 SCP-001 is an O5's tale. Good evening, doctor. No, no, don't stand up. And yes, I am who you think I am. Let's not make any more of this than it is. You know my number, and I know enough about you to make a duplicate that even your mother wouldn't be able to tell apart from the real you. No, that's not a threat. Just a fact. Now, as to my business here, it seems you have stumbled upon something above your clearance. Well, no. Stumbled is not the right word. Dug up? Perhaps. And you are getting to the point where further digging would end in some fairly lethal gunshot wounds. This would be a sad state of affairs, as you are otherwise quite a good researcher. Therefore, you are getting something very few people in the Foundation ever get. An explanation. Yes, we were alerted when you first started digging into SCP-001. Every researcher who's been around for a while looks into it. Most are satisfied when they uncover the angel with the flaming sword. It's buried under enough levels. But then, you started looking into the factory. And that is when I knew you wouldn't stop. So, here it is, plain and simple. The factory is SCP-001, but it will never be written up. It was a choice I made early on in the creation of the Foundation, and a choice I still stand by. You researchers are far too curious. I'm not sure which scares me worse. That will never understand the factory, or that we one day will. Ah, well, I'm sure you're eager to learn more. The factory was built in 1835. Back then, it was known as the Anderson factory, named after James Anderson, a rather well-to-do industrialist. It was built in, well, we'll just say America, and was the largest factory yet designed, a good mile across at its widest, three stories tall throughout, with a special seven-story tower by the front gate that Anderson lived in. It was designed to be the ultimate factory, capable of taking care of everything, including the housing of workers. People could be born, work, live, and die, without ever leaving the confines of the factory, and work they did on everything, from cattle raising and slaughtering to textiles to everything else under the sun. Now, no one knows whether James Anderson was actually a Satan worshiper. It's just as likely that he followed some kind of pagan gods. What is known is that he was very exact in the building of his factory, and in the placement of his machinery within it. Survivors claimed the floor was engraved with arcane symbols that were only visible when blood flowed across them. But then, the survivors claimed a lot of things. What is known is that Anderson made his money on the blood and sweat, and sometimes his body parts of the lower class. His journals indicate he thought of them as less than human, being put on this earth only to serve his will. Of course, at that time, no one knew about his predilections, and so people flocked to the factory. A place to both work and live, at the same time, well, of course people wanted in. Never mind the harsh hours, working conditions, sadistic security force, and all the rest. Factory workers were forced to work 16-hour days, work only shutting down on Sundays between sunrise and sunset. Workers were not given individual rooms, instead sharing rooms with eight other people, sleeping in shifts of three. Medical attention was unheard of. If you were injured in the course of your duties, which most people were, you were expected to just keep working. Anyone too injured to work was dragged off by the security, never to be heard from again. For forty years, the Anderson factory cranked out all sorts of things for people. Meat, clothes, weapons, never mind that the beef might be mixed with human. Don't care that the weapons were forged in blood. No attention need be paid that the clothes were dyed with… well, you get the idea. Rumors leaked out, but the products were so good, why bother? Until someone got out. I never met the brave soul who managed to escape, but she managed to meet with President Grant, and in 1875, he enlisted my aid. At the time I was… well, it doesn't matter. Will say I was military, kind of, and that my people were the same. A hundred and fifty good men and some few women, who were often given jobs that weren't supposed to be common knowledge. We'd been cleaning out some Confederate holdouts, and some of the worst things we found down south. So we did some research, didn't like what we saw, and went in, loaded for bear. I don't actually remember much about the night it all went down. Most of it blends together in my head. I get flashes sometimes, of the people chained to the line, living next to dead. Damned hard to tell which was which. Children working underneath machines, the majority of the flesh scoured from their bones by the great wheels and cogs, and the other things. No, I'm alright. I haven't thought about that night for a very long time. The security force wasn't much of a problem, but then, Anderson's creations showed up. He'd been taking the injured workers and, well, experimenting on them. Then, if you could call them men, with multiple arms sewn together, some of them combined with animals, horrible monstrosities out of mankind's worst nightmares. They kept coming, wave after wave of not quite living creatures. I lost a lot of good people that night. And then, we found Anderson's breeding pits. As young as a chain to the wall's force to be nothing more than... I'm sorry. Even today, more than a century later, the memory makes me see red. When we finally found Anderson cowering in his office, we hung him from his tower window with his own entrails. As he died, he laughed, saying it didn't matter. We could kill him, but his factory, the factory, would go on. He was still laughing 24 hours later, when we finally cut him down, had him drawn and quartered, and then burned the remains. The entire time, he uttered blasphemies that I don't like to think about. We spent a week cleaning that place out, freeing the workers, putting down the things we found in the basements and many lightless rooms. We pulled out things that were useful, stocked them in a house near the gate, tried to make sense of everything. 150 of us went into that hell pit that night, and only 93 came out. By the end of that week, we were down to 71. But the things we found in there, my god. Well, you've been with the Foundation a while, they wouldn't seem as amazing to you, but we found toy guns that shot real bullets. A yo-yo that would flay the skin from anyone it touched. Hammers that only worked on human flesh. A breed of skeletal horse that ran faster than anything we'd ever seen. Cloaks that seemed woven from the night itself and let man access a shadowy dimension that I get away from myself. We found tools, both wondrous and horrible, and we were faced with a choice. I gathered my highest ranking, well, we'll call them officers, to me. And we tried to figure out what we would do. They all had opinions, the chaplain he had gone a little crazed, thought all these objects must be miracles sent from God, holy relics to be worshipped. Marshall and his little toady Dawkins thought there was a fortune to be made here, making and selling these things to the highest bidder. The engine we all called base, due to his deep speaking voice, he called these things an abomination, and declared that we should hunt down and destroy everything we could find. Lloyd Smith thought we should take this stuff back to the president. The only one without an opinion was the old man, but he never said much of anything anyways. We argued for hours, days trying to work it out. Me, I thought we were sitting on a gold mine all right, but that we could use these things, these objects, to hunt down some of the scary things we'd run into down south. The other monsters this world had to offer, and use this factory for good, as a place to contain these things, find a way to make them work for our fellow man, or at least protect our fellow man from having to deal with them. I'm sure you can figure out what happened. The chaplain snuck away at the night with his devotees, taking a couple of small items with him. Marshall we kicked out when we found him, abusing his authority. He promised he'd get revenge, and that little Dawkins shit led the rest of their group off with some of the juicier items. Police and his people tried to light the whole damn thing on fire, then just left when it didn't work, and Smith left to report back to the president. I did manage to get him to promise me he'd tell Grant the factory had been destroyed. I had big plans for that place. Of course, it was kinda hard to follow through on big plans when you only have 12 other people to work with, but it was a start, and it worked for a while. We had these amazing toys, and finding people to work with us was easy. Back then, going off the grid was as simple as leaving town. We knew what we wanted, we knew what we could be. Leventhal set out getting us backing. A simple invention here, some well-invested money there. It all worked out. White and Jones set out getting us...other backing. In our previous work, we'd found out some interesting things about people, some secrets that powerful men didn't want getting out, and, with our new position helping keep secrets, we got more people asking us to deal with their secrets. Blackmail is a dirty word, but it works. Bright, Argent, and Luminew got to work cataloging the items. Light and Bright's wife, the nurse, they made sure we kept ourselves healthy. Heh, no, it's just remembering Light. We had such unusual ideas about hygiene for the time. Brilliant woman. Jav, Flescher, and Karnoff dealt with training the troops. Tesla and Tamlin were in charge of figuring out how to take advantage of the items without making it obvious. We were amazing. The city we built around the factory, which we took to calling site Alpha, was self-supporting. Agents, researchers, operatives of all sorts. Not by those names, of course, but those positions. We expanded. I'm sorry, I am an old man. I know I do not look it, but the body lies. The mind doesn't always remember right, and sometimes I get lost in my memories. Things get confused, but the long and simple of it is this. We used the factory. It always seemed to have more empty rooms to store things in. Back then, that was the word for them, things. No skips, then, no. We thought we had the factory tamed. That's one of the reasons I refused to quit this job. If there's anything I can do here, it's remind people that we will never tame these things. Contain them, yes, but as we saw with Abel, tame them, never. After a decade or so, we were pretty organized. The 13 original of us were being called by numbers, not names. We knew how to make things work. And if a thing or two vanished inside of the factory, still? And the occasional D-class? What? Yes, we had D-class back then. Disposables. That's where the D comes from. I had to have someone to test things on. Tesla and Tamlin were both very firm about that. Yes, sometimes we lost people who didn't matter. Adam, sorry, Dr. Bright, was fond of saying it was the factory taking its toll. You can't get something for nothing. 1911 was when it all went wrong. Things, we called them fairies, an entire race of things. Living beside us, they could look the same as you or I. The only obvious difference was an allergy to iron. Yes, that's why we called them fairies. No, you haven't heard of them. Why? Because it's the one time the Foundation wiped out an entire race of things. Root and branch. And I'm the one who did it. We'd been hunting them for some time. We'd run into them a time or two before, come out on top. So when a certain royal asked us for help, of course we were eager to get them in our debt. We've always loved having people in our debt. We sent a team to help out, take care of what we thought was a hunting party. The next time we saw them, their heads were on poles attached to the saddles of the creatures the fairies rode when they attacked the factory. It was horrible. Three words, but they conveys so much. I've never. I'm sorry. Please, give me a moment. I've never told this part to anyone. You should consider yourself lucky and if you ever tell anyone, any of what I'm about to impart on you, I will not just kill you, but everyone who shares your DNA in the worst ways possible. People think Procedure 110 Montauk is a walk in the park compared to what I do to you. We lost. The things came and they destroyed us, rode over our emplacements, slaughtered our people, shrugged off our weapons like they were nothing. I watched my 13 go down, left and right, just trying to hold the factory. And I, I, their leader, their friend, their father figure, godfather to the brights four young children, confidant, sometimes lover, always the confessor, I ran. I ran like a scared little boy, deep into the dark guts of the factory. I was chased by the things, always just one step ahead. I could hear them behind me feel their breath upon my neck and I came to a door I'd never seen before, a bronze door covered in Arabic script of some sort. I'd never been one for languages, especially not the curvy bullshit the musclemen use, but I didn't care. They were coming for me and I threw the door open and dive through it. Everything inside was different. There was a feeling of peace that nothing could hurt me here. The light was this dark red, but still felt right. My ears were filled with the steady thrumming of a gigantic heartbeat and in front of me were the remains of Anderson. It spoke to me then, but I'll be damned if I could tell you exactly what it said. What it told me was more meaning than exact. It offered me hope. It told me, it told me that each of the things we had used from the factory, no matter what we did with them, fed it, helped it grow, but if the fairies took the factory they would destroy it and we couldn't have that. It offered me a deal. It could remove this event, make it have never happened. All I needed to give it was us. I didn't want to. I knew it was a bad idea, but then I saw them again. My family, my friends, dead, dead by the hands of those bastards. I agreed. It smiled, and I found myself once more upon the ramparts, watching the horde of fairies crest the hill. My foundation alive once more in my hands was a weapon. I won't bore you with the details, but we slaughtered them, and with these new weapons continued to slaughter them everywhere they lived, everywhere they bred. My fellow O5s questioned my decision, thinking we should save some in case we might ever need them. I overruled them. We moved away from the factory, shut it down, moved our things out of there. We changed the name from things to special containment protocols, focused on containing them, not anything else. The others were curious, but understood I had my reasons. I boarded up the factory, locked it shut, buried it under a ton of rubble, saying it was too dangerous. I thought, thought I'd gotten away with it, until I found a thing on my desk. One of the old toy guns that shot real bullets, and it had the factory label on it. I've sent people in from time to time to see what it might be doing. Last time I sent people in to look, there was nothing there. We keep finding factory items out there. I can't help but think of how many more we don't find. The people who use them and keep it hidden. I think back to the body telling me how each item used gave energy to the factory. I never asked it. Energy for what? I don't think I want to know. What do we give it? D-Class, mostly. Where did you think all those bodies went? There's a place. Bodies are left, and they vanish. Everyone thinks I'm a genius for figuring it out. Sometimes, sometimes I have to feed it other things. Agents. They never know it's coming. It just reaches out and takes them. But in the end, we're doing more good by being here. Whatever the factory wants, whatever it is, we're doing good here. I have to believe that. And now you know. Are you happy? I didn't think so. I tell you, I'm getting old, Everett. Should I die, someone will have to keep feeding it. Maybe you'll be different. Maybe you'll figure out how to stand up to it. But I doubt it. Item number, SCP-133, Object Class, Safe. Special Containment Procedures. All instances of SCP-133 are stored in their original shipping crates, which are to be stored within a standard safe glass storage container at Site-19. Experimentation with SCP-133 may only be performed with prior written permission from at least two Level 4 personnel. Description. SCP-133 are a set of 613 black, circular pieces of a waxy, paper-like material, 5 cm in diameter. When placed against a solid surface and rubbed, SCP-133 will instantaneously transfer to the surface and create a circular hole. Testing has shown that SCP-133 is capable of penetrating up to 61 cm of structural-grade steel, though the exact degree of penetration is reduced by extremely smooth or highly dense materials. Examination of holes created by SCP-133 show that they are superficially smooth, but exhibit tool marks consistent with that of extremely fine boring implements at a microscopic level. The exact mechanism by which SCP-133 operates is still under investigation. SCP-133 came to the Foundation's attention following a string of high-profile burglaries in the city of R.I.P. Suppressed surveillance footage and forensic evidence were brought to the attention of embedded Foundation agents and local law enforcement agencies, and upon attempting to apprehend the culprit, subject placed an instance of SCP-133 over his chest and data expunged. Local law enforcement officers were administered Class A amnestics and released. The original shipping crate in which SCP-133 was found has been shown to be immune to SCP-133's effect, despite being composed of ordinary wood, and has been incorporated into the containment procedures for SCP-133. Addendum 13301. Shipping label found within SCP-133. Holes trademark, a product of the factory, 800 units. Item number SCP-161. Object Class, Euclid. Special containment procedures. All three instances of SCP-161 are to be kept in separate containers in containment locker 34 Zeta. Each container is to be triple locked, with all nine keys to go to separate members of the senior staff. Once every three months, each individual instance of SCP-161 is to be removed from containment. Current scheduling allows for only one instance to be removed in any given month. When removing SCP-161, the remover is required to not be a member of senior staff. However, they are to be accompanied by the three members of senior staff with the keys, at all times that SCP-161 is out of containment. The remover is to be dressed in a full environmental suit, with extra reinforcement around the wrist joints, to avoid contact. The senior staff accompanying the remover are to be dressed similarly. Before removal, a cell is to be set up for activation of SCP-161. Two D-class will need to be requisitioned. One D-class is to be strapped into a chair, immobilized, their left arm at a right angle to their body. It is imperative that their wrist be locked in, so that they cannot turn their hand, or move the angle of SCP-161. The second D-class is to be strapped to the wall directly in front of the first D-class's hand. When removed, SCP-161 is to be immediately moved to the prepared room. SCP-161 is to be placed into the locked hand of the immobilized D-class. Once the D-class has activated SCP-161 once, it is to be removed from them, and returned to containment. Both Class D are then to be returned to general populace, but are never to be assigned together. Description There are currently three copies of SCP-161 in Foundation Control. SCP-161 appears to be a brightly colored plastic child's pinwheel, with a The Factory stamp on the back. SCP-161 only displays its unique properties when held in the bare hand of a human being. Approximately 3 to 7 seconds after grasping SCP-161, the holder will find himself made aware of how to activate the device. From this point on, the holder is completely convinced that SCP-161 is capable of emitting energy pulses of varying strength. This conviction only affects the bearer, as no one else can see these pulses, nor do they appear to do any actual damage. However, anything the wielder destroys with these energy pulses becomes no longer capable of affecting the wielder, even when no longer in contact with SCP-161. Walls affected by the energy pulse can be walked through by the wielder, and living beings so affected not only cannot touch the user, but anything wielded by said beings will be unable to touch the user of SCP-161 as well. A minor side effect causes the wielder of SCP-161 to develop megalomania, and delusions of grandeur. Addendum 1 Original procedures altered when a security guard with no prior knowledge of SCP-161 broke into the containment locker and began using it freely. After security contained the breach, researchers discovered that if SCP-161 were not used occasionally, the artifact would begin to radiate a telepathic lure. The lure would affect those with low self-esteem and willpower, and call them to SCP-161. At that point, they would take the artifact in hand, and begin to use it as described. Addendum 2 A junior researcher attempting to cultivate the approval of senior staff noticed an unusual trend in beings and objects supposedly destroyed by SCP-161. Investigation into beings affected by SCP-161 before containment revealed all of them had committed suicide, many within a year of being affected. A review of objects affected by SCP-161 showed that, while many were still standing, most had fallen apart, and those still together showed signs of decay many years in advance of where they should be. A review of researchers who had been affected by SCP-161 revealed that over 50% of them had since died. Of those that remained, interviews consistently contained the idea that, life just wasn't fun anymore. As of this finding, SCP-161 is now exclusively to be used on Class Ds, and never near support walls. Use of SCP-161's effect for the acquisition of SCP objects that create an environment hostile to terrestrial life, including SCP-2933, has been proposed by several research staff. Final approval pending. Approval denied. Item Number SCP-248 Object Class Safe Special Containment Procedures SCP-248 is to be kept in a fireproof safe in Dr. Meis's office, unless being used directly for testing purposes. The safe has a keypad style opening mechanism. Any personnel of at least level 2 security clearance have full permission to access SCP-248, as the numeric code is... Description SCP-248 is a 25 page booklet of stickers, each reading 110% with a small pressed imprint of the words, the factory, in the bottom right corner. The booklet itself is 7.5 cm in height, and 15 cm in length. Each page of SCP-248 contains two of the stickers, making a total of what would be 50, but circumstances before its discovery have left only 49 stickers. SCP-248 was discovered at a small house in ... Georgia. The object came to the Foundation's attention after one of the stickers was placed on an old half disassembled tractor, in the family's barn by the youngest son, Ronnie ... The tractor was suddenly able to operate as if it were fully functional, despite lacking much of the engine and frame. Agents removed SCP-248 and the tractor from the family, in exchange for a bogus coupon for free pesticides for the farm. The family was administered standard class A amnestics. Dr. Mize received SCP-248 upon its arrival to ... and took deep interest in its apparent abilities. The tractor is now labeled SCP-248-1. Testing of SCP-248 has been approved by Dr. Mize. Including stickers in SCP-248. 46. Addendum 248-1 SCP-248-1 is a 1979 John Deere tractor in an extremely rusted state. Most of the engine is missing, apparently from a restoration that was never completed. The frame is also partially missing near the rear of the tractor, where the driver would be positioned. A sticker from SCP-248 is located near the back behind the left wheel. Upon turning the key to the ignition, SCP-248-1 starts up, and operates as if it were in pristine condition. It is capable of achieving speeds up to 42 km per hour, slightly faster than a typical tractor of that specific model. Though the tractor operates with no engine, gasoline is still required to maintain power. The removal of the gas tank resulted in SCP-248-1 becoming non-functional in all aspects. The whole of SCP-248-1 is to be held in one of the hangars at site for future tests regarding the need for fuel, but lack of engine to create forward motion. Addendum 248-2 Testing of SCP-248 on a brand computer. A sticker from SCP-248 was placed on the motherboard of the computer, which was then started up like usual. The speed of the computer was greatly enhanced, as noted by Dr. Pru... The owner of the computer. Diagnostics of the PC reveal the disk space to have increased from its maximum of 250 GB to 275 GB, as expected. The RAM had also reached the expected 110% efficiency. However, the interior was also experiencing similar results. The heatsink was pulling off 10% more heat than usual, and the conductivity of the wiring was allowing electricity to flow 10% more smoothly than the best modern superconductors. Why the wiring is achieving such a high rate of non-resistant flow, compared to the heatsink slightly above optimal cooling, is not understood at this time. All of the battery rendered the computer useless, just as in Addendum 248-1. Further study of SCP-248 in power supplies has been noted for future tests. Dr. Pru...'s computer is now labeled SCP-248-2, and is to be kept in Dr. Meis' top desk drawer. The drawer is opened via numeric keyboard. The password to which is Pru... Dr. Meis has requested that future tests regarding electronics attempt to focus, at least partially, on the implications of this high conductivity. Some form of electricity-producing turbine or power plant could potentially increase energy production a thousand-fold. Addendum 248-3 Testing of SCP-248 on Organic Matter A sticker from SCP-248 was placed on the forearm of a Class D who volunteered to work with this unknown SCP, rather than being transferred to Site-19 for Keter duty. Initial reaction to the sticker yielded no results. Subject received none of the additional enhancements as seen in previous tests. After 60 minutes of exposure, the subject was still unchanged. Retrieval of the sticker was ordered to test the item's adhesive properties. Agent had difficulty removing the sticker, while the subject was claiming to experience extreme pain during the attempted retrieval. After a small talk with Dr. Meis, Agent removed the sticker with much of the subject's skin still stuck to it. Microscopic examination revealed that the resin had bonded to the subject's flesh in the same way navy grade tape bonds to the sides of submarines, to withstand tremendous pressures. Chemical testing of the resin itself shows that it is consistent with average mass-produced resin used in everyday scotch tape. The chunk of skin was labeled SCP-248-3 by Dr. Meis, and is now held in a vacuum-sealed plastic container. It is stored in the same fireproof safe as SCP-248 in Dr. Meis' office. Addendum 2484. Testing of SCP-248 on SCP-248-1. Attempted removal of sticker. Asked to try and remove the sticker with his fingers. After a few moments of failed attempts at scratching it off, said agent is given tools to use. Tweezers, a pair of pliers, a pocket knife, a chisel, and a hunting knife had no effect on the sticker itself. This test, along with Test 248-3, confirm that the adhesive has properties beyond our understanding. After failing to remove the sticker, a second sticker was added near the first to test if SCP-248 has stackable abilities. The first speed trial observed SCP-248-1 reaching 84 km an hour, which is indeed 220%. However, after a 15-minute period, the tractor showed advanced signs of oxidation wear. After a total of 36 minutes of use with both stickers, SCP-248-1 had almost completely turned to rust and lost all form. At this point, the stickers fell free from the pile of rust and were gathered by Dr. Meis for testing. Results show that the resin had formed a chemical bond, as with the biological matter, and only broke that bond after the original composition of the matter it was attached to had changed. Results should be noted that there is no longer resin on the stickers, and they no longer stick to surfaces. SCP-248-1 neutralized. If this item was mass produced, like it is assumed that other factory SCPs were, we could have potentially struck gold. If a power grid can be made to function without the degenerative effects of SCP-248, free-flowing power could be possible at room temperature. I will personally begin researching the factory and its whereabouts, as soon as High Command approves. Dr. Meis. Item number SCP-385 Object Class Safe Special Containment Procedures SCP-385 is locked within a standard fireproof container at Storage Site-23. Experimentation with SCP-385 requires written approval from any Level 4 researcher. After the incident outlined in Report 385-C, all further testing must take place in a facility located within 5 degrees of either of the Earth's poles. Description SCP-385 is a waste-mounted harness, crafted from heavily antiquated leather and brass. A curled electrical cord connects a handheld push-button switch to the mechanism mounted on the front of the harness, which itself contains a superfluous set of interlocking gears and colored LED light bulbs. The harness has sustained significant impact damage. A damaged engraving on the front of the mechanism reads, Special Edition 3 of Eligible and Eligible by the Factory. Also retrieved with SCP-385 are a cardboard storage box and instruction manual. Both the box and manual feature a retro art style, reminiscent of 1950s science fiction pulp illustrations. The manual describes the harness as a personal anti-gravity field generator and contains simple illustrations in the proper use of the device. When operated according to instructions, SCP-385 does create an energy field that counteracts the influence of outside gravitational forces upon the device and an individual wearing or holding it, as well as neutralizing their inertia. Measurements of velocity and direction with high-speed video cameras tentatively indicate that inertia is neutralized relative to the sun as the inertial frame of reference. Much to duplicate this effect is ongoing, but the mechanical components of the device appear to be non-functional. The harness will still produce the anti-gravity effect even when all mechanical components beyond the activation switch are removed. Addendum. Except under strictly controlled conditions, use of this device is invariably fatal due to the speed of the Earth's rotation and revolution around the sun. An individual removed from both the Earth's gravitational pull and momentum would either be flung into space or experience a fatal collision with an object blocking their trajectory, which will at least result in the device's deactivation to allow for retrieval. SCP-385 was recovered from the room of a 13-year-old boy and shortly after what appears to be its first activation. It is unknown how many other SCP-385 mechanisms may still be at large or how large the production run was. Interviewing the deceased boy's parents traced SCP-385 to a downtown antique toy store where the device was purchased as a novelty. The store was found to be abandoned and had not been occupied for some time. Downtown residents do not remember the shop ever being open. Item number. SCP-449. Object Class. Euclid. Equal Containment Procedures. All instances of SCP-449 are to be stored in a standard containment vault outside of testing. To minimize additional production, between 3 and 5 kilograms of SCP-449-A will be available for testing in a low-risk chemical storage container. Excess SCP-449-A generated in testing of SCP-449 must be incinerated. A network of D-class spaced no closer than 1,500 kilometers apart are to consume one grain of SCP-449-A per day to monitor for use of SCP-449. Should use by parties other than the foundation be detected, agents are to follow the dragnet procedure outlined in document 449-5 to locate and confiscate the SCP-449 instance. Description. Each instance of SCP-449 is a twisting aluminum cone, loosely resembling a cornucopia. Each is 40 centimeters long with a mouth approximately 15 centimeters in diameter, weighing slightly more than a kilogram. On the side of each is stamped the word joy. For unknown reasons, all instances tarnish very easily. Unsqueezed by a human, SCP-449 instances produce SCP-449-A. The user may control the rate of production by thought, ranging from single grains to about 6 liters per second. SCP-449-A is a clear crystalline substance resembling sand and texture. It may be shaped, crushed, or dissolved in water or alcohol, though not in bodily fluids other than blood. It is odorless and tasteless. Eating large quantities of SCP-449-A may cause erosion of tooth enamel, damage to the elementary lining, and diarrhea or vomiting, consistent with the consumption of other abrasive substances. If consumed in any quantity, it causes the consumer to enter a stage of extreme pleasure and euphoria for up to a day, as long as it remains within the digestive tract. This effect is not modulated by dosage, and takes effect immediately. SCP-449-A is neither digested nor externally damaged by its passage through the elementary canal, though when excreted or removed through other means, it no longer exhibits anomalous properties. The euphoric effects of SCP-449-A cease immediately if any person within approximately 1300 kilometers has more SCP-449-A by mass within their digestive tract. To date, all individuals SCP-449 instances have been recovered from had gone to extreme lengths to retain the effects of SCP-449-A, including killing at least four other users of SCP-449, permanently residing in a boat far away from any population centers, undergoing radical gastric surgery to add an additional estimated three cubic meters to their digestive tract. In almost all cases, the SCP-449 users had abandoned activities other than producing and consuming SCP-449-A. To date, 83 instances have been recovered, out of an estimated 100. Addendum 449-2 Several SCP-449 instances were accompanied by the following note. Joy from the factory. Any will let you have joy. Interfers within 761 miles, very unfortunate, regrettable, apologies, etc. Happy way for you to be one to feel joy. Joy, joy, joy, better than joy. As much joy as you like. How much joy to have joy, how much to have sorrow without joy. You cooperate, you defect, you organize, you destroy. You use. Factory only provides. Item number SCP-528 Object Class Euclid Special Containment Procedures All items designated SCP-528 are to be kept inside of their individual containers when not in use. In the case of a missing or damaged container, a new, non-individualized container will be commissioned. All containers of SCP-528 are to be kept in secure storage lockers Z-12 at Site-23. Senior staff at Site-23 are to be given the combination to said locker. No one of lower class than three is approved to work on SCP-528. The combination is to be changed on a weekly basis. Description There are currently seven instances of SCP-528 in Foundation Control. SCP-528 can be found in small red plastic containers, visually identical to those used by the Silly Putty Corporation, except that the Silly Putty logo has been replaced by the Factory. SCP-528 appears to be an inorganic polymer, composed of 65% dimethylsiloxane, hydroxyl terminated polymers with boric acid, 17% silica, crystalline quartz, 9% thixotrol ST, castor oil derivative, 4% polydimethylsiloxane, 1% dechemethylcyclopentysiloxane, 1% glycerin, and 1% titanium dioxide. All similar to common Silly Putty, SCP-528 has several differences. It has proven to be completely resistant to tearing, although indentation and apparent cuts are possible. When formed into a ball and thrown, SCP-528 bounces twice as much as the regular kind. The main difference, however, is that SCP-528 is capable of copying any picture of a human being it is pressed upon. No matter if ink is involved. It can retain an image from paper, photopaper, even from a television or computer screen. Once an image has been placed on SCP-528, the only ways to remove it are to crumple SCP-528 into a ball or to apply rubbing alcohol. Any actions taken upon SCP-528 affect the individual pictured as well, usually resulting in the death of the pictured individual. SCP-528 applied to picture of D-528-1. Pressure applied to SCP-528, causing the image's arm to stretch. D-528-1 screamed in pain, his own arm stretching 1 inch per centimeter the image was stretched. Detailed X-rays reveal bones and flesh of D-528-1 to have been data-expunged. At approximately 5 inches stretching of SCP-528, a gap formed in the image. D-528-1's arm came off at the same place, bloodlessly. Further testing revealed that while D-528-1 was still affected by SCP-528, his arm no longer was. Test 2 SCP-528, still bearing the image of D-528-1, is doused in rubbing alcohol in attempt to remove image. As alcohol is applied to parts of the image, analogous parts on D-528-1 vanish. When the torso is wiped away, D-528-1 ceases life functions. At this point, SCP-528 ceases to apply to D-528-1 and is cleaned with no further incidents. Test 3 SCP-528 applied to image of D-528-2. SCP-528 is then crumpled into a ball, the image of D-528-2 on the inside. D-528-2 is condensed into a ball as well. However, his bones do not break, and subject continues to scream until his head is rolled into his abdomen. At this point, it is believed subject suffocates, as SCP-528 stops applying to D-528-2. When unrolled flat, image of D-528-2 is no longer visible on SCP-528. Test 4 SCP-528 applied to image of D-528-3. SCP-528 is then immersed in boiling water. D-528-3 begins to complain of the heat. After approximately 5 minutes, the image of D-528-3 on SCP-528 begins to run. D-528-3 begins to scream as he melts, flesh and bone both sagging equally. Testing is concluded when his nose melts over his mouth, blocking his breathing, and leading to his suffocation. Note, although clothes are duplicated in the transference of ink, they are not affected by SCP-528 in any way. Lesson complete. 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