should SCP-1000 ever venture out of its habitat, protocol is to locate a █████████████ orphanage and deposit 1-5 children into the Area’s geographical center. This has proven to decrease lengthy containment breaches by 68%.

Should any agents on patrol hear abnormal sounds up to and including: laughter, crying, shouts, screams, begging, humming, or moaning, they are to investigate the source. Should they encounter any civilians, they are to be detained and questioned prior to receiving a Class-A Mnemonic Enchantment. If agents discover SCP-1000 or any personnel in its presence, agents are to evacuate immediately and log all in the vicinity as MIA.

Description: SCP-1000 is a pony of unknown race or type. To date, SCP-1000 has not communicated with the Foundation or any known sources. No physical description can be made, as its inherent cognitohazard and corruption effects make observation nearly impossible. No further attempts are to be made to determine SCP-1000’s physical appearance.

The subject has a corrosive effect on the mental state of all life forms that come into its presence. Prolonged exposure to the subject has increasingly damaging effects regardless of time between incidents. Deleterious mental conditions increase at a logarithmic rate the closer one approaches the subject. Until more data can be compiled, it is unknown if such an effect is a deliberate act by SCP-1000 to not be seen, or a passive ability of its physical form.

SCP-1000’s aura has an equally hazardous effect on technology. All complex devices, especially those that operate on electricity, suffer corruption when it is near, yet operate at normal efficiency outside its area of influence. 

SCP-1000 must be “fed” routinely to prevent it from preying on the public or Foundation agents. Most life forms in its habitat have long since perished and those that remain instinctively flee its close proximity. Geo-locators attached to offered D-Class vanish as soon as SCP-1000 abducts them. No remains have ever been found. 

The subject enters a state of languor or vanishes from sight for approximately 2-9 days after feeding. Subject has shown increased docility and decreased assaults on Foundation personnel if presented with children instead of D-Class. A possible alteration in its feeding is undergoing review.

The subject has the ability to selectively choose who sees it and who doesn’t, effectively rendering it invisible to all but its prey. Such behavior is likely a tactic to induce fear, but the nature and desires of SCP-1000 remain a mystery, as are the reasons behind why it hunts.





This is the clearest photograph of SCP-1000.


Note its effects corrupting the film negative.






SCP Foundation Homesite
Image Location: LINK
Editors: Trachyon
> Tuesday 10:00 - New D-Class Orientation!
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tuesday 10:00 - New D-Class Orientation!


Welcome to the Foundation!


For new D-Class, this orientation will tell you everything you need to know!


Listen carefully, and enjoy the complimentary bagels and orange juice!






The sterile white room was filled with neat rows of chairs and cushions, each and every one of them filled. It was as if the splattering hodgepodges of every race across the world was compressed into a single room: ponies, zebras, griffons, wyvern, gargoyles, fledgling dragons, cervidae, bison, llamas, and a smattering of others. Each had three things in common: an air of danger, an identical orange jumpsuit with a numerical designation, and they were in the facility because they were the scum of the earth.

That last fact made their desire to ignore the pony at the podium even more. He was a gray unicorn with a pair of glasses, an immaculate lab coat, and a name tag identifying him as “Dr. Salizar”.

“Excuse me please, I’m here to start the orientation.” 

“I’m in for another ten years; fucking girlfriend squealed on me after a told the bitch to keep her trap shut.”

“Gotta cut her ear to ear; it’s what I’m in for. Shoulda’ given me a call, brah.”

The D-Class chatted with each other, comparing prison times and their causes for being sent to them in the first place. A few examined their room; it was the same boring white room as all the others. Sure, some rooms were gray, and others were almost black. The suits did not want to spoil them too fast, but it wasn’t as if they were going anywhere. The room was lined with armed guards, some of them in armored gear.

“Everyone settle down so we can begin,” Salizar declared.

“Twenty five to life, multiple homicides.”

“Last bitch I saw, I showed her a good time for a good three hours before I cut my initials into her ribs. Don’t know if she lived or not, but I gave the whore somethin’ to remember me by.”

“Fuck me, it looks like somepony remodeled your face with a spear.”

“Smashed my fat ass into a chariot. You shoulda’ seen the looks of the old couple that suddenly had their roofs repainted red. Fucking priceless.”

“Professional thief. I tripped over a kid on getting some water in the middle of the night and bashed my head against a grandfather clock. I woke up in a cell.”

“Yeah; real “Professional” right there.”

“Fuck you.”

“I once crashed a party full of kids and – ” 

“Shut the fuck up!” The room hushed to silence. None expected the doctor to have such an impressive degree of venom and volume to his voice. “There we go. Now, I’m here to tell you all why you are here. My name is Doctor Salizar, Director of Resources, and I – ”

“I can’t believe this shit. When that agent told me I could get out of prison – ”

“I SAID SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

The griffon on the receiving end of Salizar’s command blinked in surprise. The gall of this stallion! To willingly piss off a room full of convicts! Sure, he had a small army of armed guards at his back, but it took some serious stones to talk down to a room full of murderers, killers, and thieves. Some of the D-Class began to smile; this doctor had a little bite to him.

“...As I was saying, this is a private facility dedicated to the betterment of scientific research and development. Yes, you are in a building, and that’s about all you get to know as to where you are. You’re not going to know why you were all blindfolded before you came here.”

“Why not?” Some D-Class looked on eagerly for Salizar’s incoming retort for interrupting, but he smiled happily and responded with genuine courtesy.

“I’m sorry, that’s classified. That information is worth more than your life. Now, each and every one of you was approached by one of our agents and given a simple choice: continue your prison sentence, or complete one-tenth of your sentence here and be free to go. All of you wisely picked the better choice. Max sentence or one-tenth? Who wouldn’t pick that kind of deal.” Salizar chuckled quietly. Some of the convicts joined in his mirth, while others hid a shiver. Something wasn’t quite right here.

“I’m serving two consecutive life sentences.” 

“Ah, that’s not a problem. The mean sentence time at the Foundation is five years, and that will be assigned to all of you lovelies who would otherwise be wasting away inside a ten by twelve for the rest of your lives. After that, you’re free to go. Go frolic in the forest, sunbath on the beach, or get caught and thrown into the slammer again. Makes no differences to me. After you’ve served your time, you’re free to go. Our last batch of D-Class all made it out just fine. Not a single one died.”

“Wait, died?”

“This is a research facility and accidents happen, research goes bad, ponies mess up. But don’t worry; we take good care of the D-Class. Yes, you will be involved with dangerous things. Hell, a sword is dangerous, but it’s perfectly safe as long as you know how to use it. The same applies to the Foundation: be a bunch of obedient ants, listen to the researchers, and everything will turn out fine.

“Now, it is your job to assist us in our research. Not all of the little tikes want to grow up and wear a fine lab coat, so we are a little understaffed in... certain areas. You are the workers and the heavy lifters. You are the peasants while we are the lords. Got it?”

“So what’s the job?”

“Whatever we require of you at th – goddamn, he was right about the spear to the face.” Salizar shook off the thought. “I digress. Each experiment varies, so what we require of you varies. It could be anything from moving equipment, to doing push ups, to sitting on your ass in front of a TV all day.

“The point is, you will do whatever we require of you. We will receive no fuss from you, no lip, no back talk, and no prison shenanigans. If I wake up and find out one of you shanked the other in the showers or couldn’t keep his dick in his pants, I get the special pleasure of introducing you to...” Salizar cut his train of thought before smiling. As hardened as some of the convicts were, they couldn’t help but shiver. There was a glimmer of malice in his eyes they had  only seen in the most dangerous of their ilk. “...a friend of mine. Her name is Nedira. You’ll be good friends with Ned. Then you go back to prison to spend the remainder of your sentence. All of it. Don’t fuck up.

“That almost wraps up all my notes. After this, you’ll be escorted back to the D-Block, where you will each be assigned a room and a number brand. Any questions?”

“Brand? The fuck is with that?”

“So we can identify you, of course. It’s easy to switch clothing, but it’s a little harder to hide a brand. It will be placed on each of your backs – oh, don’t worry about your scales. We have our ways. And in the rare case of some catastrophe, the chest is the likely the biggest piece of meat to survive the fallout. Plus, placing it on your back makes it a little more difficult to alter it.”

“Wait, what the fuck!? Catastrophe? The fuck do you do here?” an earth pony exclaimed.

“I told you, that’s just worst case scenario. Accidents happen. Really, we’re not going to put you through the meat grinder just for shits.”

“Screw this shit, doc. I ain’t doin’ this weird bullshit you got planned and bein’ a lab rat. I –” Salizar had nodded towards the disruptive pony. In unison, a pair of griffon guards put the pony in a lock and most graciously escorted him out of the door.

“Now that we got that out of the way,” the brief paused was emphasized by a crack and a crumpling body behind the door, “are there any more questions? No? Good, good.

“Welcome to the Foundation.”





SCP Foundation Homesite
This is partially modeled after the D-Class orientation story
Editors: Trachyon
> SCP-026 — Conflagration
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Item #: SCP-026

Object Class: Safe

Special Containment Procedures: SCP-026 is to be contained in a typical 3x3x3 meter containment chamber at Research Facility 07 with walls composed of tungsten or other refractory metals with a heat tolerance of at least 3,000°C when not undergoing research. All walls are to be coated in flame-retardant materials (asbestos cement, perlite boards, calcium silicate boards, etc.). An additional 1x1x1 meter cube made out of refractory metals contains SCP-026 and is used for transport to other sections of Research Facility 07. All hallways and walkways must remain clear when transporting SCP-026. No D-Class personnel are allowed to transport SCP-026 unless under armed guard (See Addendum 2341)

No guards are necessary for securing SCP-026’s cell, but it must remain hermetically sealed at all times. Thermal enchantments must line every wall to detect increases in temperature. If the ambient heat rises above seven hundred (700) degree Celsius, fire suppression protocols shall be put into place until the blaze is under control.

Description: SCP-026 is a sample of eternally-burning dragonfire in the form of a torch. It has a base temperature of four hundred (400) degrees Celsius, but has been logged to reach temperatures of up to ██,███ degrees Celsius. Despite being secured in an airtight cell and drained of all kindling, SCP-026 does not require oxygen as a source of fuel and continues to burn.

Magic spectrographic analysis confirms the fire is dragonfire from the ████████████ period. No known dragons on record have produced similar flames. Research into historical sources that may aid in locating the producer of SCP-026 is underway.

Containment History: In a routine search of global topics and headlines, the Foundation discovered a series of arson fires in the Griffon Kingdoms territory of ███████. The Foundation contacted a Field Agent in the vicinity, ████ ███████, to discover any possible correlation to any unknown SCPs. His investigation led him to a secluded house registered to an elderly griffon couple who were later found murdered by the arsonist, who used SCP-026 as his weapon. 

The agent executed the arsonist and called for a clean up crew. While searching the grounds, the agent discovered an underground cellar the arsonist used as a means for containing SCP-026. Feeling heat on the other side of the door, ███████ attempted to warn his reinforcements against opening the door, but was too late. The resulting backdraft killed ██ members of the clean up crew before ███████ sacrificed himself to contain the blaze. SCP-026 was otherwise safely recovered and brought into secure containment. ███████ received a posthumous commendation of valor for his actions.

Addendum 2341: On ██/██/████, D-92 was transporting SCP-026 along with Doctor █████ and Field Agent ██ ████. Unknown to both parties, D-92 had acquired a sample of SCP-████ and hidden it on herself. The resulting thermal reaction shattered SCP-026’s protective casing, resulting in a fire and the lockdown of Research Facility 07. In total, ██ researchers, █ agents, and ██ D-Class personnel were killed, including D-92. █ SCPs breached containment, resulting in an additional █ deaths. All escaped SCPs were recaptured and returned to containment. Security measures on both SCP-026 and SCP-████ were updated accordingly

It is suspected that D-92 performed the act out of revenge due to her upcoming termination, which was scheduled for the following week. D-92 had prior history of rebellion against site staff and the Foundation.





SCP Foundation Homesite
Editors: Trachyon

> The O5 Council
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The O5 Council

Doctor Sylar did not even stop for the guards just outside the Oracle Wing. Sylar’s mane, tail, and ID flew as he ran, providing Sylar could run faster than his arthritis would allow. He knew that it was a serious breach in protocol for an Oracle to abandon a field agent or mobile task force. Without support a a stable means of communication with the nearest Foundation hub, what were they to do? 

Sylar was soon puffing. He was a scholar, not a soldier. He was never built with the stamina necessary for intensive work. Sitting in front of a monitor or desk was where his calling lay. His fountain pen cutie mark attested to that. 

Sylar stopped at the walls of cubicles for a breather. A pair of ponies talking next to a water cooler ceased their dialog and eyed Sylar with surprise. Sylar took one of their glasses with his magic and greedily drank the liquid.

“You little shit, all you need to do is grab you own and – ”

Sylar was already gone, darting between griffons and ponies alike. He managed to avoid most, but his rapid pace would cause him to bump into researchers, spilling meticulously crafter documents.

None of the offenses he committed on his coworkers bothered him in the slightest. A single image plagued his mind: a starburst. Everypony with Level 3 clearance - like him - or above were required to know who that was. Twilight Faustina Sparkle, personal protege to Princess Celestia.

And she was right on Site-16’s doorstep.

“Oh,” Sylar moaned, “Celestia’s going to kill us.”

Sylar soon exited the office complex and entered an empty hallway lined with doors. Site-16 had what the Director called “modular redundancy”. The offices, conference rooms, and labs were scattered throughout the facility, but still clustered in groups. The Director’s own office was on the far end of the eighth floor, the floor he was currently on.

A door to one of the conference rooms opened without warning and out walked another researcher, causing Sylar’s hooves to slide against the tiled floor in an effort to halt his momentum. It didn’t help in the slightest; Sylar skidded across the floor on a direct collision course.

In a flash of red light, Sylar was propelled over the other researcher’s head and hung there. “Where’s the fire, Doctor? I don’t believe SCP-026 is in this facility.” Sylar recognized that strange drawl anywhere: Doctor Salizar, Director of Resources for Site-16. 

Salizar was infamous for his ability to get into trouble and being too invaluable for anyone to do anything about it. He was thin to the point of gaunt, a lightly dappled gray coat, brown mane and tail, and what looked like a horseshoe cutiemark under his lab coat. What unnerved those he spoke to was his low, raspy tone of voice and odd stress on certain syllables. “I am quite certain such haste is not yet warranted, doctor. Unless...” Salizer held the ‘s’ longer than what was needed. “You know something I am not aware of just yet?”

He was not the Site Director, but he would do.

“Doctor! Set me down!” Sylar scrambled through the air uselessly. “I have something important to tell you!”

Salizar smirked. Although irritated that his trip back from D-Class orientation was rudely interrupted, it was most certainly not normal to have other doctors or agents nearly crash into others without some kind of emergency. No matter how careful or redundant containment procedures may be, there was always a chance a particularly dangerous SCP could escape and wreak havok. The very mention of the word “keter” was enough to make junior researchers tremble in their coats.

“Okay, okay, settle down. What do we have that’s put a fire under your tail?” Slowly but surely, Salizar set his underling down into his hooves. Sylar scrambled for a moment to regain his center of gravity. Salizar took the brief intermission to study the researcher: wide eyes, sweaty coat, and gasping breath. Salizar’s eyes narrowed. Something was wrong.

“I’ve got to tell you something. I just found someone just a few hours outside Site-16 You will not believe who it is...”





Salizar stood calmly by a closed door, slowly tapping a hoof to some invisible beat in his head. On the other side of the door was where world-changing decisions were made. Agents and researchers that walked down the pristine hallway - pony, griffon or other - gave the door a wide berth as if it were host to some contagion that wished to avoid. Two characters were printed on the door and acted as the barrier that kept everyone away.


O5


Contagions and infectious agents were four levels down, but that was beside the point.

Upon hearing the alarming news, Salizar alerted his colleague, Site Director Dora Belladona. She, in turn, alerted the ruling power behind the entirety of the SCP Foundation: the O5 Council. Omnipresent, unquestioned, and all-knowing, the Council was the highest Foundation authority and decision maker there was.

With a hiss, the pneumatic door opened. Salizar walked in without a word. A figure stood in the shadows to his left: short stature, charcoal gray coat, blinding white mane, and a book cutiemark identified the individual as Belladona. Lab coats at Site-16 were fairly uniform, so it was difficult to differentiate one individual from another at a distance, but Salizar knew those acid-green eyes anywhere.

It was not an appropriate time to chat, however. Salizar’s hooves echoed across the empty room and halted near the middle. It was only slightly larger than a standard corner office and the lights were dimmed, but size and light were not needed. At the other end of the room were two rows of semi concentric circles of pedestals. Atop of each was a single symbol, that of two rings with one inside the other with three arrows pointing inward. They were thirteen sigils of the O5 Council, one for each member, and all silently levitated on their pedestals in a dull blue light.

“Twenty minutes ago,” Salizar enunciated slowly, overriding his slight accent, “Mobile Task Force Beta-4 encountered SCP-284-N, otherwise known as Cerberus, mere hours away from Site-16. The capture was uneventful and the secrecy was not exposed to civilian settlements.

“However, SCP-284-N was not alone. The subject was being escorted to the Gates by another before Beta-4 arrived: a lone unicorn by the name of Twilight Sparkle.”

“The prodigal student?” a gender neutral voice rang through the room. Salizar could tell that the voice came from one of the sigils, but he could neither discern which particular one or where the speaker’s voice originated. The robotic voice betrayed neither interest nor concern, only a request for clarification.

“Correct,” Salizar replied. “Ms. Sparkle was escorting the creature to the Gates in accordance to its cover story. She is being escorted to this facility by Beta-4 as we speak and her fate can be decided upon her arrival.”

“This is not acceptable, Director,” another voice proclaimed. This one was slightly deeper, likely male. “Since our initial contact, Princess Celestia has made only one demand of us, and that is to leave her protege oblivious to Foundation affairs.”

“This is true.” Salizar said before remaining silent. The Council did not immediately respond. Salizar counted the seconds in the dark room, waiting for the O5 members to council with each other.

After precisely one hundred forty seven seconds, Salizar spoke, “Pardon the interruption, but this new turn of events may play well into our hooves and hands.”

“Explain, Director. Celestia has made it very clear what she intends to do if we show interest in Ms. Sparkle,” said a third.

The tiniest of smirks crossed Salizar’s face. Although nothing but sigils, Salizar was certain that the Council could still see him. Somehow. “Ms. Sparkle approaches Site-16. Let us use this time in order to gauge her emotional acceptance to the Foundation.”

Another member of O5 responded, “Such an opportunity, however desirable, remains out of even our considerable grasp. The risks of angering Princess Celestia and Ms. Sparkle’s possible refusal makes the risks insubstantial compared to the actual gains.”

“Not in the slightest, Council,” Salizar’s drawl started to return. “Of course, Ms. Sparkle may reveal no interest in the Foundation. Yes, Princess Celestia will soon learn of her pupil’s intended destination, but we have never had so many cards play in our favor before. Ms. Sparkle is alone, unprotected, and away from those that shield her. Her venture was spontaneous, so not even the Royal Court knows of Cerberus’ escape just yet. The cards are on the table and in our favor.

“If Ms. Sparkle refuses our offer or shows a general disinterest, we can wipe her mind with an amnesiac and declare to Princess Celestia that the entire situation was naught but a cruel hand dealt by fate. We simply deliver her to the princess, alive and unspoiled. The secrecy of the Foundation is maintained, and the princess gets her... precious student.” Again, Salizar emphasized the wrong word.

“However...if Ms. Sparkle shows an interest in the Foundation, we can use the experience to better groom her for the future. Just think of the possibilities!” Salizar’s eyes were wide, urging those only a sigil away from his line of thinking. “Twilight Sparkle, the Element of Magic, and a direct line to one of the most powerful entities this world has ever seen. An Element, an eye and ear of the Royal Court, unlimited access to the Royal archives, the sheer amount of possibilities are endless if she joins the Foundation.

"Such power... such influence... Ms. Sparkle has experienced as much paranormal activity as any agent. I know she has the capability to become one of the most powerful member the Foundation has ever known.”

The Council was silent once again. The floating thirteen sigils stood motionless, all wrapped in the identical magical hue. Salizar did not speak this time. Belladona had yet to speak at all. Her eyes pierced through the mild darkness and bored holes through the back of his skull.

“Agreed.” Salizar’s smirked widened. “We permit basic emotional and psychological testing to discover if Ms. Sparkle is susceptible to manipulation. Dismissed.” The magical aura surrounding each sigil vanished. The conference room had gone dead cold in both temperature and silence.

Without another word, Salizar turned on his hooves and pranced out the door, his smile still adorned on his lips. Belladona followed him out soon afterwards, quietly shutting the door behind her as she left.

Salizar had only just turned to return to his office before a fured form crashed into his. Belladona had pinned him to the wall with her own body and secured his limbs with her magic. Her horn was directly under his jugular. The sharp horn pierced his flesh, drawing a sliver of blood. Salizar was terribly thin and but slightly taller than the average pony, but he still towered over the diminutive director. Despite her small size, the glare she gave the doctor was hot enough to melt through his skull and the wall behind him.

“What are you playing at, Salizar? You know the dangers of Ms. Sparkle coming here.” Her musical soprano was as cold and hard as frozen iron.

“‘Playing at’? Director, certainly nothing.” Belladona pressed her horn harder against his throat. another rivulet of blood flowed through the groove on her horn and stained her cranium with a tiny dollop of crimson. Whatever researchers and agents that needed to pass through the hallway turned around and left, not daring to pass for fear of provoking Belladona or Salizar’s wrath.

“‘I ask of you so little. I now know of your existence, and I accept your deeds, both good and ill, for the benefit of the world. You have done much evil, but I accept that without your actions, the world would be reshaped by destruction. I will fund your research, provide you with resources in order to better help protect my kingdom from the monsters in the dark, and provide my own unofficial support. I ask of you only one boon: leave those I hold dear to my heart out of your affairs and in the dark. They are the wind at my sails, and I will fight a thousand bloody wars to keep them safe. I swear to you on this day: if the Foundation harms my friends and vassals, if they force them to dance on unseen strings, I will not destroy Foundation, I will silence them. They will be less than dust. They will be oblivion, the absence of all. I treasure my friends more than my rule, and if you harm them, I will devour you.’” Salizar smiled down at Belladona after his finished reciting the speech. Due to the awkward angle, Salizar only saw the tiniest sliver of her left eye. “Do you remember those words after Incident Report 213? When Celestia gave us her blessing and promise of destruction if we harmed those she holds dear?”

“I was there, doctor. What are you getting at?”

“I know exactly what she said, Bella. That is what I must impress.”

Belladona hissed. “And yet you indorse this mad plan. Princess Celestia is wise, but she is weak when those close to her are in harms way. Her love of Ms. Sparkle blinds her. Why are you so calm when bringing her here sends an axe over our heads? We are powerful, but she has the power to inflict serious damage to the Foundation and threaten its secrecy. She may not end us, but she will humble us.”

“Of course. I know what she will do. Recall, I am not the one who summoned Ms. Sparkle to Site-16. I am not the one who ordered the approach of the MTF and release of Foundation secrecy. I am not the one escorting her to the Gates as we speak. Do not fault me for Doctor Sylar’s foolishness. I know exactly what the princess will do; I am only making the best moves to salvage a difficult situation. Can Ms. Sparkle be converted? If she can, we can use that knowledge to gain a foothold on a global stage and access to one of the most powerful weapons this world has ever known. If she cannot, she will be dealt with accordingly.”

Belladona grit her teeth in anger. As absolutely infuriating as Salizar was, he was right, and he knew it; that same, calm half-smirk still adorned his face.

She growled in anger, released Salizar, and stormed off. His eyes narrowed and he brought a hoof up to his neck. His hoof was damp with a small splash of red. His pink tongue snaked between his lips and gathered the remains. The taste of iron burst into his mouth and he snickered. Soon his chuckling devolved into maniacal laughter.

“Ha ha ha ha ha! Oh, this is going to be absolutely deliciously fun!”





SCP Foundation Homesite
Editors:
> SCP-118 — Bookmark
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Item #: SCP-118

Object Class: Safe

Special Containment Procedures: SCP-118 is to be kept in a Secure Storage Vault at Site-16. The vault itself must be guarded by two (2) security staff at all times. A complete documentation of tests and selected pages must be submitted to site command and approved before any tests may be performed. If testing deviates from the submitted plan in any manner, testing is suspended, all researchers are to be escorted out, and a disciplinary hearing will be held for all parties involved. SCP-118 must be returned to the vault when not in use or undergoing testing.

SCP-118 must not come into contact with any SCP or victim of an SCP that can produce cognitohazard or infohazard effects. All researchers and subjects involved in SCP-118 testing must be thoroughly certified before any request for SCP-118 is approved. All bookmarked page notations attached to each individual page are not to be removed from SCP-118.

Description: SCP-118 is a old leatherbound book with 415 blank pages and a table of contents indexing all “filled” pages with date of the imprinted memories. Magical spectrographic analysis dates the book to approximately the year ████. There is a faded and unidentified entity portrayed in the center with an unidentified script circling it. Translation is still pending, but ██████ ███ ██████ is the suspected owner.

Whenever the person opens SCP-118 to a blank page, hereby referred to as a “writer”, he or she undergoes acute retrograde amnesia stretching the duration of exactly twenty four (24) hours. Psychological studies, MRI scans, and polygraphic spellcasting on amnesic subjects confirm the absence of all memories.

If a blank page has been seen, the page is filled with any and all sensory and memetic data the writer may possess in a .026 font size. Data is encoded in a highly complex compression algorithm, outlining each and every experience and thought the reader possessed in the imprinted day. Despite two hundred sixteen (216) recorded hours studying a scanned copy of a “day” of Doctor █████████’s mind, only four (4) out of ███,███ sentences have been translated.

If a filled page is viewed by a person, referred to as a “reader”, he or she instantly gains knowledge of all experiences, thoughts, and feeling perceived by whoever previously imprinted their thoughts onto the page. The gained memories are not superimposed over existing memories, but appended to existing ones. In essence, once a reader reads a page, they gain an entirely new day of current memories, creating a whole new “today” out of what was read. The process of reading a page removes all imprinted memetic data, rendering the page blank.





Photograph of SCP-118


Experiment Log 118:

Note to all Researchers:
Please include your name on all records, along with date. Researchers are to keep careful logs of deposited and received memories. All notes and conclusions must be logged.

Test Log Format:
All test logs should be written in this form.
Name: 
Date: 

Page: 
Writer: 
Reader: 
Input: 
Output: 





Name: Dr. Strongbeak
Date: ██/█/10██

Page: 16
Writer: D-27111
Reader: D-3872
Input: D-27111 sat in a blank interrogation room for 24 hours
Output: D-3872 recalls being in an identical room for a “long-ass” time. D-3872 also recalls that the memories he gained “pushed yesterday backward to make room for itself”.

Page: 16
Writer: D-725
Reader: D-00012
Input: D-725 was given an injection of ██████████ to sleep and ███████ to suppress dreams for two days before he was awoken to read a page. 
Output: D-00012 recalls nothing except for the minute D-725 was awake and read the page.

It appears SCP-118 collects unconscious memories as well as conscious ones. I am curious as to discover if the object can imprint dreams as well. I find it fascinating that SCP-1118 can also completely displace memories. Once a page is read, the last twenty four hours suddenly feels like yesterday, while the page read suddenly feels like the last twenty four hours. It’s a jarring experience to be sure and memory is fallible, but this has to be the most remarkably efficient way to transfer memory I know. 
~Dr. Strongbeak





Name: Dr. Strongbeak
Date: ██/█/10██

Dr. Strongbeak Notes: The purpose of this test is to see if it is the book itself that is transferring memories, or if the data printed on them is an infohazard. 

Page: 2
Writer: D-725
Reader: D-00012
Input: As the variable for this test wasn’t D-725’s memories, D-725 was pulled from standard rotation. A photocopy of page 2 was made for this test by a blindfolded Dr. Strongbeak.
Output: D-00012 did not receive the imprinted day.

Page: 2
Writer: D-725
Reader: D-102
Input: As the variable for this test wasn’t D-725’s memories, D-725 was pulled from standard rotation. D-102 was shown only page 2 via a mirror projection.
Output: D-102 received the imprinted day.

As long as a reader only sees the physical copy of the book, the transfer will happen no matter what. However, it is very easy to create a safe copy of each page for study without suffering the side effects of memory loss.
~Dr. Strongbeak





Name: Dr. Rashid
Date: ██/█/10██

Page: 298
Writer: D-935. D-Class was selected for her regularly vivid dreams.
Reader: D-0264
Input: D-935 was given an injection of ██████████ and allowed to sleep for fourteen (14) hours.
Output: D-0264 recalls several dreams involving a hooded stallion rescuing him from a mob, several fantasy settings, and several carnal dreams from the perspective of D-935.

Fascinating indeed. Further studies I need. Dreams cross from female to male, as do fantasies and epic tales.
~Dr. Rashid





Name: Dr. Rashid
Date: ██/█/10██

Page: 7
Writer: D-2961
Reader: D-3872
Input: As the variable for this test wasn’t D-2961’s memories, D-2961 was pulled from standard rotation. D-3872 was shown page 7 in complete darkness to test if registering she was looking at the page was necessary to transfer memories, and was selected due to her unfamiliarity with SCP-118.
Output: D-3872 received the imprinted day.
Addendum: Security procedures concerning SCP-118 have been upgraded in light of this test.





Name: Dr. Salizar
Date: ██/█/10██

Request denied. No, you may not use SCP-118 to test if D-Class can grant memories to lab animals. 
Request granted by O5.

Page: 27
Writer: D-183
Reader: Canis lupus test subject
Input: D-183 was sent through physical training for most of the day prior to glancing at SCP-118
Output: Canis Lupis subject displayed heightened emotional and physical fatigue typical of an intense workout.

Page: 28
Writer: Canis lupus test subject
Reader: D-183
Input: Test subject was in its kennel for most of the day, outside of its scheduled walks
Output: D-183 recalls the sounds and smells typical of a kennel, the occasional walk, and “a fucking jerkass labcoat”.

Page: 27
Writer: Dr. Salizar
Reader: Canis lupus test subject
Input: Dr. Salizar read several medical textbooks for most of the preceding day.
Output: Canis Lupus subject displayed no mentally or physically abnormal behavior other than muscular fasciculations. 

Page: 28
Writer: Canis lupus test subject
Reader: A separate Canis Lupus test subject
Input: Writer Canis lupus was recovering from exposure to SCP-███.
Output: Reader Canis lupus showed an intense fear of bright lights and loud noises.

I do not see any practical means to use SCP-118 with animals, but it provides a wonderfully covert means to store memories without notice. Who would ever think to talk to a dog for classified research? Whether animals can retain the knowledge is inconclusive, but there is a clear bridge between the species.
~Dr. Salizar

Trainer Scaros has been disciplined and demoted to D-Class for abusing lab animals. 
~Site Director Belladona





Name: Dr. Salizar
Date: ██/█/10██
Dr. Salizar’s starting notes: I’m curious as to what would happen when more than one page is “read”.

Page: 46 & 47
Writer: Dr. Salizar
Reader: Dr. Grayfeather
Input: Dr. Salizar read two consecutive pages. Dr. Salizar reported reviewing SCP-118, SCP-382, and SCP-284-N documentation for most of the two days
Output: Dr. Grayfeather recalled the same documentation over both days.

Fascinating. It appears that if two pages are viewed simultaneously, it imprints a total of two days, not the usual one. When used correctly, SCP-118 could be the most effective means to hide a sleeper agent’s mission data I have ever seen.
~Dr. Salizar

Dr. Salizar was reprimanded for imprinting a total of eight hours of pornography into Dr. Grayfeather’s mind via SCP-118
~Site Director Belladona

Holy [EXPLETIVE REDACTED], how did you get all of that past gate security, Zar? I’m pretty sure they don’t make that stuff in Equestria. God damn; I’ll never look at a champagne bottle the same way again.
~Dr. Grayfeather





SCP Foundation Homesite
Book image: LINK
Editors: Trachyon

> Spreadsheet Hell
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Spreadsheet Hell

Doctor Sylar was once again on a mission from above, and a laser-guided heart attack was in his future. 

“I’m too old for this shit.” He huffed and puffed down the plain, boring corridors, past security checkpoints, down a couple boring hallways and back into the same endless wall of cubicles. The small chatter that had somewhat dominated the open offices was reduced to the steady clicks of keyboards and filing paperwork.

Once again, he stopped by the familiar water cooler to take a breather and a drink. The group of griffons and ponies that were once chatting profusely were no longer present, likely back at their labs and cubicles now that their breaks were done. Sylar chugged a glass and gasped, trying desperately to get his breath back. For good measure, he filled and drank another.

Crumpling the tiny cup and tossing it in the wastebasket, Sylar reluctantly galloped off. The moderately bright fluorescent lights and sterile, filtered air were his only companions as he searched. “She has to be here somewhere...” Sylar had left the rows of cubicles and entered a grid-like construct within Site-16. Sixteen rows by five columns, with a single room in the center to use for orientations, debriefings, and a select few customized for interrogations should the need arise.

Sylar swiped his card at the first one he saw and opened it. Inside, a group of doctors and researchers looked up upon hearing the disturbance interrupting their meeting. They said nothing as the panting doctor with a disheveled mane scanned the room slowly. The doctors were examining the chemical composition of a complex molecule blown up to massive proportions on a powerpoint presentation. The blank room was decorated a little better than the usual drab hallways and featureless walls. An artificial plant and a watercooler were wedged into the far corners of the room and paintings adorned the walls. One depicted the silhouette of Princess Celestia spread eagle across an egregiously large sun, while Princess Luna did the same on another, only she was superimposed over the moon.

The project head snapped out of his stupor. “Doctor...?”

“Sorry, wrong room.” Without another thought, Sylar darted back through the door, slamming it shut with his magic. Wheezing, coughing, and ignoring a stitch stabbing at his abdomen, he continued to the next room.

“Where is she?” he thought out loud.

Sylar opened the next door. Each scientist inside looked up to discover the intruder, just like the previous room. “Doctor Sylar! We’re having a meeting!” the project head, a towering gargoyle named Gregor, yelled indignantly. Paperwork was distributed among the two dozen scientists, but the contents did not concern Sylar in the slightest. 

“Sorry. I need to borrow...” He scanned the room and found who he was looking for. He grabbed a pony by the ear with his magic. “this. I’ll return it later.”

“Ow! Ow, ow, ow, ow!” Doctor Willows, a frumpy brown mare with a perpetually irritated expression on her face, complained loudly as he dragged alongside him and shut the door. At that time, Willows had managed to shrug off the shroud of surprise clouding her mind and used her own magic to shove Sylar into a wall. His own magic sparked and vanished, his hold on her now gone.

“What’s going on, doctor?” she shouted. Willows, the Foundation Ice Queen, was not angry, per say, but she was not pleased to be dragged out of a meeting against her will. Even if she wished she was in order to escape a routine report on a hostile SCP’s containment. “You better damn well have – ”

“Less talking. More running.” 

Willows could only watch blankly as Sylar took a deep breath and ran back towards the endless row of cubicles. At least it seemed endless for those that worked there, like herself. Willows thought for a moment, contemplating the context of her situation. She had just been dragged out of a necessary but boring meeting, only to be told her savior/foalnapper needed her to follow him to some unknown part of the facility.

Sighing in resignation, Willows cantered after Sylar. “He better have a damn good reason for all this.” Somewhere in the back of her head, the voice of her mother was telling her to not follow ponies that foalnap her.

Researchers turned their heads as she passed, obviously curious as to what could motivate the usually dull, lifeless Sylar into running as if his tail was on fire. No matter the reason, Willows had half the mind to buck him in the teeth. Galloping past dozens of fellow Foundation members was not a flawless means to avoid unwanted interest. If his goal was important enough to commandeer another researcher, than it was important enough to allow for a little discretion when the attention of others could be easily gained.

“Idiot stallion,” Willows said with scorn. Nevertheless, she followed the trail of turned heads Sylar left in his wake. However, she couldn’t help but be impressed; Sylar was an overweight stallion with high blood pressure problems and going on fifty. He could move pretty fast when properly motivated.

Sylar stood by one of the numerous record rooms used to store reference documents and research notes for other members of the Foundation. Whenever hardcopies of secondary source materials were needed, it was just a room away. Out of spite more than low stamina, Willows slowed her pace to a light trot. Sylar pranced in place, waiting impatiently for her to catch up to him. Once there, he quickly slid his keycard into the slot, watched the light turn green, and barged right in.

The record room was dimly lit. How the higher ups expected the lowly researchers to find anything in such a room was lost upon both of them, but that did not concern either just yet. Sylar seemed to know exactly what he was after and where, so Willows sat on her haunches and waited for him to finish. “If this is a waste of everyone’s time, Salizar is going to get a very unpleasant report.”

“Ah ha!” Sylar had, of course, ignored her until he found his file. She rolled her eyes and blew a stray lock of dirty brown hair out of her eyes. Sylar extracted a large dossier from a plastic tote and closed the lid. The dossier itself was inside a simple manila envelop, but that itself was had a single rune emblazoned across the surface. Sylar swiped his ID card across the surface and the rune vanished. It was a simple alert spell that activated as soon as it left the confines of the record room, and could only be deactivated as long as a recognized card was swiped and logged.

Sylar, with dossier in tow, ran right back out. Willows rolled her eyes again as he passed, but followed him nonetheless. “My patience wears thin, doctor.” 

Their next location was not nearly so far away, and that was good for Sylar; he looked ready to drop dead from a heart attack. It was at that time her interest started to become piqued. Little could force Sylar to do work when he did not wish to do it. Something successfully doing so without any prompting was curious to say the least.

Sylar swiped his card once more, opening a small research room with its walls lined with plain desks, lamps, and cushions. Sylar plopped the dossier on the first desk. “Memorize this. You have,” he held removed a pocketwatch from the confines of his labcoat, “four hours.”

Willows’ eyes bulged; that dossier had to be an inch thick! “Four hours!? There’s about twenty years of material here.”

“Twenty three, if memory serves. Now get started. This is an order from the Site Director and O5.” 

Now that made her jaw drop. “O5!? What do they want with me or this?” she hefted the dossier for emphasis. Sylar choosing her made sense, at last; she was the only one at Site-16 with an eidetic memory. It was a handy skill to possess, making her invaluable in terms of understanding and/or memorizing large quantities of information.

But the real question was why did the O5 Council need a file opened and examined right now? O5’s word was law to be sure, but the fact that something garnered their attention, and especially on such short notice, was a cause for concern. Willows did not get any answers, for Sylar ran out the door the moment she finished her sentence.

Willows stared at the door, breathing in and out deeply to soothe her anger. O5? Belladona? What was happening that required her to read a dossier at the drop of a saddle? Whatever the reason, a wounded pride was a better price to pay rather than an angered Belladona.

Reluctantly, she sat down and made herself comfortable on one of the cushions and opened the document.




Subject: Twilight Faustina Sparkle
Known affiliations:
Velvet (Mother)
Nightlight (Father)
Shining Armor (Brother)
Princess Celestia (Mentor)
...
...








SCP Foundation Homesite
Editors: Maverick Frond




> SCP-976 — Doctor Destiny
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Item #: SCP-976

Object Class: Keter

Special Containment Procedures: SCP-976 is uncontained and may never be contained. Due to the ease SCP-976 can penetrate Foundation security, it has earned a keter designation. Should any agent or researcher come into contact with anypony identifying itself as SCP-976 or “Destiny”, extreme caution is advised. All staff are encouraged to learn and converse with SCP-976 should it appear to them.

Any and all containment options for SCP-976 should be reported to your Site Director. All suggestions are welcome, regardless of who may suggest them.

All hospital reports and newspaper sources are to be monitored for any identifiable reference to a “Doctor Destiny” or near death experiences involving an unknown doctor. Should any take place, the victim is to be questioned on their experiences and given a Class-A Mnemonic Enchantment.

Description: SCP-976 is a male, middle-aged earth pony identifying itself as “Destiny” who often dresses in a standard issue doctor’s garb. To date, the subject has not expressed hostility or desire to inflict harm upon the Foundation, despite knowing more classified intelligence than even high clearance Foundation agents are considered capable of obtaining. SCP-976 has expressed an encyclopedic knowledge of all individuals it has sought. 

The subject appears to injured individuals close to death and heals their wounds before leaving. The Foundation has procured records from civilian and military hospitals highlighting similar encounters with a doctor identifying himself as “Destiny”. Further research into historical records dating back over seven hundred years indicate a total of ███ similar instances of a healer coming to ponies’ aid. Further research is underway to discover more SCP-976 activity.

SCP-976 displays vast and extensive knowledge of anatomy and surgical procedures, along with experience in microbiology, infectious diseases, epidemiology, radiology, pharmacology, pediatrics, oncology, anatomy, and physiology. The time required to learn such a wide degree of medical knowledge is inconsistent with SCP-976’s approximate age, indicating the subject is far older than physical appearances suggest.

SCP-976 is in possession of medical technology far more advanced than even the finest facilities in the world. To date, the subject has been capable of cleansing radiation sickness within the span of three (3) hours, curing SCP-1523 in even its most advanced stages, and carries a functional hive of [REDACTED].

No known physical or magical barrier is capable of deterring SCP-976. The subject is able to access and exit heavily fortified Foundation structures without utilizing typical entrances. This data, along with eyewitness testimonies, suggests a form of locomotion or transport not fully understood by science or magic.

Containment History: SCP-976 came to the attention of the Foundation after Field Agent Captain ████ ████████ suffered debilitating wounds at the hooves of SCP-724. ████████ told the tale of a healer coming to him in the darkness and splinting his leg so he could escape. A formal inquiry was established in order to identify the intruder, as it was not typical SCP-724 behavior. No definite conclusions were reached and the case was shelved.

After the incident, other agents compared their own “final moment” stories with each other. The results produced an unusually high number of instance where agents were rescued by a stallion claiming no association with the Foundation. After compiling all known instances of SCP-976, there were a confirmed seven (7) encounters with researchers and field agents, ███ encounters with civilians, and ██ encounters with world military and political members.

Addendum 976-28-1: Record log of Captain ████ ████████’s questioning about his encounter with SCP-976.
Interviewer: Doctor Nova
interviewee: Captain ████████


<BEGIN LOG>
Doctor Nova: This will all be on record, captain.

Captain ████████: Understood.

Doctor Nova: Please state your name and rank.

Captain ████████: Captain ████ ████████, Containment Area 23.

Doctor Nova: Describe the events preceding your encounter.

Captain ████████: I was ambushed by a group of SCP-724-2. All were terminated, but I lost my wingpony and three agents in the process. I had two broken legs, a compound fracture in my wing, and some broken ribs. I wasn’t going anywhere and knew very well I might not be able to make it out alive at that point. Since I was located on the seventh level and on one of the recon teams, it wasn’t likely I would be discovered anytime soon.

I accepted the fact I would not make it out. I even prepared a cyanide capsule in case I encountered SCP-724-1 or SCP-724-2; none want to be turned into SCP-724-2. I wasn’t making much progress in my state.

I turned the corner of the T-junction right next to the western wall, and that’s when I saw him. He was dressed in a lab coat with the most utterly blank look on his face.

Doctor Nova: The intruder did not approach you?

Captain ████████: It appeared he knew I was coming and was just waiting for me. I didn’t recognize him as anyone registered on site and he didn’t look like one of the infected SCP-724-2, but I knew enough staff to know that he didn’t belong there. I asked him who he was, and he said Destiny. I prepared myself for a fight, and that’s when he just pulled out some supplies from his saddlebags. He asked me to lie down and hold still like it was the most normal thing in the world. Being in that building didn’t even phase him. It was admirable, really.

Doctor Nova: You allowed him to operate on you?

Captain ████████: Allow? Not at first, but it wasn’t as if I had a choice. I was too wounded to put up much of a fight and he overpowered me quickly when I resisted. He just started operating on me, stitching wounds and resetting ribs. Honestly, I let him after that.

Doctor Nova: Did the subject say anything during the procedure?

Captain ████████: Precious little. I asked him the usual array of questions: Who are you? What do you want? With whom are you affiliated? I got Destiny as a name and then got the silent treatment.

Doctor Nova: Describe him for me.

Captain ████████: Earth pony. Tall, slender, and wearing a lab coat. Couldn’t see the cutie mark. He was very gaunt, almost as if he hasn’t slept in days. His saddlebags were unremarkable, but were full of medical supplies, a mechanical [REDACTED], and a photograph stitched into the leather.

Doctor Nova: Describe the photo.

Captain ████████: Not possible. I was in the lesser lit sections of SCP-724, so I couldn’t see much. All I had was my lantern and a flashlight, and that was only just enough to see the floor and little else. [Captain ████████ is momentarily silent]

Stupid of me for not realizing that. I could barely see anything, yet he managed to operate on me in near complete darkness? He shouldn’t have been able to do that. Even a gargoyle’s darkvision is barely enough to see in SCP-724.

Doctor Nova: Did the subject have some form of equipment to allow him to see in darkness?

Captain ████████: None. Just his eyes. I don’t know how he managed it, but he did.

Doctor Nova: Alright then. Did anything else happen while he was operating on you?

Captain ████████: Not really. I was paying close attention for any sounds or presence, but, fortunately, nothing happened. The pony kept working without a word, splinting my leg and stitching wounds.

Doctor Nova: What happened afterwards?

Captain ████████: He just wandered off. After he was done, he packed up his gear and wandered back into the shadows. I tried following him to see where he came from or where he would go, but I had no such luck. I couldn’t fly or walk very fast, but even if I could, I don’t think it would have helped. He rounded a corner, so I pursued. When I rounded the same corner, he was gone. I still had a lantern and it was enough to find my way, but there was nothing. In fact, it was a dead end. I checked the wall for any seams, cracks, or enchantment, but found none. He simply... vanished.

Doctor Nova: Very well. I believe I have all I need, captain.
<END LOG>


A full security sweep was ordered to check for holes in surveillance and possible security leaks. No intruders were detected, but site logs discovered a massive spike in ███████ particles. ████████ Protocol 273 was placed in effect in afterwards.

Addendum 976-28-2: Hearsay transcript of a conversation between Field Agent Diamond Dust and SCP-976. Due to the heavy wounds inflicted upon the agent due to a battle with [REDACTED], the conversation was transcripted after events had taken place. This particular encounter is of note, as it is the longest conversation with SCP-976 on record.


<START LOG>
Agent Dust: It’s you. Holy shit, it’s you. Doctor –

SCP-976: Destiny.

Agent Dust: ...Why?

SCP-976: Why you? 

[Subject proceeds to cauterize hemorrhaging wounds. Agent screams in pain] 

It makes no difference to me anymore.

Agent Dust: B-but you’re a doctor.

SCP-976: That does not give me the ability to care.

Agent Dust: Why stop caring at all then? 

SCP-976: I never started.

Agent Dust: Then why go through all this effort? You come to us in our final moments, for... for what?

SCP-976: [SCP-976 stops its work] What do you cherish most, Dust? The son and daughter who do not even know you are alive? The wife that believes you to be dead? A cloak-and-dagger organization with hearts as empty as the void of space? The Foundation has poisoned you so much that you can no longer discern between right and wrong.

[SCP-976 chuckles] 

I am one to talk.

Agent Dust: I do this job so that others can live normal lives, doctor. This planet is filled to the brim with shit that could kill us ten times over. I do this so my kids can have normal lives. Yeah, it sucks to not see them, but I’d rather have them happy and ignorant than know what’s out there and be miserable.

SCP-976: How noble to force your beliefs of happiness and values on others. That is not your decision to make, Dust. You take for granted the ability to choose. 

[SCP-976 resets agent’s ribs. Agent screams in pain] 

I do what I must. No more.

[SCP-976 proceeds to pack its gear] 

You will be fine if you rendezvous with your squad. Three klicks east. 

Agent Dust: Doctor?

SCP-976: [SCP-976 does not respond, but halts]

Agent Dust: What did you choose to do all this, helping ponies and all that?

SCP-976: I didn't.
<END LOG> 


The subject left Agent Dust shortly after. Agent Dust reached his squad safely, where he then proceeded to transcribe what he experienced.

Addendum 976-28-3: A memo from Assistant Director Zed:

I am thankful this SCP has rescued so many agents in their hour of need. I cannot thank SCP-976 enough for its deeds, both the tall and the small. I would personally commendate it for its actions.

That is why it must be contained at all costs. SCP-976 is not an angel, but a normal pony with an extraordinary ability, and that makes it dangerous. This SCP has the ability go wherever it wishes with absolutely no hindrance. What if, on a whimsy, it decided to venture to the O5 council? A leader of a ruling nation? In the middle of a classified scientific research facility? What if SCP-976 suffers just one bad day and makes a mistake, killing instead of saving? SCP-976 is the perfect healer, and that makes it the perfect assassin, and that is why it must be contained.

~Assistant Director Zed





SCP Foundation Homesite
> Introductions
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Introductions

Cerberus’ enthusiasm was part of the reason Twilight never wanted a dog herself. There was nothing wrong with them in particular, but canines were such a high-maintenance pet, she would never have the time for them along with her own interests. Owlowiscious was a hunter that could take care of himself, but owning a dog came with a set of needs that couldn’t be met without making certain sacrifices.

Cerberus was affectionate, but gigantic. Even if he were normal sized, she wouldn’t adopt him as a pet. It might be selfish to look after her own needs and wants first, but that was where she drew the line; he’d cut into her research and experimentation time. Despite her thoughts, she made sure to give the pup a good petting during the few times where she caught up to him. He leaned his slobbering head heavily into her magical grasp as she gave him a firm rub and her grip buckled under his massive weight.

“Easy, pup. I won’t be able to get you back home if you squish me.” She tossed the ball again and Cerberus scampered off in pursuit, his claws digging gouts into the baked earth. “At least he’s easy to distract.”

Cerberus halted and looked up. Twilight blinked; could he understand her? He didn’t seem to have the intelligence of Fluttershy’s animals, or even Owlowiscious’ ambiguous sentience. “Um, sorry? I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I just thought you going after the ball was enough to stop the disaster...”

He wasn’t looking at her. She’d never seen Cerberus before he stomped into Ponyville, but she knew Winona enough to recognize a few canine facial ticks. Ears erect, stance tensed, and nose sampling the air. He detected something. She turned to look in the same direction.

“Who in the world is that?”

A pony was on approach, not quite galloping but making sure they were running at a good clip. Upon being spotted, the interloper waved before sticking a hoof in their mouth. A loud, shrill whistle ran across the scraggly wastes. Twilight winced, but Cerberus seemed delighted. All three of his heads gave that dopey smile and one responded with a happy bark.

“Hey!” she called out as Cerberus bounded towards the newcomer. They altered course to go further west, a path Cerberus followed without even questioning his new chauffeur.

Twilight shook her momentary stupor off and ran after the pair. Who was that, and why was Cerberus so trusting of them after so much as a whistle?

Her thoughts were immediately cut off as she saw the incoming trio of ponies cresting the hill to her left. She squinted her eyes against the assault of the sun; with it blinding her, their shadows were the only things that alerted her to their sudden appearance. She wasn’t sure how she missed them, or at least didn’t hear them, but the trio were upon her before she could so much as get ten paces on Cerberus. The first two used their wings and glided, while the last looked like an earth pony, but she couldn’t be sure with the face-consuming helmet. The two fliers kicked up a fine layer of dirt and dust as they beat their wings upon landing, with one stepping up front. Hold on. No, one of them was a griffon.

The three of them were decked out as soldiers. Her time spent in Canterlot made her accustomed to the Royal Guard, even if she wasn’t one to spend too much time with them. The Guardsmen were given identical armor to promote camaraderie; no matter their background, everypony was equal.

These three weren’t dressed as Guardsmen at all. Twilight took a step back as the pegasus approached her. They were covered in desert fatigues to help them blend in with the more arid environment, but what caught her attention was all the gear squirreled away in various bags and packs. She recognized an emergency field surgery kit, bedroll, and a combat knife before her eyes were drawn to the large pack strapped to his back. The remaining two had similar gear.

‘They are all equipped like survivalists.’ They were still in Equestrian territory, so logically soldiers would be part of the Royal Guard. Sticking out like a sore hoof was no quartermaster. This squad looked like they were on the move, so where were the rest of the soldiers? A standing army or even a platoon wasn’t that hard to catch, so why hadn’t she seen or heard of a military company until now?

Even more confusing was the griffon in their ranks. Her wings weren’t covered, so Twilight could tell by the pinfeathers that she was female, despite her mask. Equestrian griffons did have a regiment in the army, but never in her life had she actually seen them, and she had never heard of them working side-by-side with the standing army.

The pony that stepped forward spoke to her. “Ma’am, apologies if we startled you,” came the gruff male voice. His mask was similar to the griffon’s, large enough to cover the whole face except for the reflective lenses for eyes. He brought both hooves to his neck and it hissed before he peeled it off. 

He was a fairly handsome pegasus despite his age. At somewhere around fifty, he bore his years with an enviable dignity. She counted a few scars across his light gray fur that ran into his cut all-too-short electric blue mane. She knew a soldier’s mane cut at a glance.

“My name is Captain Talos, ma’am. This here is Tubalcain,” he gestured to the other pony, “and Bertha.” The griffon nodded at her. “We’ve been instructed to take charge of Cerberus’ retrieval and containment. Your work on getting him this far is appreciated.”

“Um... okay,” came her lame answer. There was something odd about the situation that her mind was trying to wrap around.

Talos must have sensed her stuttering mind. “You’re a long ways away from home, miss. You escort Cerberus all the way here yourself?”

“Yeah. Yeah! He was stomping around Ponyville and I’ve been ferrying him back.” Something clicked. Something still felt wrong about the situation, but she felt like a bit of the puzzle fell into place. “Wait, Talos? That’s your name?”

Talos nodded. “Indeed. Can I get yours?”

Oops. Twilight flushed before falling back onto her Canterlot manners. “Oh, sorry! I forget these things sometimes.” She gave him a little bow. “My name is Twilight Sparkle. I come from Ponyville.” He gave her a polite nod. “Anyway, Talos is a Griffon name.”

Talos chuckled and shuffled his helmet from one leg to the other. “Yes, it is. I had griffon foster parents. I was young enough that I asked to take their name.”

Wow. It wasn’t often she heard of something like that. Interspecies adoption was rare no matter which country was studied. Twilight reigned herself in before her mind had a chance to wander. More important things were going on at the moment.

“I take it the one that led Cerberus off is under your command, captain?”

“Affirmative. I didn’t have all the details of the situation, so it was my order to separate the two of you until we could speak. Ensuring your safety was my primary concern.”

Jeez, he was just like Shining. She could take care of herself! She led Cerberus this far. That should prove her competence. Regardless, protecting civilians was the primary concern of the armed forces, even if Talos didn’t know who she was.

Speaking of, where was the remainder of his squad? “So are you with some kind of military company? What are you doing out here?” she asked.

“Can’t answer that, ma’am.”

That wasn’t something she expected. By law, it was Equestrian military standard to identify themselves as such when asked. 

‘They aren’t equipped like the Royal Guard, no segregation, Cerberus seems somewhat familiar with them, and no military standard. Now that I think about it, Tubalcain is a Zebrican name. Special forces?’

It wasn’t unheard of to have “quiet” military operations. Celestia confessed as much during one of their private moments, but a mixed-race squad suggested they weren’t Equestrian Special Forces. What was a spec ops team doing in the middle of nowhere? Well, she was in the middle of nowhere escorting Cerberus to avoid a disaster. Was that alone their mission?

Talos interrupted her thoughts. “Ma’am, we have been instructed to escort you back to our base of operations for a debrief.”

Twilight looked around. The world around them was still fighting to survive, but there was still a chance that there were monsters in the area. She seriously doubted any creature would be a match for Cerberus, let alone her own considerable magical skills, but there was safety in numbers and her herd instincts welcomed the company.

“I don’t see why not.”

He gave a satisfied smile as he relaxed slightly. “That’s good. Excuse me for a moment.”

Talos drifted from the group and held a hoof to his head. There was some kind of device clipped into his ear.

“This is Red...” The rest was lost on her as he walked away.

“What is that little thing? Some kind of radio? I’ve never seen one so small.” She’d set up a small ham radio station in her lab, but that thing looked like a brick and weighed upwards of thirty pounds. If Talos was speaking with someone, it had to be a radio or some kind of arcanotech equipment, but there wasn’t anything in the world that small.

“Can’t answer that, ma’am, until we get back to base,” said the one Talos identified as Tubalcain. If he was a zebra, he spoke perfect Equestrian. Talos was on his way back and looked at the three of them, eyebrow raised.

Wait.

Waaaaaait a moment.

“Base? You have a base nearby?”

“We do, ma’am,” Talos said.

She shook her head. “That can’t be. The only thing nearby is...” Talos was completely impassive as this piece of information fell into place. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Really? The Gates of Tartarus is your base?”

“I said no such thing, ma’am.”

“But you said–”

“I said nothing of the sorts, ma’am.”

“Ugh!” Twilight threw her hooves up in frustration. She was obviously being stonewalled, but she wasn’t sure why. Cerberus wasn’t at his post. Was this team here to fetch him? Did they know why he left? Did something get out!? 

“Lead the way, captain.”

She wondered if she was supposed to see them, or perhaps not, but she saw the minute trail of clouds behind two pegasi drifting between clouds.

Curious...

 There was still a piece of the puzzle missing, and there was nothing she hated more than a puzzle left unsolved.






The land was dying off. Dry earth gave way to rocky crags and harsh scrublands. Only the most tenacious of life could live here. The flora was withered and tough, with most possessing thorns and bark-like tendrils to help dissuade wandering animals. She saw only one lizard beneath a small stone overhang and resting now that it found haven from the heat, literally the only animals she had seen. There still seemed to be some moisture in the air, and yet the land felt like it was dying. Twilight made a mental note to take some samples when she made her return trip.

Her entourage was polite, but quiet. Only Talos seemed somewhat willing to answer her questions, but most were met with the usual stonewalling. The other two in his squad were silent.

‘Not squad of three. Squad of six.’

She only had eyes on one pegasus now; the other one vanished. She half thought she was mistaken, but her gut told her to trust her instincts. She had stumbled into something out here, and she intended to find out what.

Between receiving the circular routine from Talos, she took the time to analyze their gear a little bit better. Each soldier had a custom-fitted helmet that hid their features. A little device with a shining lens was on top of each, its function lost on her. All it seemed to do was add a little extra weight to an already sturdy helmet that looked capable of taking as much beating as a Guardsman's helm. Talos had fixed his to his pack, choosing instead to put up a head wrap for the heat. Twilight was grateful. Looking into the cold lenses of Bertha and Tubalcain made her feel uncomfortable.

The cloth that made up their uniform looked tough and coarse enough to remove paint from a wall. Rarity would have had a seizure just looking at it, but they all wore it as if born in it. The way it flexed and moved across Talos’ barrel revealed that he was wearing some kind of rigid suit under it. For a brief, embarrassing moment, she wanted to ask him to remove his uniform to see what was underneath.

The chest and barrel of each was dotted with pockets, with Bertha having her own unique design due to her different stature. Twilight couldn’t tell what was in any of them save for a few obvious ones, like flashlights and field rations. What interested her most were the items blatantly outside of such confines. A large iron or steel device slung over Talos’ back and ran almost the full length of his body. It possessed a shoulder mount, and extending away from it were two prongs that resembled a large tuning fork. She couldn’t make heads or tails of the device’s usage.

“I don’t have the clearance to tell you that, ma’am,” he said after the umpteenth question. “I was told to escort you back to base where everything would be explained to you by someone with some pull.

That was more than she got out of him for the last half hour of on and off again questions. “Can I at least have their name?”

“I don’t know who’s coming to meet you, ma’am. All I’ve been told is to escort you to the hanger.”

“What hanger?”

She’d been huffing and puffing for a while now. Mercifully, Talos allowed her several breaks.

“This one.”

Twilight watched as Talos approached a rocky crag with an overhang twenty paces long. It looked exactly like the weathered stone from the rest of the wastes. Talos removed his headscarf and pulled out a pair of dog tags. He slipped both steel tags into a crack in the stone. She must have blinked, because in an instant they were gone.

“What...?”

“You just never stop with the questions, do you?” Talos chuckled lightly. “You remind me of a few ponies I know. Always asking why and how.”

“K-knowledge is a very important aspect of pony culture and learning as a whole!”

Talos gave another throaty chuckle, but didn’t add anything else. A rocky node flipped open and inside was something akin to a visor. Twilight leaned forward to see what it was, but Talos leaned his head into it and waited.

The rocky hatch closed as he pulled away. “What is that? Some kind of arcanotech?”

“More questions. You’re like a kid during Hearth’s Warming.”

“Compared to you, I am a kid. I’m only twenty three,” she huffed. “Wait, I didn’t mean to call you old in a bad way or anything.”

Twilight jumped as something in the rocked crunched and hissed, and like it was being pulled open by a great pair of bank vault doors, the wall under the overhang sunk into the earth. Talos and his soldiers didn’t even flinch, and he only grabbed his dog tags as they expelled themselves from the wall and cantered towards the door.

“You ain’t wrong, ma’am. I’m old, and that’s a good thing. It’s hard to get old in my line of work.”

Before she could ask about his cryptic statement, he gestured for her to follow as he cantered inside. Rocky steps gave way to a massive, iron vault door with a single designation emblazoned in a ring of black and yellow hazard tape.


SITE 16


This was no ordinary base.

“...What is this place?” Bertha prodded her forward. Twilight didn’t even realize that she had stopped walking. “I thought we were going to Tartarus...”

No one touched the vault door, but it opened on its own as the group approached. With a loud, mechanical hiss, the door opened.

“What is...?”

Replacing the dead, dry, and dusty rock of the steps was a shining steel hanger capable of holding a small company of fliers. She had to blink her eyes to the sudden shift in color. It wasn’t her eyes clouding; the floors and walls were indeed plated with polished metal over slabs of concrete. Lockers dotted the walls on both sides of the hanger, and despite the sheer size of the place and the fact they were underground, it was no less bright for it. No candles or windows haunted this place. In their place and hanging from the ceiling were dozens of long, flat light bulbs.

“Welcome home, beta four.”

Twilight jumped. In her study of this place, she had completely overlooked the room’s singular occupant. Twilight’s first impression was an old nanny, but no nanny wore a lab coat and an ID. She was a disgruntled-looking brown unicorn with a sleek black mane. She was putting away her watch now that the blast door open. How long was the mare waiting here?

Talos peeked over Twilight’s shoulder. “Greetings, Doctor Willows. Here for the handoff?”

“I wasn’t given much of an option.”

“The suits playing hot potato with responsibility?”

“Something like that.” Doctor Willows checked her watch again. With a breath and some straightening of her shoulders, the veneer was gone and in its place was cold professionalism. “Thank you for your assistance, captain; I will be taking care of our guest from here. You are to continue with your tasks as ordered. Miss Sparkle? If you will follow me, there is someone who wishes to speak with you.”

Talos, Tubalcain, and Bertha didn’t question her. “Yes ma’am,” Talos said, and they began to disarm and disrobe.

“Miss Sparkle?” Willows was almost at the door at the other end of the hanger. “If you please?”

“Um, okay,” she said and cantered forward.

The door opened at their mere presence and hisses loudly, and Twilight’s ears flattened against her skull. The noise was much louder now they were indoors. Her trip with Talos hadn’t been too informative, but it had certainly been interesting. Her hopes were high when the door opened. All sorts of childish whimsy danced through her head, all sorts of answers and different people she could meet on the other side of the door. 

It was a grated walkway in the middle of a circular corridor that led to another door.

They’d dug this entire complex out. It’d be easiest to use a circular drill to do so when wanting to keep a place like this hidden. No use making the corridors any more elaborate then they’d have to be, so stick with a circular drill and make a corridor around that. Just how big was this place? And the designation sixteen? There were more places like this out there?

“If you’re going to squeal, please keep it to yourself,” Willows droned.

Twilight blushed sheepishly. “I’m sorry. I’m just a little excited.”

“I’m taking you to one of the Directors. You can squeal there and ask him all the questions you want.”

“Who is it?”

“Salizar, Director of Resources.”

This place was big enough to require some kind of logistics manager? Just what was going on down here?

The next door opened and grated her ears just like the previous. They had come to a T-junction and the doctor immediately headed right. Twilight took a moment to scan the sign stuck to the far wall before moving on. 


HANGER H


↓



OFFICE BLOCK 3


→



ARMORY


←


It was a seemingly labyrinthian complex with twists and turns, all connected by boring circular corridors. The next door hissed open. It seemed to be some kind of break room with a water jug and a few chairs, but the room was currently unoccupied. Next came more junctions, and the bland decour was almost enough to get her hopelessly lost if she didn’t have her impeccable memory. Willows was seemingly intent on getting them to, judging by the signs, office block three and to this Salizar, whom would answer for both this complex and the impending disaster.

“Talos said you were a doctor. What are you a doctor of?” Twilight walked until she was in step with Willows and peeked at her ID. It showed her picture, name, and identified her as someone in the “Entity Containment Division”. At the very bottom in bright, bold red was some kind of security clearance rating, with hers being set to Level 3.

“I have a masters in xenobiology. It’s my job to study what’s down here when no one else knows what it is.”

Canterlot University had no such field of study. Twilight scrolled through her mental list of prefixes. ‘Xeno’ meant strange or unusual, and biology was a given. So, she studied fake or unknown lifeforms, and coupled with her division nomenclature, Twilight came to the horrible conclusion. 

“So you... capture whatever comes out of the Gates of Tartarus?” she said breathily. What kind of pony would willingly do that?

Willows just looked at her as if she were bored. “Oh, they’re not even the worst ones we have in here.” 

The next door hissed open and Twilight gaped. Before her lay a room large enough to swallow her tree library and then some. Stairs led to a second level that overlooked rows upon rows of office cubicles. All Twilight could hear was a racket as ponies, griffons, zebras, and a half dozen other races all intermingled and shared notes. She watched a minotaur in a lab coat pass of a manilla folder to a griffon, who then bumped fists with him and began studying the contents in earnest. This place was home to all races under the sun, and this grid-like section of paperwork, cubicles, and bureaucracy was still going on. All under Equestria’s nose! This room had to be at least a hundred paces wide! How did the dig all of this out!? And then build down here!? In the middle of nowhere!?

“I was surprised my first time, too,” Willows said, finally cracking a slight smirk.

As her eye began to twitch, Twilight spotted a glass door open on the second level and a charcoal grey unicorn stepped out the door. Twilight wouldn’t have paid him any mind, but he was looking directly at her as if expecting her arrival, and printed across his door was his title.


Doctor Salizar


Director of Resources


He walked down the steps towards her, their gaze never breaking. There was something off about how the stallion looked at her, like she was a bug under examination. Twilight couldn’t rationalize her unease.

“Dear Miss Sparkle, welcome to the Foundation.”