 What is the easiest way to hide the identity of SCP-001? This would have been a perplexing question for the Administrator who had conceived General Notice 001-Alpha. How do you hide the most important anomaly the Foundation ever has and ever will come across? How do you hide the creator of the 2,000 anomalies to follow? How do you hide the ultimate weapon? How do you hide the universe itself? How do you hide something worse? Like the identity of the Administrator, the circumstances surrounding how they came to their final decision is shrouded in mystery and known by a select few. Regardless of whether the process was arduous or came in an epiphany, the outcome is evident for all to see and function precisely as planned. Several completely different files are present in the entry, precluded by a foreword stating that none, one, several or all of these files were the true SCP-001. The tactic worked as intended, with a myriad of conflicting explanations erupting and battling to prove that they were correct, but never having enough evidence to disprove the others. The simplest conclusions were the most common, that there was no true 001, that it was simply a ploy utilized by the O5 Council to instill a sense of purpose into the staff of the Foundation, hiding the truth that these anomalies had no source or explanation, or that all the files were the true 001, that by some twist of fate they had devised a method of coexisting somehow. Through all of this, a recurring theme emerged, very, very few thought outside of the box, very few were able to realize the truth. Transcript to Audio Log recovered from ██████. SCP-█████████ All right, this is Frank ██████ aboard the, what we call this thing, David? SCP-███████. SCP-█████. SCP-███████. Alright, this is.. wait, really? They named it ████, and we're going to… whatever. This is Frank ██████████ aboard the SCP-█████'s current time is ██████. And we're about an hour from launch. The Overseries have been getting these ships made for quite a while now, and And it seems they decided to send this out to take a look, see at those bits of the universe we can't see yet. I'm, uh, just a record keeper for this trip, so I figured it'd be handy to start my keeping prior to departure, you know, in case something happens. Anyway, might as well start with system reports. Reactor is fully functioning. Weapons look good. Begin log. Frank again. We're about to launch and seeing if nobody's ever done this before. I figured something like, uh, fitting word to be a good idea. I got nothing. Ah, shoot, I should've thought of this before. Oh, now we've traveled. A loud whining sound is heard, promptly followed by several objects colliding about the room. Frank produces heavy distorted vocalizations until the whining noise subsides. Fucking asshats could've given us a warning before we left at least. Fucking ruin my speech. Fucking fuck. Begin log. 418. 18000. First and foremost, since we don't really know what the actual date is on Earth, we've adjusted all the clocks and dates and such so that we're counting up from when we launched. It's currently been 18 days, 4 hours, and 19 minutes since we launched. We're still traveling at max throttle so there's not much to see outside other than darkness, since we're going faster than the speed of light. Much faster. But um, yeah, we recently passed, hey, David, what's the name of that place we just went past? Messy something? Yeah, but like, the closest one, pardon? Messier 83? Oh, right, we just gone past Messier 83, which is about 15 million light years from Earth. Talking about being far from home, heh heh. You know the O5s probably wouldn't appreciate your stupid jokes. This is just note keeping, not the finished log, sheesh. David can be a real hard ass sometimes, though considering he spends most of his time fixing machines is kinda understandable. I'll make another log once something more significant happens. End log. Begin log. 2318. 24000. Frank here, it's been something like two months? Not much has happened, other than that we've now passed GN-Z11, so we're officially beyond the view of Earth's telescopes. Oh, and of course we've been taking photos as we went past. There's not much out here, but we can see a few small galaxies spread out here and there. The higher up researchers keep using the word gigaparsec, so that should give a fair idea of the distance between these things. They've also been mumbling about something seeming off about them, but, or not, I can't find out much. There's been quite a few cases of homesickness from the crew on board, but nothing that won't subside over time. Anywhom, everything's holding together quite nicely, excluding the automatic cafeteria. Oi, David, you're gonna fix the cafeteria, right? No, because there's nothing wrong with it. But the pace tastes like shit. It's fucking nutrient pace, it's supposed to taste like shit. Begin log. 1437. 20300. Well, we've found that what the researchers were uneased about, we're closing up to get a proper look at the nearest galaxy and, um, well, it's a copy of the Milky Way, not a perfect copy, mind you. There's a few stars absent, but the major identifying bodies are there. We're, uh, planning on taking a look to see if Earth is there, and if it is, look for inhabitants. Ample to say, though, this might end up getting classified as an anomaly, maybe not as a full-on SCP, but at least as an E-dash. The chances of a replica galaxy forming are, well, slim to say the least. End log. Begin log. 648. 020400. This place is definitely an anomaly. First, it was suspicion because of how similar it is to our home, but like, far out. This is a whole new level of unnatural. On our way to the Analogue of Earth, we passed by a few of the missing stars and found that they were actually there, just messed up beyond belief. Now messed up? Try Epsilon Buddhist, Prime? Alpha? Whatever. The big one. It's made of ice cream. We took a sample. Tastes like avocados and cigarette smoke, apparently. The smaller one is a bottle of liquid chlorophyll, somehow managing to keep itself together. And Terry's is just solid iodine. No fire. No iron. Nothing. There's a colossal, cold, bottle of iodine. Proxima Centauri is made of charcoal, too. And of course, we actually got to Earth. Most of us have taken a call on it subprime. It's just a giant ball of fuck ups and errors. You can see it's Earth. All the continents are there and shape right, but they're made of the wrong stuff. Australia is a solid block of gold. The oceans glow blue. The whole American continent is made of maple syrup. We're collecting as much information as we can, then we're shoving off to the next galaxy. This is just too freaky. The internet is just kind of the light that Mary ██████ is pregnant. Nobody is asking any questions about it, especially because we aren't entirely sure it's her husband's child. So… yeah. End log. Begin log, 748-020500. What the actual flying fuck? We've arrived at the next closest galaxy, and it's the same thing. Another screwed up copy of the Milky Way. Screwed up in different ways, mind you, but still basically the same thing as before. Mercury is made of ice, Jupiter is made of edible jelly, Earth looks like a shark at utopia, all of its flesh, bone, and blood. We've decided it's probably not best to approach in case it doesn't look like machinery, but nonetheless. We're hoping it's just these two, but we're doubtful. What the hell is happening out here? End log. Begin log, 1201-170500. Note to self, bring more puzzles and toys the next trip, I've run out. Bah, I better put something worthwhile here. Uh, crew are okay. We're coming to the turn with the fact that third galaxy we're going to arrive at looks like a repeat of the first two. There's nothing major about it, it's just freaky to think this same anomaly repeats itself as far as we can see. Oh, there was an incident last week. Jonathan was fixing some strange mechanical fault lower down when something came loose and broke his arm. It's been fixed now, though, and the doctor said he'd be fine in a few weeks. He swears it shouldn't have happened, so there's some investigations happening. Nothing further I can think of, you remember anything I ain't- It is assumed that Frank ████ was speaking to David ████, who responded with an inaudible or nonverbal response. Alright, ending log. End log. Begin log, 159-0700600. Another copy of the Milky Way, not big surprise. Is this all that there is out here? Just endless copies of home, each more messed up than the previous? Earth was made of some sort of glass this time. Mars was made of dry ice. Your range was horrifically magnetic. We almost got severely screwed over. Nothing to do but keep going. End log. Begin log, 0000030800. Two more. There's no way these places aren't part of the same anomaly somehow. Speaking of anomalies, there's shit-tons of them out here. Or the whole galaxy we can't approach, always seeming distant, and none of the computers won't pick up at all, though we can rather clearly see. There's even been a few times when space itself has been talking to us. I'm not insane, we picked it up and narrowed it to a certain pocket of space. There's other times when we suddenly don't have enough power and we'll drift for quiet just before everything kicks back up again like nothing happened. Is the universe flat? I'll be following off the edge or something. Before I forget, Mary's been quarantined for some reason. We aren't able to get much from security, but it seems she accidentally smuggled some disease onto the ship. Hope the baby is alright. End log. Begin log, 51410100. The most recent Earth, or subprime 10, I think, it's got signs of human civilization, specifically ours. There's like, Las Vegas is there, made entirely of stacked poker chips and playing cards. New York is this one huge piece of obsidian that looks like it's rather conveniently eroded to be identical to the New York back home. There's no humans, mind you, no signs of life at all, and considering the oceans are pure hydrogen cyanide, it's probably best that nothing evolved to survive that. Why aren't we being copied if our homes are too? End log. Begin log, 1605181100. Tokyo is made of seaweed and is located at the North Pole. America is made of a solid block of gunpowder, with Chicago being made of a giant card mango. The sun is encompassing a shell of chitin and it's colonized by vast hordes of stone that shift and move whenever we stop looking at them. Mars is made of camel leather and a single raging immortal walks its surface. Your range is nothing but a silent lattice of turning gears. There's nothing out here but chaos and anarchy. We're doing a loop to head back home. Security around Murray has been beefed up. Twenty guards all armed to the teeth with assault rifles and grenades. What sort of disease has she contracted? End log. Begin log, 2317231200. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. This is David. Frank is dead, along with most of the crew. Murray gave birth to some fucked up eldritch whore that's been running around and killing everyone it can. I... Fuck. I don't think security can handle it. Of all the fucking time or something like this. Fuck. Whatever this place is, keep away. It's a cesspool of anomalies. There's nothing out here but shit replicas of our galaxy and it just keeps going and going and going. Whatever this place is made of, it sure as hell isn't reality. It just keeps expanding, growing more and more fl- Of course. Why wouldn't it with ██████ outside? Did the overshoes already know what we would find? Or did they just want it confirmed? End log. Begin log, 202-140301. Cafeteria is busted. Only spits out rat poison. We're not going to make it, but the ship will. I don't think we went far enough for the ship to get warped too badly. We haven't seen any other anomalies on board other than the cafeteria fault. At least tell my family I loved them. End log. 0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0 The audio in the log is assumed to be automated as it is entirely comprised of fragments of audio used in previous logs. Changes in audio are denoted by line breaks. This is Frank ██████ aboard the SCP-S- climate. We have adjusted all the clocks and dates and such that we're counting up from now, since we don't really know what the actual date is on earth. First and foremost, the crew on board is fully functioning. We're going faster than Max Throttle, much faster. Everything's holding together quite nicely. There's been quite a few cases of home sickness from the crew on board. We're doing a loop to head back home. There's not much out here, just endless copies of home, each more messed up than the previous. There's no humans, mind you. You remember anything I ain't- oh right. Oh, there was an incident last week. It's been fixed now, though. Crew are okay. Nothing that won't subside over time. Anything whom? Everything's okay. Everything's alright. I'm not insane, right? Of course. There's nothing wrong. Anyway. We're coming to Messier 83. Talk about being far from home, heh. So, yeah. End log. The information collected and the names listed would never see the light of day. It would have never been sent directly to the highest echelons of the Foundation, who listened, considered, and acted. It wouldn't have taken a genius to connect the implications between the facts and the records, so every bit of it was expunged or redacted so that the Administrator's efforts would not be in vain. It would have been as though the expedition never happened, as though it was simply an anomaly that appeared unexpectedly. The information would never be seen by a human eye again until it was once more unveiled by fate, buried simply to hide the truth. What is the easiest way to hide the identity of SCP-001? The architect of the universe is infinite hordes of flaws? Classified as SCP-001