 Item number, SCP-022, Object Class, Euclid. Special Containment Procedures. A vault door has been installed following incident 022-827 to seal SCP-022. It is to remain locked at all times, with the sole exception being the appearance of an instance of SCP-022-1. The original door to SCP-022 was destroyed during incident 022-827, with attempts at replacement being met with failure. Security cameras have been installed to monitor for instances of SCP-022-1. In the event that an instance of SCP-022-1 appears, automated systems should incinerate it the moment it leaves SCP-022. At this point, the vault door may be unlocked to admit cleanup crews. After the automated systems fail to destroy the instance of SCP-022-1, response teams are cleared to enter and neutralize it. Under no circumstances may any living human enter SCP-022, except at the order of Class 4 personnel for testing purposes. Class 4 personnel may also order instances of SCP-022-1 to be captured and held. However, they may not be removed from SCP-022 containment facilities. SCP-022 is a morgue in the basement of the hospital in Great Britain. Until 1981, there were no reported anomalous occurrences within the morgue. Reports of strange activity were first received in November of 1981. The area was soon quarantined by the Foundation, with an official story being released that the entire building had been condemned. The reason for the sudden manifestation of its strange properties remains under investigation. Periodically, a random drawer within the morgue will open to reveal a cadaver under a covered sheet. After approximately six minutes open, the cadaver will animate and attempt to leave the morgue. At this point, the cadaver is given the designation SCP-022-1. In some cases, the cadaver will be too damaged or decomposed to successfully exit SCP-022, or even rise from the table it lies on. In this case, SCP-022-1 will typically struggle and twitch on the table until expiration occurs. Should an instance of SCP-022-1 expire while remaining on the table, the table slides back into the drawer, which then shuts. Reports indicate that the scent of burnt tissue is evident immediately following such an event. The energy source that sustains instances of SCP-022-1 is currently unknown. Instances do not breathe, eat, or sleep, and their bodies produce no heat. Analysis of SCP-022-1 following expiration has discovered no abnormal organs or chemicals present. They appear to be fully human cadavers. Instances also possess physical strength that exceeds that of normal humans, though direct testing has proven problematic. Researchers estimate the strength increase to be approximately 500 newtons, 112 pounds, of lifting force greater than what one would expect of a human body sharing a similar condition. Analysis is underway to determine if this effect is connected to the unknown power source, or if it is an entirely separate phenomenon. When body parts are severed from SCP-022-1, the portion with the greatest mass retains its effects. All other pieces become inert. Destruction of the head or brain does not neutralize SCP-022-1. Instead, the lower torso and limbs remain animate. Complete tissue destruction appears to be the only method of successfully terminating instances of SCP-022-1. Left alone, instances of SCP-022-1 will simply expire. All motion ceases, and they appear to become normal cadavers again. The amount of time this takes depends on how damaged the body is and the rate of decomposition, and can take anywhere between two days and three weeks. Investigation has revealed that the bodies acting as SCP-022-1 match the description of cadaver reported to have been stolen from morgues across the country. The mechanism for this transfer is currently being researched. Adding any new matter to SCP-022 has thus far proved impossible. Any object that enters SCP-022 disappears shortly after passing through the door, leaving no trace. This includes inanimate objects and biological specimens. So long as an instance of SCP-022-1 possesses a functioning mouth, tongue, and trachea, it is able to communicate fully with researchers. See the following interview log for details. Interview log 022-751. Each of the following interviews begin in much the same way. The instance of SCP-022-1 will typically be hysterical until foundation personnel are able to calm or restrain them. These portions have been omitted. Date, March, 1981. Interviewee, SCP-022-1-2. Interviewee, Dr. Brown. Notes, SCP-022-1-2 was the second instance of SCP-022-1 that the foundation discovered, the first having been destroyed on site by foundation agents. SCP-022-1-2 had the body of an Asian male, approximately 54 years old. Its chest had been stitched up, evidence of an autopsy. Begin log. Doctor, please identify yourself. SCP-022-1-2. My... My name is John... What? What the hell is going on? Doctor, that's what we're trying to figure out, John. How did you get to this... state? SCP-022-1-2. I... I don't know. I was driving my car, coming home from... Never mind. I was driving, and I crashed. Doctor, then what happened? SCP-022-1-2. Nothing. I woke up here. Please, this has to be unintelligible. Doctor, so you remember being in a car accident? Then woke up here in the morgue. Do you have any idea how you got here? SCP-022-1-2. I didn't get here, don't you get it? This isn't me, I'm not me. Doctor, what do you mean you aren't you? At this point, SCP-022-1-2 became severely agitated and had to be physically restrained. This required six agents due to the strength increase associated with instances of SCP-022-1. Eventually, SCP-022-1-2 was calmed and the interview proceeded. Doctor, now would you please explain what you meant? SCP-022-1-2. This is not me. I saw my reflection in the steel. I'm not some old Asian. This isn't me. And log. Following the last statement, SCP-022-1-2 began to smash its head against the wall. Once further restrained, it began to scream unintelligibly for several hours before falling silent. It continued to struggle, though apparently unable to speak for an additional six days until it finally ceased motion. During this time, it continued decomposing at a natural rate. An examination of the body following this interview was unable to determine a cause of death as many of the internal organs had been removed. The only injury that did not appear to be a result of a previous surgery or autopsy was a damaged trachea. Date, March. 1980. Interviewee, SCP-022-1-5. Interviewer, Dr. Reilly. Notes, SCP-022-1-5, animated shortly after D-5619 was sent into SCP-022 and subsequently disappeared. SCP-022-1-5 had the body of an approximately 12-year-old missing its right arm and a large portion of its torso. Following the incident with SCP-022-1-3, all instances of SCP-022-1 are physically restrained before being introduced to valuable personnel, with SCP-022-1-5 being no exception. Begin log. Doctor, please state your name. SCP-022-1-5, what did you bastards do to me? Doctor, please state your name. SCP-022-1-5, what the f*** did you do to me? Doctor, we have done nothing to you. Now please state your name. SCP-022-1-5, you know who I f***ing am. Doctor, refresh my memory then please. SCP-022-1-5, on the guinea pig you just f***ed up. Don't tell me you forgot me, Dr. A... Doctor, are you D-5619? SCP-022-1-5, in the flesh and for your information, jackass, my name is... Now change me back, you son of a b***. Change me f***ing back. End log. At this point, Dr. A asked SCP-022-1-5 several questions to verify its identity. Though its identity was confirmed to be that of D-5619, no further useful information was gained from SCP-022-1-5. It was kept in a holding cell until expiring two days later. After three weeks, the body of D-5619 animated as SCP-022-1-7. In a brief interview with SCP-022-1-7, it claimed to be an 89-year-old female. Addendum 022-001, a request has been submitted to create a new entrance to SCP-022 by removing a portion of the south wall. Request pending approval. Addendum 022-002, a pile of matter was discovered on the floor of the room directly above SCP-022. It appeared to contain all matter that had been sent into SCP-022, with the exception of humans. All materials appeared broken and worn down. Metallic components were covered in large amounts of rust, with all biological parts being in various stages of decomposition. Testing revealed that the time between inserting an object into SCP-022 and it reappearing above to be precisely 183 seconds. Humans who enter, however, do not appear in said pile. Instead, humans appear to become integrated into the morgue, and may later animate as instances of SCP-022-1. Item number, SCP-069, Object Class, Safe. Special Containment Procedures, SCP-069 is currently impersonating former Foundation Agent and is housed at Humanoid Containment Site 06-3. SCP-069 is to be provided with any reasonable requested item and or material, so long as such request does not violate Foundation Security protocols. Special Containment Procedures have been modified. The following now applies. As SCP-069 is currently on Suicide Watch, all requests it makes must be approved by no fewer than two Level 3 personnel. If SCP-069 attempts to breach containment, it must be subdued using non-lethal methods. If SCP-069 dies, undercover agents are to be instructed to monitor reports of incidents in which individuals appear to have escaped certain death, and SCP-069 is to be recontained as soon as possible. Note, despite the fact that SCP-069 is identical in all ways to said agent, it remains an active SCP in containment and is not to be treated as a Foundation employee. Any requests for classified information are to be denied and visits from former co-workers without proper authorization are not allowed. Description SCP-069 is a presumed humanoid entity, a variable appearance in gender. Through an unknown ability, whenever SCP-069 is left alone with a recently deceased human body, the body will disappear and SCP-069 will take on the appearance, mannerisms, and knowledge of the recently dead individual. Through extensive experimentation, it has been shown that SCP-069 is completely indistinguishable from the individual it impersonates, matching the original individual's fingerprints, DNA, and data expunged with nearly perfect precision. SCP-069 retains no knowledge of its abilities or former impersonations. SCP-069 responds normally to injury and pain, but if killed, will rapidly decay into dust, regardless of any preservation attempts. SCP-069 will then reemerge at the site of the most recent human death. There is no known maximum range to this effect, and so far has been observed in jumps of up to 675 kilometers. SCP-069 can impersonate a single individual indefinitely. However, it will gain an overriding urge to get their life in order, including but not limited to resolving any outstanding financial or personal obligations, visiting extended family, updating their will and testament, and other acts of closure. When questioned, SCP-069 professes no driving motivation other than a desire to straighten out their lives in the event of unforeseen injury or death. SCP-069 first came to the Foundation's attention in 1991 following reports of one John M, a firefighter who miraculously emerged alive from a three-alarm building fire, in which two other firefighters and 11 civilians perished. Undercover agents attached to the local authorities were notified of a possible SCP when reports emerged that the firefighter's equipment had been damaged beyond recognition and that it had been deemed nearly impossible for the firefighter to emerge unscathed. Approximately three weeks later, then-presumed John M responded to another large-scale building fire, during which he entered a smoke-filled room alone and was never found. A single civilian was rescued from the building, again nearly unharmed, despite the heavy smoke reported within the building. SCP-069 was designated the following day and rendered into Foundation custody by members of Mobile Task Force's I-3, Body Snatchers. Addendum069-1, in 2000, Agent-1, a guard on duty assigned to SCP-069, was killed during the containment breach of SCP-1 and subsequently impersonated by SCP-069. Although initially in denial after being formed of its identity, it has been mostly cooperative since its impersonation of a mid-level Foundation employee. Contingencies for the use of deceased Foundation employees for future SCP-069 use is under consideration. Addendum069-2, in 2000, SCP-069 attempted to commit suicide after a junior researcher accidentally informed it that the family of Agent-1 had been told that said agent was dead and of their subsequent reactions. Due to the massive cost of possibly having to re-contain SCP-069, strict suicide watch measures are to be implemented. Plans to use other deceased Foundation employees as possible impersonation targets for SCP-069 have been suspended. Item number SCP-139, Containment Class, APARC, Disruption Class, Dark, Special Containment Procedures, Containment Suspended, Description, SCP-139 designates the disappearance of Lucian Saks, formerly a Foundation Employed Security Specialist. Saks had, until SCP-139's occurrence, acted as a consultant for Site-97 on the matter of esoteric reanimation methodology. SCP-139 is considered anomalous, both due to a persistent info hazard encountered following its occurrence, and due to the cutoff of information pertaining to SCP-139 after April 4, 1978. Despite Site-97's best efforts, neither Saks's past or present whereabouts, nor the location of a cadaver, have been uncovered. Extra-dimensional travel is suspected, but not confirmed. No primary suspects which could be responsible for SCP-139 have been identified, owing to the largely inconclusive results of investigative efforts. As such, SCP-139 is currently considered a cold case, and is expected to continue indefinitely. Timeline of Events, March 5, 1978 Saks clocks in at Site-97 and declines usual chatter with personnel at the front entrance. He enters his office, and does not exit for the remainder of the workday. For a period of 12 hours, Saks queries 42 skip-net entries, pertaining to thaumaturgic workings, global layline activity, and available research into weigh-and-knock techniques. This idle activity contradicts his otherwise exemplary productivity record, and raises concern among Site-97's staff. Sensor agents are dispatched appropriately. No further abnormalities occur until Saks has punched out and arrived at his residence in suburban Albany. By 10.45 p.m., he vacates his residence, presumably on foot to avoid detection, and exits the city limits. March 6, a paper trail of bus and train tickets suggests he traveled approximately 2,000 kilometers to Topeka, Kansas, arriving at 12.15 p.m. Of note, interviewed civilians occasionally describe Saks as that damned traitor when we're counting this 18-hour period. March 7 to April 4, after Topeka, the paper trail terminates, and reports of Saks's location during the following month become increasingly irregular. A car he is believed to have rented is sighted in Salt Lake City, Utah, and Lubbock, Texas, on March 10 and March 15 respectively, although the windshield and rightmost tail light shattered between the two cities. He is last documented in Tucson, Arizona, after residential police implicate him in a resistant flea incident on suspicions of vagrancy. Note, this police report was filed on April 3 at 3.48 a.m., and is considered the last documented sighting of Lucian Saks by the public. On April 4, sensor agents embedded within the Tucson USPS removed the following letter from the mail pool to the ones I'm running from, I hate you. I hate what you've done and what you're doing to me and what I think you did to the others who ran. I hate how I'd find lenses in the eyes of paintings and strange fingerprints on my belongings. I'm curious by trade, but you've really got me beat. I'm not the first to run, but I might be the first to break free. I'm going someplace without cameras or fingerprints, someplace you can't follow. It was fun while it lasted, but you lost this one. And soon I'll be back, and you're going to lose more. The hand has always been welcoming to people like me anyways. Addendum 139-1, SCP-137 officially concluded on April 27, 1993, when a minor structural failure revealed a small air pocket within Site 97's concrete foundation. Although this led to a temporary lockdown due to the destruction of Site 97's courtyard, integrity was eventually restored. Models of the air pocket prior to the structural failure indicated it resembled a prostrate human body fitting Lucian Saxe's height and build. After the initial excavation, the following personal effects were discovered. The necrotic flesh of a heavily decayed human cadaver and several human bones, most pulverized by the aforementioned structural failure. A foundation keycard for a Site 97 security specialist, ID numbers scratched out, suggesting deep shame. A forbidden thaumaturgic ritual to preserve its user's spirit after their death. A map of layline positionings in the contiguous United States, often referenced by enemies of the foundation. A circle had been drawn around a nexus on the US-Mexico border near Tucson, Arizona. Saxe's cause of death is believed to be terminal dehydration, following several days of entombment. During the investigation of this air pocket, Site 97 excavators punctured a secondary cutout hidden within the concrete, due to the considerable strain that excavation would put on Site 97's foundation. This cutout has not been analyzed extensively. What can be determined, however, is that it contains a large number of partially decomposed human eyes, believed to exceed 1,000 in total. Perforations within the concrete would have allowed these eyes to observe their target on all sides until he expired. Output containment procedures SCP-139 Omega is presently being tracked, observed, and hounded by Site 97 Deep Cover personnel. Via Unanimous 05 Vote, the Tucson-Layline Bridge has been rerouted to Site 97's foundation for the interim. Update Greater containment defectuated. Protocol All eyes on Lucian rescinded. Project loose ends in progress Site 97's full capabilities have been directed towards the neutralization of SCP-139 Omega, who remains at large post-mortem via knowledge it has stolen from Site 97. Following a breach of its containment area beneath Site 97, SCP-139 Omega has demonstrated robust mobility and incorporeality, rendering it difficult to track and re-contain. Fortunately, it has a habit of sticking its nose in places it does not belong. Note, Ethics Committee review of SCP-139 Omega's containment procedures have generated unanimous approval. Overwatch Command is in agreement. SCP-139 Omega's crimes are many and unforgivable. Site 97 took SCP-139 Omega in. They provided it with safety, community, and purpose. And it has shunned all of those. This is why on the other side of that way, it found nothing but concrete damnation and the all-seeing eye. Item Number SCP-317 Object Class Safe Special Containment Procedures SCP-3171 is to be preserved in a vat of liquid nitrogen. Requests for tissue samples from SCP-3171 must be made in writing. All research into tissue samples from SCP-3171 must be in compliance with Class 5 Biohazard Protocols. Examination of SCP-3172 must be done in Class 3 clean room facilities. Requests for examination of 3172 must be made in writing. SCP-3173 has been disassembled. The parts are stored in separate locations. Requests for examination of 3173 must be made in writing to two separate 05 level personnel. No two components of SCP-3173 may be brought within 100 kilometers of each other. Description SCP-3171 is the cadaver of a sapient reptilian entity tentatively identified as a previously unknown species of Pachycephalosaurid. Subject was bipedal, female, and 3 meters tall and wore clothing made from synthetic polymers. Subject also wore corrective lenses. Subject was largely herbivorous and had prehensile digits. Subject's metabolism was adapted to a higher atmospheric oxygen content and therefore subject wore a respirator device when not in its quarters. Examinal analysis postmortem, radopsins, mitochondria, homeobox genes, cytochrome P450 confirms that SCP-3171 shared common ancestry with current earth life. Autopsy records are available in Archive 317b-685. In the 40 days between its arrival and foundation custody, and its death from a lactobacillus infection, SCP-3171 learned to communicate via a combination of sign language, crude vocalizations, and drawings. Video Archive 317b-36 shows interview sessions with SCP-3171. Drawings made by SCP-3171 are available in Archive 317b-42, general access, basic anatomical figures, interactions between itself and foundation personnel, demonstration of knowledge of mathematics, demonstration of knowledge of chemistry, demonstration of knowledge of nuclear physics, and Archive 317b-58, restricted access, circuit diagrams, mechanical schematics, data expunged. SCP-3172 is the personal effects of SCP-3171, a tunic, a robe, a tool belt, six tools, corrective lenses, an oxygen mask, three empty oxygen tanks, a fire-damaged document pouch made from synthetic polymers, and its fire-damaged contents, and a fire-damaged digital camera whose contents were unrecoverable. SCP-3173 is the fire-damaged remains of what is believed to have been a time machine, which SCP-3171 was attempting to repair at the time it was taken into custody by the Foundation. Preliminary testing of the intact components revealed data expunged, at which point all testing was halted, and SCP-3173 was disassembled. Note, there's something wrong with this one, people. A technological civilization should have left some trace in the stratigraphic record. If there was a Holocene Epic before us, where did the evidence go? Doctor, it's not just the complete lack of trace in the fossil record, it's the species. How could it have been a Pachycephalosaur that developed intelligence? They were at best average for Cretaceous fauna. Why not a Trudontid, an Ornithomid, or another small theropod? There's something going on here that we're missing. Dr. M. Item number, SCP-324, Object Class, Safe. Special Containment Procedures While SCP-324 does not require efforts beyond basic botanical maintenance to thrive, access to its products are to be strictly controlled to prevent theft and possible uncontrolled cultivation. SCP-324 is to be contained within a secure solarium or equivalent agricultural facility in a minimum of 5 cubic meters of soil. Soil should be maintained at a consistent pH of between 4 and 4.5 with a minimum 12% humus or similar organic compound, component to topsoil. A misting system or other remote means of watering should be implemented to minimize the number of staff with access to SCP-324. SCP-324 is currently held at Site-23, Solarium-16, Bay 194, under these conditions. As on-site staff already have access to specialized botanical testing equipment and methodologies via the containment of SCP-38. Transfer of SCP-324 to another facility is subject to Level 4 approval. Products of SCP-324, designated SCP-324-1, may be transferred between research staff as necessary with Level 3 approval. To maintain SCP-324 as the only mature specimen during initial research, attempts to cultivate further specimens from SCP-324-1 off-site are currently suspended. Description SCP-324 is a small evergreen shrub currently 1.4 meters in height and possessing a complex root system that extends approximately 2.5 meters below the soil. Leaves are lancelate, ranging between 4 and 6 centimeters in width. During the flowering phase, SCP-324 produces small 14 to 22 millimeters white flowers with 9 petals. Berries produced by SCP-324 are designated SCP-324-1 and appear pinkish white in color with diameters between 9 and 14 millimeters. Berries are edible, with flavor reported as tart and mildly sweet. SCP-324's flowering and berry producing phase are apparently only initiated by the introduction of a deceased mammal of at least 25 kilograms into its soil. The mammal must be within range of SCP-324's root system and been deceased no longer than three days at the time of its first contact with SCP-324. If these conditions are met, the flowering phase will begin within 16 hours of introduction, with mature flowers in SCP-324-1 appearing within 75 hours. When eaten, each individual sample of SCP-324-1 will produce a vivid sensory experience, reenacting a seemingly random memory of the deceased mammal's life in the consumer of SCP-324-1. In tests with human cadavers buried in SCP-324's soil, consumers of SCP-324-1 report clear oral and visual impressions, including specific locations, conversations, and individuals. The consumer of SCP-324-1 appears to experience the deceased's memory, as if it were one of their own, but recognizes it as a product of another mind. In tests featuring animal cadavers, consumers of SCP-324-1 report an overwhelming jumble of sensory input, devoid of the usual narrative context produced by human thought. Each experience lasts between two and four minutes before it subsides. If multiple samples of SCP-324-1 are ingested at one time, memories experienced proceed one at a time, each with the same two to four minute window. SCP-324 produces SCP-324-1 for approximately one week, regardless of the type or mass of the deceased mammal introduced into its soil. After this period has elapsed, all samples of SCP-324-1 wither and become inert, until another deceased mammal is accessed by the root system. Animals incapable of creating memories or lacking memories of their own, such as subjects of SCP-909, likewise produce inert samples of SCP-324-1. Discovery SCP-324 was discovered in a small cemetery, specializing in natural, coffinless and non-preservational burial in rural, county, New Hampshire. The groundskeeper, a Mr. Declan, would regularly transplant SCP-324 to the graves of the newly deceased and invite surviving family members to partake of SCP-324-1 for a substantial fee. The scheme was discovered inadvertently, when Agent Warrant attended services at the cemetery for his deceased relative. Upon a demonstration of SCP-324-1's effects, Agent Warrant immediately took both Mr. Declan, assigned D-Class, and SCP-324 into Foundation custody. Mr. Declan claimed the shrub had been on the grounds when they were purchased in 19 and knew nothing further of its origins. Addendum. Experiment logs 324-42.4 through 324-45.2. SCP-324-1 consumer, male, D-Class, number 67531, age 56. Soil input. Human. Female. Aged 34 at TOD. Deceased two days. Experience report. D-67531 placid for duration of experience. Recounts an afternoon picnic from the perspective of a small female child, including impressions of flying a kite and eating a celery stalk with peanut butter and raisins. SCP-3241 consumer. Female. D-Class, number 58563, age 34. Soil input. Chimpanzee. Female. Aged 44 at TOD. Deceased three days. Experience report. D-58563 thrashes wildly for the duration of the experience, making gestures as if to ward off an attacker. Recounts impression of being assaulted by multiple individuals uttering high-pitched squeals. SCP-3241 consumer. Male. D-Class, number 69965, age 22. Soil input. Human. Female. Aged 93 at TOD. Deceased two days. Experience report. D-69965 uncooperative, restraints employed. D-69965 force-fed SCP-3241 continues thrashing for 43 seconds before abruptly relaxing. Eyes glazed for duration of experience. D-69965 drools slightly. Recounts staring out a window from a wheelchair at a busy urban street. Sprinklers occasionally splashing the window. SCP-3241 consumer. Female. D-Class, number 39395, age 42. Soil input. Dolphin. Male. Aged 19 at TOD. Deceased one day. Experience report. D-39395 holds breath for duration of experience. Passes out at 97 seconds. Revived. Recounts impressions of swimming, darkness, pressure. Claims to distinctly recall speaking to another individual but cannot remember content of conversation. You don't miss any of our upcoming videos.