💾 Archived View for gemini.locrian.zone › library › SCP › scp-1893.gmi captured on 2024-03-21 at 15:45:24. Gemini links have been rewritten to link to archived content

-=-=-=-=-=-=-

SCP-1893 — The Minotaur’s Tale

by Eskobar, from the SCP Wiki. Source: https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-1893. Licensed under CC-BY-SA.

Iteration A

This round of “interrogation” was simply too much for Agent Hobbes. He strained against the chains holding him to the metal chair just far enough to spit fetid blood from his mouth and nodded his submission to the other figure in the room. He was all but blind from the swelling around his eyes.

The interrogator smiled. “Item number?” Hobbes heard his new master say through teeth filed into points. The tattoos on his head, in the shape of bull’s horns, flexed menacingly as his forehead wrinkled. Hobbes used to think of him as the Minotaur. Now he was just the Master.

“SCP-1893,” Hobbes replied.

“Object class?” his interrogator growled.

“Euclid.”

“Special containment procedures?” the captor hissed, a tone of aggression returning to his gravely voice. Hobbes fell over himself to respond as quickly as possible, before he incurred his wrath once again.

“All stories containing or referencing SCP-1893 are to be contained in the tertiary mainframe at Site 38 until such time as Foundation researchers discover a method of transferring them without risking contamination to other computer systems,” Hobbes began. “Multiple redundant stories are to be kept on the mainframe at all times. Should SCP-1893 begin displaying aggressive or otherwise unusual behavior, additional new stories written in the style used by SCP-1893 are to be downloaded onto the computer. Hard copies of all stories before and after SCP-1893 infestation are to be kept in the director’s office in a triple-locked safe; no other copies are to be kept in any other location in any other form to avoid possible contamination. To whatever extent possible, discussion of SCP-1893 is to be restricted to non-electronic means, and references to item number SCP-1893 are to be prohibited on any Foundation server or computer other than the one mentioned above.”

Hobbes could just barely make out the image of his captor, looking at Hobbes with a dark glare. Hobbes panicked for fear that he had inadequately satisfied his new master, in spite of the totality of his submission. Master *had* to understand that he had submitted... didn’t he?

The other figure snorted, as though becoming convinced another beating wasn’t worth the effort. “Description?” Hobbes finally heard his captor spit.

Hobbes couldn’t respond quickly enough. “SCP-1893 is an incompletely understood phenomenon, believed to be electronic or digital in nature. The phenomenon has demonstrated at least a primitive sort of intelligence, in the form of adapting to new environments and avoiding inhospitable ones and a rudimentary ability to communicate with Foundation researchers, albeit indirectly. It is not known whether the entity is sapient or even sentient—”

Hobbes’s new master barked a wordless tone of rage at that last sentence, as Hobbes knew he would. That was part of what kept Hobbes from telling him before—not loyalty to the Foundation, but fear of the wrath of his captor. He was no longer mentally capable of being ashamed at how totally broken he was; all he wanted was to avoid more pain.

But Master wouldn’t be satiated with mere humiliation, not this time, and Hobbes knew it. He turned his head in the hopes the first blow wouldn’t catch him in the face; not that it would help. Hobbes felt the familiar sensation of a boot crushing into his upper ribcage, propelling the chair he was in over. He tried to lift his head to keep it from slamming back into the concrete, but he was too dizzy to support himself. His interrogator kicked him again and again; the stomach, the face, the balls.

The beating ended sooner than Hobbes had expected. He thought maybe that his captor wanted to show Hobbes both the stick and the carrot; both the presence and the (partial) absence of pain. It would work. It helped that he had stopped just short of breaking Hobbes’s neck.

The interrogator lifted Hobbes back into a seated position, straightened his head, and nodded for Hobbes to continue.

“SCP-1893’s principal trait is its memetic quality; it is impossible to perceive, interact with, or discuss the entity except through fictional narratives. Specifically, any electronic message referring to SCP-1893 will be altered by the entity into a prose passage of variable length, tone, or content. However, messages altered by SCP-1893 will always have certain constant qualities.” Hobbes looked at his new master, wordlessly asking if he should continue.

A snarl persuaded him that he should. “First,” Hobbes said, “the content of the original message will be left intact, replacing any dialogue between characters in the story. Second, stories will often contain between two to three characters; while the dialogue between them will remain constant, the setting and tone of the characters and their surroundings are believed to often reflect SCP-1893’s “mood” at the time of access. Third, components of the story’s plot may change depending on whether or not SCP-1893 can determine the identity of the reader, though researchers have been unable to detect a pattern in the modifications to date.”

The interrogator looked at Hobbes as though to imply that he knew there was more. Hobbes was sweating, panting, terrified of the next part.

“Finally, all instances of stories altered by SCP-1893 will contain an unknown character, described as being unusually tall and muscular, often said to have tattoos of bull’s horns on or near the face. The extent to which this character interacts with the others is often indicative of SCP-1893’s level of aggression at that moment; when the entity is calm, the character will barely be referenced or discussed. When SCP-1893 feels threatened or is prepared to attack, the character will display an increasingly important or central role to the story’s plot.”

Hobbes heard a knock at the door. That was odd; he hadn’t seen a door in that corner of the room before. His captor moved to open the door; Hobbes was sure the friendly visitor was in for an extraordinarily unhappy few hours after the interrogator was finished with him.

He couldn’t make out the face, or even the features, of the individual who walked into the room. Not walked, *sauntered*. The person strolled right past the burly captor, who simply stepped aside and let the figure in. A few steps later, and the unknown messenger was standing at Hobbes’s feet. Hobbes saw the figure lean over, then heard a whispering in his ear:

"It’s all for your benefit, [YOUR NAME]. Nobody human wrote this."

The mysterious words uttered, Hobbes saw their messenger turn and walk out the door that he could have *sworn* hadn’t been there a moment ago. His captor closed the door and walked back to his prey.

The captor nodded thoughtfully, as though considering his next words carefully. Right when Hobbes was almost sure that more blows were coming, he heard “Addendum 1893-A?”

Hobbes sighed with relief once more. He began to gibber giddily as his captor walked around behind him. “Though no effort undertaken to date has succeeded in fully containing SCP-1893, all evidence suggests that the Foundation’s decision to classify the entity as such has caused it to adopt this as its ‘name’ and react specifically to any mention of that item number in electronic media. Assuming this to be true, a theoretical plan has been devised in the event that termination of SCP-1893 should become necessary. According to this plan, Foundation personnel would first—”

Crack.* Hobbes never really felt the impact of the baseball bat on the back of his head; he was unconscious too quickly. The next twelve swings went equally unnoticed, until what was left of his broken, shattered body lay limp against the chains holding him to the chair. Blood from the front of his head (which barely resembled a face) dripped and trickled onto the concrete floor. His captor let the baseball bat fall from his hand and ring against the sticky ground before walking out the door.

So don’t fuck with me, [YOUR NAME], because I’m *watching.*

Iteration B

We lay in the dark together, rain falling gently outside. It had been a long day, and we had to take Sophie to the vet in the morning. You were worried; you read somewhere that some dogs are allergic to anesthetic, that some dogs die during routine teeth cleanings. I told you it was okay, that she would almost certainly be fine, but the possibility of Sophie being in danger had me terrified too. We just tried to talk about other things, about anything else.

“Item number?” I heard you mutter.

“SCP-1893,” I replied. “Object class?”

“Euclid,” you answered, sleepily.

I didn’t know how to respond, so I changed the subject. “Special containment procedures?”

“All stories containing or referencing SCP-1893 are to be contained in the tertiary mainframe at Site 38 until such time as Foundation researchers discover a method of transferring them without risking contamination to other computer systems,” you said. “Multiple redundant stories are to be kept on the mainframe at all times. Should SCP-1893 begin displaying aggressive or otherwise unusual behavior, additional new stories written in the style used by SCP-1893 are to be downloaded onto the computer. Hard copies of all stories before and after SCP-1893 infestation are to be kept in the director’s office in a triple-locked safe; no other copies are to be kept in any other location in any other form to avoid possible contamination. To whatever extent possible, discussion of SCP-1893 is to be restricted to non-electronic means, and references to item number SCP-1893 are to be prohibited on any Foundation server or computer other than the one mentioned above.”

“Description,” I began to reply. “SCP-1893 is an incompletely understood phenomenon, believed to be electronic or digital in nature. The phenomenon has demonstrated at least a primitive sort of intelligence, in the form of adapting to new environments and avoiding inhospitable ones and a rudimentary ability to communicate with Foundation researchers, albeit indirectly. It is not known whether the entity is sapient or even sentient.”

You got so angry as soon as I said that. You were always so stubborn, even when it wasn’t necessary. Sometimes it was what I loved about you; sometimes, I really just wish you’d listen to reason.

I went out into the kitchen to get a glass of water. As the light from the refrigerator lit up the corners of the living room, I looked at the home we had built together. The leather couches your mother got free from the side of the road, the television I got for Christmas almost a decade before, the shelves full of both of our books, mingled together. We had a family, you and I and Sophie, and a place we could call home. Turning around, I walked past the man in the corner into the bedroom, confident that there wasn’t any need to fight. Not tonight.

“SCP-1893’s principal trait is its memetic quality,” I said, “it is impossible to perceive, interact with, or discuss the entity except through fictional narratives. Specifically, any electronic message referring to SCP-1893 will be altered by the entity into a prose passage of variable length, tone, or content. However, messages altered by SCP-1893 will always have certain constant qualities.”

You nodded and continued my thought, the way you always could. “First,” you said, “the content of the original message will be left intact, replacing any dialogue between characters in the story. Second, stories will often contain between two to three characters; while the dialogue between them will remain constant, the setting and tone of the characters and their surroundings are believed to often reflect SCP-1893’s ’mood’ at the time of access. Third, components of the story’s plot may change depending on whether or not SCP-1893 can determine the identity of the reader, though researchers have been unable to detect a pattern in the modifications to date.”

I finished with the obvious: “Finally, all instances of stories altered by SCP-1893 will contain an unknown character, described as being unusually tall and muscular, often said to have tattoos of bull’s horns on or near the face. The extent to which this character interacts with the others is often indicative of SCP-1893’s level of aggression at that moment; when the entity is calm, the character will barely be referenced or discussed. When SCP-1893 feels threatened or is prepared to attack, the character will display an increasingly important or central role to the story’s plot.”

Your cell phone went off, a polyphonic recreation of some Wu-Tang Clan song. A voicemail message. You ask me to answer it (you always hated voicemail, the way people used to hate answering machines). I reach over to the night stand, past where your baseball bat usually is, and pick up the phone. I punch in your PIN and listen. A raspy voice growled:

"Keep reading, [YOUR NAME]. I’ll be here when you go."

Whatever *that* means. I told you it was a telemarketer, put the phone back, and rolled over.

We started dozing off. We said our good-nights, thought of the next day fading rapidly. One last thought came to the top of your head. “Addendum 1893-A?” I asked.

“Though no effort undertaken to date has succeeded in fully containing SCP-1893,” you muttered drowsily, “all evidence suggests that the Foundation’s decision to classify the entity as such has caused it to adopt this as its ’name’ and react specifically to any mention of that item number in electronic media. Assuming this to be true, a theoretical plan has been devised in the event that termination of SCP-1893 should become necessary. According to this plan, Foundation personnel would... would first... ”

You drifted asleep. I watched your chest rise and fall for a second, then fell out myself.

Remember, [YOUR NAME], they’re *happy.* What they don’t know won’t hurt them.

Iteration C

Site 19 wasn’t deserted. It couldn’t be. There was no way that... whatever that thing was had killed everybody except him. But John hadn’t seen anybody in hours, at least, his radio was dead, his Foundation-issue phone had no service (how the *hell* had that happened? he thought to himself; the network was supposed to be nigh-on unkillable), and the silence in the building was total.

It took a while for John to find a single survivor, leaning against a wall. John wasn’t a medic, but looking at those legs, he didn’t think there was any chance of fixing that. Both femurs broken, looked like they were broken with a baseball bat. Bleeding from a head wound that had probably come from the same source. With some of the last energy he had left in him, the man turned toward John. “Item... number?” he wheezed before hacking up blood from someplace deep.

“SCP-1893,” John replied, grabbing ahold of his hand. “Object class: Euclid.”

“Sp... special containment procedures?”

“All stories containing or referencing SCP-1893,” John started, “are to be contained in the tertiary mainframe at Site 38 until such time as Foundation researchers discover a method of transferring them without risking contamination to other computer systems. Multiple redundant stories are to be kept on the mainframe at all times. Should SCP-1893 begin displaying aggressive or otherwise unusual behavior, additional new stories written in the style used by SCP-1893 are to be downloaded onto the computer. Hard copies of all stories before and after SCP-1893 infestation are to be kept in the director’s office in a triple-locked safe; no other copies are to be kept in any other location in any other form to avoid possible contamination. To whatever extent possible, discussion of SCP-1893 is to be restricted to non-electronic means, and references to item number SCP-1893 are to be prohibited on any Foundation server or computer other than the one mentioned above.”

The other man nodded, appearing to understand John’s words better than he would have thought possible. If it were John, he would have been seeing if that pistol beside him had any working rounds left. But the man seemed determined to continue. “Description?” he said, straining to keep his voice calm.

John would play along. “SCP-1893 is an incompletely understood phenomenon, believed to be electronic or digital in nature. The phenomenon has demonstrated at least a primitive sort of intelligence, in the form of adapting to new environments and avoiding inhospitable ones and a rudimentary ability to communicate with Foundation researchers, albeit indirectly. It is not known whether the entity is sapient or even sentient—”

A roar echoed down the halls. The roar of the beast responsible for this... this massacre. It couldn’t be described accurately as a voice in any human sense, because whatever this thing was born as, it was no longer recognizable as the same sort of being that John was.

John heard another voice, this one human. The beast had found some prey. The voice rose in volume and pitch, going through the five stages of death in a matter of seconds. But the creature couldn’t be denied, couldn’t be bargained with, and you didn’t have time for anger or depression. It didn’t care if you accepted it or not. The sound of crunching bones crashed down the hallway, mixed with screams. Both stopped with a certain finality, accompanied by the sound of feet fading into the distance.

John knew there wasn’t much time. “SCP-1893’s principal trait is its memetic quality; it is impossible to perceive, interact with, or discuss the entity except through fictional narratives. Specifically, any electronic message referring to SCP-1893 will be altered by the entity into a prose passage of variable length, tone, or content. However, messages altered by SCP-1893 will always have certain constant qualities. First, the content of the original message will be left intact, replacing any dialogue between characters in the story. Second, stories will often contain between two to three characters; while the dialogue between them will remain constant, the setting and tone of the characters and their surroundings are believed to often reflect SCP-1893’s ’mood’ at the time of access. Third, components of the story’s plot may change depending on whether or not SCP-1893 can determine the identity of the reader, though researchers have been unable to detect a pattern in the modifications to date.”

The other man’s breathing became ragged; John knew he didn’t have much time. “Finally, all instances of stories altered by SCP-1893 will contain an unknown character, described as being unusually tall and muscular, often said to have tattoos of bull’s horns on or near the face. The extent to which this character interacts with the others is often indicative of SCP-1893’s level of aggression at that moment; when the entity is calm, the character will barely be referenced or discussed. When SCP-1893 feels threatened or is prepared to attack, the character will display an increasingly important or central role to the story’s plot.”

The other man looked satisfied. John reached over and picked up the pistol, ejected the magazine. Two bullets left. He reloaded the gun, pulled back the hammer, and put it in the other man’s hand. There was nothing else either of them could do at this point, and John wasn’t carrying around a better way of dying than that. John stood up and began to walk away.

The other man grunted, as though trying to speak. John didn’t believe he’d be able to actually say anything, but felt that it couldn’t hurt to listen. He knelt down and put his ear next to the other man’s mouth. A growling sort of voice said:

“He’s...he’s coming, [YOUR NAME], and it’ll be worse than this for *you.*”

John didn’t understand him, but figured nothing more intelligible would be coming out of his mouth ever again. He rose back to his feet and walked away.

The gun in the other man’s hand went off. John was amazed initially by how loud it was in the narrow hallway. Then, he was amazed as he felt himself slumping to the ground, blood spilling down the front of his shirt through the bullet hole. He couldn’t feel the gunshot, yet knew the pain would be there soon. Worse yet, he heard the roaring again. Coming toward him, this time.

“Addendum 1893-A,” the man behind him said in a much calmer voice than John had expected.

John heard the sound of enormous feet coming closer and closer to him, and saw no point in stopping the game now. “Though no effort undertaken to date has succeeded in fully containing SCP-1893,” John said, losing blood rapidly, “all evidence suggests that the Foundation’s decision to classify the entity as such has caused it to adopt this as its ’name’ and react specifically to any mention of that item number in electronic media.”

John could see the creature now, lumbering closer to both of them. The head was just recognizably human enough for John to almost mistake the creature for one. The twin horns tattooed on either side of the forehead wrinkled as his face shifted into a rictus of excitement, almost glee, at seeing new prey. It began running towards the prostrate figures.

John kept talking, hoping to distract himself. “Assuming this to be true, a theoretical plan has been devised in the event that termination of SCP-1893 should become necessary. According to this plan, Foundation personnel would first—”

The gun’s last round went off behind him. Whoever the other man was, he had chosen the easy way out, leaving John here to distract the predator. A brilliant move, if a bit heartless. The minotaur reached John before he could finish his last words, rushed out like a prayer before death. The beast smashed John’s jaw to splinters with the first swing.

he bled so much [YOUR NAME] i wish you had been there i wish you had seen it i wish it was you

Iteration D

Eleanor’s time was almost up. She could feel it. She was just waiting for it to end. She wasn’t in pain, per se. It was just the feeling she had, like she was past her expiration date. Like she was living on someone else’s time.

Katherine rushed into the room. Eleanor had hoped she would arrive before the end. Katherine stroked Eleanor’s hair.

“Item number?” Eleanor asked.

“SCP-1893,” Katherine said, smiling through tears.

“Object class?” Eleanor said, beginning to cry herself.

“Euclid,” her wife replied sweetly. “Special containment procedures: All stories containing or referencing SCP-1893 are to be contained in the tertiary mainframe at Site 38 until such time as Foundation researchers discover a method of transferring them without risking contamination to other computer systems. Multiple redundant stories are to be kept on the mainframe at all times. Should SCP-1893 begin displaying aggressive or otherwise unusual behavior, additional new stories written in the style used by SCP-1893 are to be downloaded onto the computer. Hard copies of all stories before and after SCP-1893 infestation are to be kept in the director’s office in a triple-locked safe; no other copies are to be kept in any other location in any other form to avoid possible contamination. To whatever extent possible, discussion of SCP-1893 is to be restricted to non-electronic means, and references to item number SCP-1893 are to be prohibited on any Foundation server or computer other than the one mentioned above.”

Eleanor laughed; Katherine’s sense of humor always worked on her. “Description,” she replied.

Katherine wiped away her tears and sniffed. “SCP-1893 is an incompletely understood phenomenon, believed to be electronic or digital in nature. The phenomenon has demonstrated at least a primitive sort of intelligence, in the form of adapting to new environments and avoiding inhospitable ones and a rudimentary ability to communicate with Foundation researchers, albeit indirectly. It is not known whether the entity is sapient or even sentient—”

Eleanor began coughing violently at that; the tumor in her lungs didn’t let her do much else, many days. A thin trickle of blood seeped from the corner of her mouth. Katherine pushed the button to call the nurse, yelled for help, even ran out into the hallway to try to find the large man waiting outside when she walked in. Nobody was there now.

The coughing wound down. Eleanor spat into a bedpan, the way she had always hated doing in front of Katherine. Too unladylike, she had said. But now, she only motioned for Katherine to continue.

Katherine didn’t know what else to do but comply. “SCP-1893’s principal trait is its memetic quality; it is impossible to perceive, interact with, or discuss the entity except through fictional narratives. Specifically, any electronic message referring to SCP-1893 will be altered by the entity into a prose passage of variable length, tone, or content. However, messages altered by SCP-1893 will always have certain constant qualities. First, the content of the original message or document will be left intact, replacing any dialogue between characters in the story. Second, stories will often contain between two to three characters; while the dialogue between them will remain constant, the setting and tone of the characters and their surroundings are believed to often reflect SCP-1893’s “mood” at the time of access. Third, components of the story’s plot may change depending on whether or not SCP-1893 can determine the identity of the reader, though researchers have been unable to detect a pattern in the modifications to date.” Katherine paused, stretching a bit.

Eleanor looked satisfied. She summoned Katherine over to her bedside, motioned for her to come down to where she was. Eleanor began to whisper:

“Keep reading, [YOUR NAME]. They’re so happy, and there are so many worse ways to die than this.”

Katherine stood up straight and nodded as though she understood.

She was a bit parched, and Eleanor’s pitcher of water was empty (and who knew where the hell the nurses were in this building?), so she blew Eleanor a kiss and carried her pitcher out into the hall to find a water fountain.

Eleanor was tired, so tired, and it felt like she had been awake for so long. “Addendum 1893-A,” she muttered drowsily to herself. “Though no effort undertaken to date has succeeded in fully containing SCP-1893, all evidence suggests that the Foundation’s decision to classify the entity as such has caused it to adopt this as its ’name’ and react specifically to any mention of that item number in electronic media.” She paused, thinking she heard footsteps outside her door, as though someone were listening. A tapping sound came down the hallway, like a baseball bat being rolled around. It was probably a machine somewhere.

Seeing no one, she continued muttering as the room grew darker. “Assuming this to be true, a theoretical plan has been devised in the event that termination of SCP-1893 should become necessary. According to this plan, Foundation personnel would first... first... ”

It was just so, so hard to stay awake. Eleanor drifted off to sleep for the last time.

You know it was me, right, [YOUR NAME]? I’m *always* listening.

Iteration E

You don’t know who’s more bored right now, you or the kid in front of you. On the one hand, you don’t want to be here. On the other hand, she doesn’t really want to be tutored either, and she’s not getting paid for it. But she’s being way, way more annoying about it.

You start again. “Item number?” you ask, hoping she gets it right this time.

She looks up at the ceiling, as if the answer is up there, then down at her notes. “SCP-1893,” she says... after a half-minute pause.

Good enough. “Object class?” you continue, hoping she has that written down somewhere too.

“Um... Keter? No, no... Euclid. Object class: Euclid,” she responds.

Again, good enough. You get paid whether she passes the damn class or not. “Special containment procedures?”

You didn’t figure she’d have a chance at this one, but she surprised you. “All stories containing or referencing SCP-1893 are to be contained in the tertiary mainframe at Site 38 until such time as Foundation researchers discover a method of transferring them without risking contamination to other computer systems.” She paused to think a moment. “Multiple redundant stories are to be kept on the mainframe at all times. Should SCP-1893 begin displaying aggressive or otherwise unusual behavior, additional new stories written in the style used by SCP-1893 are to be downloaded onto the computer. Hard copies of all stories before and after SCP-1893 infestation are to be kept in the director’s office in a triple-locked safe; no other copies are to be kept in any other location in any other form to avoid possible contamination. To whatever extent possible, discussion of SCP-1893 is to be restricted to non-electronic means, and references to item number SCP-1893 are to be prohibited on any Foundation server or computer other than the one mentioned above.”

By god, she might have a chance after all. Let’s see if she could keep the streak running. “Description?”

She was off to a good start at first. “SCP-1893 is an incompletely understood phenomenon, believed to be electronic or digital in nature. The phenomenon has demonstrated at least a primitive sort of intelligence, in the form of adapting to new environments and avoiding inhospitable ones and a rudimentary ability to communicate with Foundation researchers, albeit indirectly. It is not known whether the entity is sapient or even... um... sensational?”

“Sentient,” you say, but it’s too late; she’s lost. A knock at the door distracts her completely; her baseball coach was there, calls her into the hall for a minute. You hear him yelling at her about something, probably baseball related and thus virtually incomprehensible. It sounds like he’s tapping (or ramming, from how loud it is) his bat against the wall again; it’s what he does whenever he’s mad. Old Bull, they called him, half from his size, half because of the tattoos. Your tutee comes back into the room, sits down, and sulks. You wait for her to calm down a bit, then prompt her to continue from where she left off.

You could tell she was struggling, so you help out. “First, the content of the original message will be—”

“—will be left intact, replacing any dialogue between characters in the story,” she continues. “Second, stories will often contain between two to three characters; while the dialogue between them will remain constant, the setting and tone of the characters and their surroundings are believed to often reflect SCP-1893’s “mood” at the time of access. Third, components of the story’s plot may change depending on whether or not SCP-1893 can determine the identity of the reader, though researchers have been unable to detect a pattern in the modifications to date.”

“And finally,” you start, “all instances of stories altered by SCP-1893—”

“—will contain an unknown character, described as being unusually tall and muscular, often said to have tattoos of bull’s horns on or near the face. The extent to which this character interacts with the others is often indicative of SCP-1893’s level of aggression at that moment; when the entity is calm, the character will barely be referenced or discussed. When SCP-1893 feels threatened or is prepared to attack, the character will display an increasingly important or central role to the story’s plot,” she finished.

Something felt strange about that last passage, something about the way she repeated it. Something both familiar and unfamiliar about it. Before you can think much more about it, you hear a whispering sound. It’s coming from the student in front of you. She’s holding herself very erect, very still, barely moving her lips. You can hardly hear the words.

“He’s out there, [YOUR NAME]. I’m scared. He’s out there.”

You know it’s true, but there’s nothing else you can do but carry on.

Just one more section left, anyway. Then you’d both be able to leave. “Addendum 1893-A,” you prompt.

She seems distracted, but you prod her into carrying out the rest of it. “Though no effort undertaken to date has succeeded in fully containing SCP-1893, all evidence suggests that the Foundation’s decision to classify the entity as such has caused it to adopt this as its ’name’ and react specifically to any mention of that item number in electronic media.”

Tapping. No, more like pounding. Aluminum against concrete. Coming down the hall. He’s coming back. You finish for her. “Assuming this to be true, a theoretical plan has been devised in the event that termination of SCP-1893 should become necessary. According to this plan, Foundation personnel would first—”

The pounding was right outside the door when the lights went out. You both scream as long as you can.

Do you know what I did to them, [YOUR NAME]? I didn’t write about it.