 You find the access tunnel hidden within a natural cave a mile off the main road. You don't need the key card. The door is a jar. It smells here. It smells like them. Hopefully they've moved on. You've come so far already. You can't turn back now. There's a slick trail that leads from the cave entrance and into the depths of the site. If it's blood or shit or something that smeared off one of those things, you cannot tell. You make a point to avoid it. You're still receiving the distress signal. It only started broadcasting yesterday. Whoever it is, you pray they're still alive. Your footsteps echo through empty corridors. Each football sounds for all the world like a dozen, as if you're not treading through the dark alone. Elevator is down, so you take the stairs. Ending on floor B5, Ketter holding. You pass several empty containment chambers. The horrors they once held are long gone. If you're lucky, the trail takes you to an office branching off the main hall, the source of the signal. The door is cracked open, but stuck. You plant your feet, push with all your might. Something skitters out of one of the rooms to your left and around the corner before you can get a good look at it. Your first thought is, dog. It was on the ceiling, though. You take refuge in the room, slam the door behind you. It's dark here. You're safe. You take off your jacket and head wrap. It'd be a damn shame to die from something like hypothermia after all that's happened. The sole operating emergency light rotates in its casing, casting a pale orange glow across the room every other second, as if the room itself had a pulse. There's shelving haphazardly placed behind the door, a barricade. You scan the room, soiled clothes, half eaten food. Despite the presence of an adjoining restroom, there is excrement in a bucket in the corner. A pneumatic chamber on the northern wall would have been delivering consumables to the occupant. The trail terminates in the corner of the room, forming a sick puddle. You spot three pharmacy bottles. Further inspection reveals them to be various opioids. They're all empty. There's a desk with a computer atop it. Approaching the terminal, you can clearly see the blinking light of the power button. You take a seat, turn it on. Emergency protocol activated. Clearance level safeguards removed. Full access granted. Secure. Contain. Protect. Loading. You hear footsteps just outside the door. Every first step comes down heavy. The second drags behind it. A dark shape blots out the light streaming through the slit between the floor and the doorway. You tense up, waiting with baited breath, praying it will pass. You dam the deafening thumping of your heart for betraying your position. Authenticating. Please wait. The shadow recedes. You breathe a sigh of relief just as the screen comes to life. Opening file. Automated secure system notification code 235-ASSN-235. There has been an error in retrieving the current iteration of the SCP-001 file. You are currently viewing revision number three. Newer revisions can be accessed at the bottom of this page. Access file. SCP-001. Revision number three of twelve. Audio file. Access granted. Revision three of twelve updated. One thousand three hundred twelve days ago. Item number SCP-001. Object class. A polygon. Special containment procedures. Due to its nature, SCP-001 cannot be contained. Survivors of the SCP-001 event stationed within secure facilities are to remain in contact with one another. Personnel are encouraged to attempt to reach Site-19 by any means at their disposal. Personnel with knowledge as to the whereabouts of the O5 Council are to relay this information to the Administrator. Survivors attempting to travel outdoors must fully cover their bodies in protective clothing. Preferably several layers. Travel by foot should be as limited as possible. Cities and man-made structures in general provide the greatest protection. Formally wooded areas should be circumvented. Travel by air is preferable above all other methods. Personnel exposed to SCP-001 are to be considered lost. Compromised personnel are to be abandoned. Euthanization is not to be attempted. Collective instances of SCP-001-A that are of formidable size are to be avoided at all costs. Conductive electrical weapons have proven partially effective at immobilizing instances and may be used for self-defense. Incendiary weapons work as well. Chronic munitions are the most effective thus far. Testing has revealed that SCP-001-A is relatively safe to consume. This is only to be considered as a last resort in the absence of other options, as SCP-001-A may reconstitute within the digestive system. Only small portions should be consumed at a time to prevent blockage. Personnel stationed at Site-19 are to pursue research concerning off-world colonizations. Shuttles must be constructed as to not allow light to penetrate the interior. To those of you with families or God forbid children, I'm deeply, deeply sorry. You must push on. Do not let their deaths be in vain. We do still have time. Humanity may still have a future. Come to Site-19. We need all the hands we can get. Learn to embrace the darkness, friends. Fear the light. The Administrator Description SCP-001 is the designation given to the sun after an event on System error. Data loss. EC-172. Contact cis-admin. Resulting in approximately 6.8 billion casualties within the first 24 hours. The SCP-001 effect does not seem to result from exposure to ultraviolet rays, but rather light in the visual spectrum. Approximately 390 to 700 nanominers. The effect is similarly present in moonlight. Upon contact with visible light produced by the sun, living organisms liquefy at the point of contact, with the effect spreading until the entire organism is converted. Visually, this is reminiscent of melting wax. The time this takes is largely dependent on the level of exposure and size of the organism. Despite this, restructuring at no point do living organisms perish. Upon completion, these organisms, SCP-001-A, take on a gelatinous consistency. Motile organisms will attempt to orient themselves in the fashion reminiscent of their previous form, to varying degrees of success. Fluorotypically remain physically inert, yet are still capable of photosynthesis and still produce oxygen. Organisms capable of flight lose the capacity to do so. Fauna remain sentient and display behaviors that parallel their non-anomalous counterparts, when not absorbed into a collective instance. Humans retain a modicum of sapience and memory. Biological anomalies exposed to SCP-001 are affected in the same manner. It seems that exposure nullifies any previously expressed anomalous characteristics. Due to their composition, instances of SCP-001-A that make contact with one another may combine and blend at the molecular level. This does not seem to cause any pain or distress to the instances, though the resulting bulk can inhibit movement. Since the SCP-001 event, most instances have congregated into such collectives, which seem to possess no maximum volume. The resulting biomass is amorphous and chaotic. The component organisms will shift between a full to semi-liquid state. Limbs and bodies will rise periodically from within the mass for a short duration before deteriorating and being subsumed by another life form. Collective instances will locomote by using their appendages in tandem to carry their mass. Larger instances will form a pseudopod from their constituent life forms and drag themselves about in a manner similar to Amoeba. This is Dr. Logan Agata, level 3 researcher. Due to site 46 possession of several communicable info hazards, we have been cut off from the rest of the network under Blackout Protocol. As such, he'll be updating this as we come across new information. On the bright side, we're still actually receiving transmissions from a few sites. A good number of personnel have made it, it seems. Some of us are planning to make a break for 19, some of us are trying to fight the dashes, some, like us, are simply biding their time. Our site is sealed for the time being. We're not ready for the journey, at least not yet. We experienced a containment breach a few days ago. One of the higher maintenance humanoids broke loose, son of a bitch compromised containment on half a dozen keters and ran off. They didn't make it more than five feet from the tunnels before collapsing into soup. I watched it play out on the camps. Didn't take long for them to get back up. Not exactly a designated smoking area, but what the hell, right? Commander Anand suited up and went to town on them the next day, tried to drive them off. Didn't turn out very well, poor bastard, but we didn't learn a thing or two at least. There's only a few of us left. I'm holed up in one of the offices. Jerry and Director Phillips are somewhere in the barracks. Clyde and a few dees locked themselves in the army with Ari. I really should see how she's doing. He's got to have an ace up her sleeve or something. Shut up. Hey hun, how you holding up down there? I'm doing just fine, poopsikins. I want you to know I love you bunches. Knock it off and put her on, dammit. I need to speak with her. Babe, what's wrong? Nothing, nothing. I just wanted to check in real quick. Fine, babe. Really? I can take care of myself. No, no, I know. I know that. I can't help it though. I know coming here was never easy for you. And with everything going on, I- Hey, you told me you quit smoking. No, no, of course not. I mean, I did, I did stop. You don't think I'm the one you need to worry about? I'm staying clean. I haven't even thought of touching an s6 months. Trust me. Anyways, since you were wondering, I'm fine. The guys are sitting around playing cards. I'm stuck in the corner with my notebook. Sweetheart, penning a sonnet about my undying love at a time like this, I'm flattered. An elegy at the moment. I feel like if I don't keep myself busy doing something, I'll go crazy locked down here. I know what you mean, hon. I'll let you get back to it. I love you. Love you too, babe. And that's all of us. Everyone else was either topside during the event, or they were killed in the breach. Directors' orders are to stay put. Keep an eye on the camps, both in and around the facility. We've got the O01 skips beating at our front door, and God knows what else locked in here with us. We still have electricity. We should for quite some time, and the place is stocked with enough supplies to last the side a couple of years. We're going to be fine for now. Everything's going to be fine. Access file, SCP-001. Revision number 5 of 12. Incident report appended. Access granted. Revision 5 of 12 updated. 1,200. Two days ago. Item number, SCP-001. Object class, a polygon. Special containment procedures. No changes submitted. Information collapsed. No changes submitted. Information collapsed. Open attached file. Incident report 001.1. Access granted. They've just been sitting out there this entire time, calling to us, begging for us to come outside. The noise drew in more of them. There's this one mess that I'm sure must have been a few dozen people, and God knows how many animals were rolling around inside it. Screams and bleats and screeches and howls non-stop, louder than all hell. The worst ones make this disgusting moaning like they're actually enjoying it. They're not going to leave as long as they know we're down here. We managed to talk one of the dees into going out, see if he couldn't draw them away. He was surprisingly okay with that plan. All he asked for was a gun and a single round. He made it out there, and one got a hold of him, tried to get his mask off. He managed to work the pistol up beneath his chin in time, got it off. I figured he was lucky. After he felt limp, it kept working at his suit. Pried off the hood and poured itself inside, began tearing it off with him from within. He came back, started changing, tripping out of the suit and screaming and screaming and screaming. They won't even let us die. The director has a plan. There's an escape tunnel hidden in his office. Tram under the site will take us to a safe house. We should be able to start towards 19 from there. Access file SCP-001 revision number 8 of 12. One attachment. Access granted. Revision 8 of 12 updated. 1200 days ago. Item number SCP-001. Object class. A polygon. Special containment procedures. No changes submitted. Information collapsed. Description. No changes submitted. Information collapsed. Open attached file. Video file. Access granted. You see her for the first time. Dr. Agata is seated where you are right now. She has a pain to look. Her eyes are bloodshot. A large, wet, red-black blotch has formed on her breast pocket. She draws a shuddering breath, parts her lips as if to speak and stops herself. She bows her head and cries silently. After a minute, she manages to choke out. I, we, we, the tunnel, float in through the, through the ceiling dragging, dragging them into the, the light and ripping off their, their clothes and, and. She reaches into her breast pocket and withdraws a finger. The glint of a wedding ring is visible above the severed portion. She holds it close in cupped hands and runs a thumb across the glimmering band. She sits like this for an eternity, whispering apology after apology, begging forgiveness, lost in the moment. She looks up after some time. There's a look of realization when she sees she's still recording before she places the digit back in her pocket. She leans forward as if to turn off the camera when a radio crackles to life. It broadcasts white noise for a few seconds and then a voice that sets you on edge. It's Ari, almost. Her voice has taken on the disgusting, gurgling tone characteristic of the affected. Logan's jaw drops. What little color that was left in her face drains. It speaks out again. Are you there? Logan rummages beneath the desk for a moment and produces a handheld radio. Her hands are shaking. Hey, it's all right. I'm all right. It's a bright, sunny day and you're just wasting your weight on that. Logan is in tears, her finger hovering just above the call button. It's such a beautiful, igloo sky. It's like the day. Do you remember it? Logan withdraws a cigarette with her free hand, followed by a pack of matches. Her shaking thwarts the first two attempts to light it. Damn, it's just... Third time's the charm and she inhales a quarter of it in a single drag. It's so perfect. I'm thinking this is who I would have dreamed it would be. I was whistly. I've never felt so inflowed. Logan begins rocking back and forth. Can we even have a band in our song? I feel good in a special way. I made a lot of them to that sunny bed. Logan hurls the radio across the room. It smashes somewhere off camera. It's still somewhat operational. You can still hear the things singing. Something isn't right. A lingering, paranoid sensation washes over you. You're being watched. You defensively dart your eyes about, though they take a second to adjust to the darkness beyond the monitor. The emergency light sweeps across the room, stretching and twisting the shadows beyond recognition. That's when you spot it. There, in the corner. Coming out of the puddle. Time slows to a halt. A pair of hands coated in the lustrous black slime you followed through the facility are on either side of the sickening pool, as if something beneath the floor is bracing itself, trying to lift itself up. Something inhuman. The head comes next, rising from the muck. Madded hair conceals its face, plastered over it by the mystery fluid. It turns in your direction. It stares at you from the corner, which once again falls into darkness. The emergency light continues its journey across the room. It washes over the puddle again, revealing nothing out of the ordinary. Access file, SCP-001 revision number 9 of 12, one attachment. Access granted, revision 9 of 12 updated, 986 days ago. Item number, SCP-001, object class, a polygon. Special containment procedures. No changes submitted. Information collapsed. Description. No changes submitted. Information collapsed. Open attachment. Access granted. Dr. Igata appears on the monitor. She's lost weight. Her eyes are bloodshot and wide. On the table before her lay a knife, a bowl, and a stack of manila envelopes filled with yellowing pages. Atop this stack is a bloodstained parchment. Despite the things we have to deal with here at the Foundation, I've always believed we would be able to maintain control. We'd be able to hold the darkness at bay, let mankind flourish in the light. Site-19 stopped broadcasting last month. It's been getting harder and harder to find a reason to keep going, especially without, without. She grabs the knife, contemplates it for a moment. I keep going over it again and again in my mind, that day back in the tunnels. Everything that happened, I've gone down there a few times, only to hear her voice again, but it's wrong. That thing on the other side of the door, it's not her. Not anymore. It sounds like her. It knows everything she knew, but it's not her. This light, it takes your body, it steals your mind. But what about your soul? With this, she slices into the palm of her left hand and winces. You watch her clench her fist, draining her blood into the bowl. If this works, if I can bring back something, something the light couldn't reach, I'll post an update here. For now, signing off. Access file SCP-001, revision number one, seven, exclamation four, data error. Hide from me. Revision number 4847, out of error, updated 985 days ago. It was so warm out there. Item, hurts, object. Apologize. Special containment procedures. SCP-001 cannot be contained. Survivors of the SCP-001 event, stationed within secure facilities, are to- Can never truly be with one another. Personnel are encouraged to- Get over themselves and stop thinking they know better. You can't hide down here forever, love. Personnel exposed to SCP-001 are- Aren't people you can just- Abandon. Didn't ask for you to save me. It wasn't your choice to make. Euthanization is- Not, not, not, not, not, not, not, not. To be attempted. Conductive electrical weapons- Why? Have proven partially effective at immobilizing instances. You can't stand seeing me better off. Incendiary weapons- Hickle. Cryonic munitions are the most effective thus far. Personnel stationed at Site-19 have not- No regrets. Neither did I. It's never too late, babe. Description. SCP-001 is the designation given to the sun- After we finally became free. The effects are instantaneous, resulting in- It released from all suffering until you ripped me away. She just seems scary. I know. Despite this restructuring, at no point- No point will you die. I promise. Due to their composition, instances of SCP-001-A that may contact with one another- may combine and blend- And finally exist. This does not cause any pain. Since the SCP-001 event, most instances have congregated into such collectives, which seem to possess no maximum volume. Don't be afraid. The resulting biomass is a- Beautiful. The component organisms will shift in and over and around and through and in and out and in and out and in? Limbs and bodies. Hold. Never letting go. Before deteriorating and being subsumed by another life form. Collective instances will locomote by just trying to be close to you again. Trying so hard. Let me in. There's a video file attached. Opening it. You see that it presents the room you're in. The feed seems to be coming from one of the security cameras, up in the corner of the room. It's dark, but you can just make out Dr. Igata, laying on a pile of laundry along the far wall. She's writhing in her sleep. She seems tormented. Hurt. She's tossing and turning and mumbling nonsense words. The camera shakes. It lifts upwards for a moment before it focuses on her again. It starts moving closer. Slowly. The speakers come to life, picking up an airy, breathy static. As the camera moves closer to the doctor, it becomes clearer, crisper. It's not merely white noise, but dozens. Hundreds of voices whispering unintelligibly over each other. You lean in. Press your ear almost against the speaker, trying to discern what it is that's being said. Something strange stands out amidst the discordance. Are you paying attention? This next bit is just for you. Looking back at the monitor, the camera has come to a halt inches away from the sleeping doctor. There is no sound. A hand, black and oily and skeletal, reaches out for her. Brushes away a lock of hair. Her eyes shoot open. She recoils in shock. The feed cuts out. Access SCP-001, revision number 12 of 12, one attachment. Access granted, revision number 12 of 12, updated one days ago. Item number SCP-001, object class. Polyon, special containment procedures. File recovered from previous revision, information collapsed. Description. File recovered from previous revision, information collapsed. Open attachment. Access granted. Dr. Agata appears before you on the screen, looking even worse for wear than she did previously. Her hair is thinning, with large swaths appearing absent from the middle of her head. If they weren't reflecting the soft glow of the monitor, you would have assumed she no longer had eyes, for how deep they'd recessed into her skull. She stares ahead, unblinking. She won't stop, she won't go away. I know I didn't, no I didn't pick up an info hazard browsing the archives. Tested myself in the Dash 4673 infection, negative. 5189 is the only other one that uses a print as a vector. Can't be that, I still have all my fingers. Her lips crack into a broken grin. She lets out a weak laugh, and displays her trembling hands. What appears to be the mostly skeletal remains of a finger is embedded into the flesh of her left hand, in the stump that would have supported her natural ring finger. Two wedding bands loosely encircle the digit, laying atop one another. So, I'm not infected. I'm not, not, I'm not crazy. I know, I know the ritual worked. I know it's really her. It's her, and she- Something catches her attention off screen. She cocks her head, listening. No, no, I can't, you're not. Not you. Not the same, not you. It's not you anymore. Nope, no, no, no. She begins rubbing her temples, repeating herself over and over again. A minute passes. She snaps her head back up and addresses the camera. It's her, but it's not. What I brought back, still a part of, oh, one. There's no way. No way out. No way. There's no hope for a future for me. And God, I can't go on like this any longer. I'll be safe here. The light can't reach me. I won't, won't let it in. Let it take me. She brandishes a handgun. Well, it's planning on using this till I found some leftover meds. Don't want to. Want to risk calling attention to myself, to my body. She opens the desk drawer and deposits the firearm. She raises her gaze, stares into the camera. Mom? Dad? Ari? I'm sorry. She reaches forward and ends the recording. That's horrible. Did it have to end like that? You open the drawer and pull out the gun. You absent-mindedly turn it over in your hands for a moment, wondering where you'll go from here. Site 17. 64. Surely you can't be all that's left. The computer dings. There's been an update to the file. Access SCP-001. Current iteration updated one minute ago. Access granted. Item number. Saturn skies raise the blazing sun. A chance encounter, awkward displays. One day, my love, we'd be as one. Object class. With two entwined, a set course begun that frenetic, wild, lustrous haze. Azure skies host the radiant sun. Special containment procedures. Above us, beaming as we run, tell that isle of bourbon craze. That day, my love, we became as one. With future unfolded, the life we'd won. Commitment and duty for the family we'd raised. Cerulean skies ferry the shimmering sun. Description. Buried, shackled by fate. Overrun by ever-growing resent in the maze. Yesterday, my love, we were as one. Now you lie here, the life in you gone, in the dark outside of her ways. Crimson skies bear the torch. Our sun. Today, my love will be as one. Air order. Air. Without your prompting, the page begins playing a video file. You freeze when the image loads. It's a live feed, looking down on you from behind, about a foot away. A skeletal, inky left hand enters the frame, approaching you at a snail's pace. It's missing its ring finger. Without a second thought, you turn and fire in a frenzy, hoping to drive off the specter. Your bullets meet an empty wall. There's nothing there. A second passes before you hear it. Before you hear them. Sloshing, wet thuds coming down the corridor, accompanied by a chorus of screams. It slams into the door. Could there be a place to hide? It strikes a second time. What appears to be a face, part human, part something, dribbles in under the frame. Bits of flesh from God knows what oozes in through the sides and reconstitutes into fingers, eyes, feathers. A third. Now it's pressing up against the wood, causing it to sag inwards. With a groan and a crash, the wood splinters. The door explodes open. Hands and arms stretch out of the mass, pulling you up, passing you from one to the next, on and on down the line. They drag you past the empty containment units, upwards and through the stairwell, through the halls and towards the tunnel. You're afforded a few precious moments in the darkness. And at the end of the tunnel, there's light.