 For our next tale, we're going to read Twas the Night Before Christmas. scpwiki.net slash twas the night before Christmas. Starting at the top. And here we go. Is that a TV or real-life fireplace, some guy named King? That is a highly anomalous video. It's a memetic kill agent. The only single one of you who has not authorized Foundation staff should be writhing in a seizure on the ground. I apologize, I should have told you that ahead of time. Good memetic kill agent. Good job. YouTube kill agents. Twas the night before Christmas and all through the site. Not a keter was stirring to my great delight. The paperwork filed in the cabinets with care. Each one a story of objects most rare. Humanoids held firm in 10 meter cubes, and euclids suspended in magnetic tubes. But researchers, technicians, D-class, and more were hiding in fear from the sounds of a war. The east wing had lights flashing warnings in moss. Two kettles, three euclids, and one sik-ba-da-ba-ba ruined the poem. No! Let's rewind that, shall we? The east wing had lights flashing warnings in moss about the escape of an anomalous horse. Two kettles, three euclids, one thought safe but not. Merging together in one ball of snot. Were barely but noticed by keen Dr. Bright. A crisis at last had now moved him to fright. His powers immortal availing him not, and expert assistants he went out and sought. Grabbing all resources that he could claim. Six MTF teams he called each by name. Now gear-deads, now memetic fixes. On toasters, on weards, on timeline deep sixes. To the basement L4, to the sight of the breach. Don't wait, get going, to all I must preach. The pain of our failure is the end of us all. Rushing they jostled to get to the hall. Containing the monster the doctors true dread. Verbently hoping to put me to bed. The snot-ball had the cleaners tied up in knots, while toasters and gear-deads were blocked by some bots. Escaping their quarters and running all round, trying to bind all the things that aren't bound. Backwards and forwards the scrapping did go, until I called time and their fighting went slow. The Weards did not know that last week had gone wrong. An SCP slow-acting memetic song. Made them ignore the good doctor's commands, as they were all busy staring at hands. The memetic fixers tried chanting in rhyme. A true name in Greek while assaulting a mime. Which, in all fairness, really should have worked. But instead in my heart I secretly smirked. My misinformation had led them astray. Assaulting a mime is what keeps me at bay. A mime, a mime, and not a mime, a mime. Timeline Deets Sixers, most suited for this, gave it their best but still came up a miss. They ran down my hall, they ran with much vigor, but too late, and my power did trigger. They activated my trap card, you see. Their forward-most man almost made it to me, but now for eternity I get to see. His eyes frozen wide at the sign on my door, upon which is written, Beware Cronivore. Towards the night before Christmas, Towards the night before Christmas, Towards the night before Christmas, Towards the night before Christmas, Towards the night before Christmas, Towards the night before Christmas, Towards the night before Christmas! Text found, printed on the back of the anomalous object 173-21-214, which appears to be a large print of a photo overlooking site 19's main and administrative area, as an explosion is just beginning. The photo is impossible to fold or cut in any way, and nothing can adhere to it, but it is otherwise unremarkable. No source of this object is recorded in the database. Merry Christmas.