 Item number SCP-808-J Object Class-Kitar Special Containment Procedures SCP-808-J is to be kept in a locked wooden chest buried deep beneath the sands of an isle far away. To get to the fortune that awaits, you must take twenty paces east past the forked tree, then thirty paces north from the swift stream. It's buried near the exit of the sand, but only the most courageous of all men dare to disturb old Captain Blue's last treasure. Some say to this day, his ghost still haunts the island, waiting for unlikely men to try and take his precious booty. Then he snatches it up, then they ne'er he's seen again. Sailing to the isles that hold the lost booty is an event in itself. Its location could only be found on a map, contained within Davy-Jones containment locker 808-J on Ship-19. The island is surrounded by reefs and rocks that only the most experienced seamen can navigate, else he crash it in in the deep blue. Captains are not to bring women aboard the ship, even those never seen before beauties can bring only the worst of luck. Men that learn the location of the island without permission from 05-R are to walk the plank. Dead men tail no tails. In order to survive the long haul, captains are to bring many fruits aboard to be savored even the scarviest of dogs. Description. SCP-808-J is a treasure long lost from the knowledge of your everyday landlubber. Only legends tail of its existence, a vast fortune hidden away by the great sight Captain Blue many years ago. It's said that he who finds the treasure may be the richest man to sail the seven seas. Addendum 808-J-1, audio log 808-1, interviewed sight Captain Redbeard, interviewer Polly. Forward, sight Captain Redbeard informed his dearest friend of his voyage in the sea surrounding Blue's Isle. Squawk? Err. Squawk? Err. Err. Squawk? Err. Probably one of Cracker. Aye, it was the most brutal voyage I have ever set out upon. Probably one of Cracker. My own crew with apprehensive have resailed into the fog surrounding the island. You can tell old Blue's ghost with haunted no shores. Haunted no shores, Squawk. I was shivering in my timbers as we finally navigated the rocks and boarded onto the island. I was ticked with devoury, and I looked back to see me jolly Roger disappearing into the mist. Into the mist, Squawk. Aye, bucko. I was scared. Me first mate was spotting for me, of course. He told me how not even he could see three feet from his face through the damnable fog, and we all grabbed on each other's hooks and went in single foul into the dense jungle of the island. Squawk? Yes, Polly me beauty. We passed by those trees in the swift creek until we finally came to the X. Then we all dug until we hit something. Squawk? No, Polly. It wasn't pieces of wheat, or even gold to bloons. It was casket to the devil's liquid end. Devil's liquid? Aye. Bottles and bottles of rum. Squawk? Closing statement. Arrr.