bakerstreet | SECURE. CONTAIN. PROTECT.

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SECURE. CONTAIN. PROTECT.

SCP MEME

The SCP Foundation is a secret organization entrusted by governments around the globe to contain and study anomalous individuals, entities, locations, objects, and phenomena operating outside the bounds of natural law (referred to as "SCP objects", or colloquially as "SCPs" or "skips"). If left uncontained, the objects would pose a direct threat to human life and to humanity's perceptions of reality and normalcy.

The existence of SCPs is withheld from the public to prevent mass panic and to allow human civilization to function normally. When an SCP is discovered, the SCP Foundation deploys agents to either collect and transport the SCP to a Foundation facility, or to contain it at its location of discovery if transport is not possible. Once SCPs are contained, they are studied by Foundation scientists. Test subjects acquired by the Foundation (referred to as D-class) are used to interact with dangerous SCPs due to the danger posed by those SCPs and the expendability of the D-class. (from wikipedia)

Maybe you're a researcher. Maybe you're an overseer. Maybe you're lower staff. Maybe you're a D-Class test subject serving your (short) life sentence. Maybe you're an anomolous being of some kind. Maybe you found some weird shit and now some weird group has come to pick it up. For your use, here is of course the almighty SCP database for all your creepy item, creature, place, or person needs.

• Top level your character. If you like, you can pick an SCP article.
• Reply to other's top levels! Maybe suggest an SCP aspect of your own if they haven't yet.
• Have fun! Be wary, some pages may contain triggers.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

((Basically she's from an alternate SCPverse with the serial numbers filed off, so game on.))

((Most likely a containment specialist, since he did fight a bunch of radiation mutants, a snow demon, and some CIA agents inside a mountain that one time.))

(( SCP, Euclid class. confiscated from a man calling himself Dr. ██████; notes indicated that she was one of several prototypes of a biological weapon intended for infiltration and assassination, with a long term goal of total replacement of the human race with a "superior model."

subject appears to be a young girl in her preteens, but displays speed, strength, and intelligence far above that of an average human adult. x-ray and vivisection reveal nonstandard organs, some of which are duplicates of existing human organs and some of which have unknown purposes. subject displays conscious control of processes that are wholly autonomic in humans, such as blood pressure, heart rate, and the ability to perceive pain.

subject is to be kept in standard humanoid containment and provided with age-appropriate entertainment material on request so long as she remains on good behavior. however, while subject displays largely standard psychology for a good-natured child of her apparent age, staff is to keep in mind that she caused ██ casualties during capture and initial containment and that recovered documentation indicates her appearance and mentality are an intended part of her design. ))

Edited 2018-09-11 01:29 (UTC)

[Wanna do a scene with a good-natured but tired staff member?]

[ oh good, it's only her worst nightmare.

i'll roll with anything, please i would love a terrible disaster scenario where she was found by or given over to the SCP foundation in her cryogenic escape pod, has to wake up in this facility housing tens or hundreds of oh-fuck-that levels of anomalies and creatures, and one of them has broken out. maybe they have a xenomorph or something completely out of the SCP handbook, i am cool with whatever. sign up for Ellen gaping angrily at everything happening at the two of our characters. ]

It's just gone dark in the hallways. Emergency lights line the floor and the ceiling, small bars of angry white LED that flash past as Will runs.

He knows better than to run, knows better than to give it something to hear, but—

But Subject 217 (Ellen Ripley, ex-Lieutenant, back out of stasis after fifty years) is locked in one of the outer cells. Not in the brig - she’s in the waiting area for testing. She hadn't yet been assigned an SCP, all that paperwork had still been in transit. Will remain in transit indefinitely now.

'...You'd— you’d have to be blind to not see that she didn’t intentionally have anything to do with the Nostromo disaster.'

'Mister Graham, believing that is a risk. We don't take risks here.'

Will hadn't been able to get Ripley out of the threat of being used as experimentation fodder. But he's absolutely not going to allow her to be a sitting duck in her cell, now that the SCP director who doesn't take risks has let disaster strike the base.

"Lieutenant." He's out of breath, consciously tries to steady and control his voice and volume. "We need to leave. Right now." He's just opened the door to her cell with a key he stole from the director's abandoned office.

Ellen awoke to distant and muffled sirens, but they're not what caused her to wake.

She has enough time to sit upright on the metal bench and breathe for a few minutes, staring across the walls, the dimmed lights giving way to dull red emergency lights. Ellen needs these couple of minutes for everything in her adrenaline-raddled brain to settle, to re-draw the line in the sand between what's just in her head and reality. It doesn't help that when she had dozed off, waiting and pissed the hell off, that her mind had latched to pieces of the memories, moments when her heart had never raced so fast, and when she had let sleep pull her in, all had been disconcertingly clinical and quiet. Here in the waiting room now, she has to trace the details of it adamantly -- she can't slip into illusion, this is not the Nostromo.

Just as she's in the fledgling stages of building this new mantra in her mind, the door clicks and sighs open with a swiftness. She couldn't make a list of what she might expect to see, but even then, she certainly doesn't expect to see...

"Agent Graham." Ripley stands immediately at attention, her eyes round on him as he holds position at the open door, panting for air, his brow glistening even in the low light. She expects to see a facility head with him, if they've just unlocked the door...

But there is no one else. Graham doesn't even have access to their lunch room, much less a testing room, all on his own. Her eyes flick and see the keycard still in his hand. Something in the pit of her stomach grows cold, but the skin on her upper back flares with an adrenaline-fueled heat.

As much as she doesn't want to know -- Ellen knows that she still has to.

"Funny, I didn't think they were reinstating my rank," she speaks flatly, still clearly burned by the ruling she had heard earlier, stripped of class and flight license. But when she looks at Agent Graham, her expression isn't hardened with defense -- she seems perhaps a little grateful, to be called something familiar, in this new place and time she's been thrust into after all the shit that happened on the Nostromo.

Forgive her while she's about to ask a very stupid question as she approaches, crossing the small room toward Graham at the door. "I know I'm not going to like the answer -- but what happened?" Assuming Graham even has any details at all, but she wouldn't fault him if he didn't further than 'it's dangerous.'

Will’s mouth opens without sound. He’d said the title by instinct alone. He’d read her files, he knew she thought of herself that way, he remembered the flare of her stance and the set of her jaw when they’d said she was having her rank revoked and her rights, too. A prisoner here.

As far as prisoners to break out of jail, Will can’t feel guilty about this one. He’s not even concerned about getting in trouble later. No, all he’s worried about is—

“It looks like Director Barbour doesn’t run everything as by the books as he says he does. That or his books aren’t complete.” Ripley’s already coming over to the door, which means Will is likewise already backing up away from it, holding it open for her with hectic survival instinct, not chivalry. The quicker they leave, the better. “One of them escaped. I don’t know...which one.”

Which isn’t good. Not knowing what they’re up against isn’t good. “We can probably ask anyone we come across in the hallways, if anyone’s still here. You can— hear the evacuation order.” The implication being that Will stayed behind. He doesn’t elaborate, is already pulling away, watching Ripley but not waiting before he starts back down the hallway.

No offense but -- Will says that like he had been expecting otherwise. Did Director Barbour give him that impression? They must have met two pretty different sides of that asshole.

Look, she doesn't like a lot of what's been going on since she rose out of cryogenic sleep. All of this anomaly containment garbage is crazy as it is, especially on top of the fact that they don't seem to believe her claims about the alien that killed her entire crew. Telling her that she is the suspicious aspect is absolute asinine. Sticking her in some center full of bizarre and deadly things they can't explain and suggesting she may be one of them is the worst of all.

But she can put all of that aside, because what she doesn't like more than any of that, is hearing what Will gravely announces. Something...escaped.

"One of--? One of what," Ripley demands, her tone disconcertingly level.

But Will is already starting down the hallway. "Wait -- where was the breach? If they have a lick of sense, they would have to have a section lockdown in place. What, are..."

Ellen twists to look back up the opposite end of the hallway, as if suddenly hyperaware of her surroundings. Her hearing begins to ring slightly, high and distant, as her vision tightens in the semi-dark. "Are we...in that section?"

To say Will hasn’t been thrilled with the ethics of this entire horrific process would be putting it too mildly. There’s plenty in him that’s spiteful, but it’s not quite enough for him to think it’s moral to throw all manners of prisoners up against the creatures the SCP division manages to find.

Especially not one who’s telling a story about her own encounter with a still-unknown creature. Will grits his teeth against it, but fortunately for his own tunneling thoughts, there’s plenty to focus on outside of himself.

He slows at the question, heart still thrumming too-fast in his chest. He recognizes the gathering, dull horror in her voice. It’s not the voice of someone who’s facing this issue the first time.

Will’s as certain as ever that she wasn’t lying about what happened. “Yes,” he says simply. “Containment block four is what’s being quarantined right now. It’s why I was—“ Will’s eyebrows raise, self-deprecatingly amused even though there’s hardly time for it. They’re both jogging down the corridor by now, and Will’s trying to keep an ear out for any other humans as well as whatever creature’s gotten free. “Able to, uh, borrow that keycard.”

He makes a left at the first fork, emergency lights enough to make everything seem starker, to deepen shadows. It’s still recognizable. “There’s a computer interface nearby. We could use it to find out which creature’s cell was breached. Or we could keep running and hope we don’t need to know, if we get past the evacuation point in time.”

Will’s tone suggests he’s not the world’s biggest optimist. “How lucky are you feeling today?”

So they're in the eye of the storm. That's great. Ellen thinks her body is just a good, quick learner, and that's why so immediately, her pulse is high and hammering in her chest, in her throat. She breathes deeply, insistently, getting as much oxygen in that blood as it floods her body, her brain, because she's going to need to think clear and fast and on her feet.

She looks at Graham with a strike of realization. "Well-- thanks for not leaving me in there like a sitting duck." After being assigned to interview her, she supposes it makes sense that as all of this would go down, Graham would jump to the conclusion to jailbreak their newest find. Hopefully he can sense the genuine gratitude in her tone...because yeah, she would rather be out in the open and able to scramble to safety than a piece of bait in a cage. That's all jumping to the assumption that whatever has escaped is dangerous, yet...if this is a lockdown protocol featuring an evacuation, it's very possible.

"Knowledge gives us an advantage," she proposes, watching Will's back as they turn into this next hallway. But she has to scoff, as tense as she is right now. Two peas in a pod about that optimism thing. "Luck really isn't my thing, Agent Graham.

"How much time do we have?"

Will would shrug if he had the energy for it - he's pretty sure he does anyway, as senseless as the instinct is while running. The gratitude feels scalding and undeserved, a guilty hum under his skin. "It's my fault you were in there," he says simply. "I had to."

There's no noise except distant echos of presumably-human feet, and the soft hisses and hums of a space station. Will's face pulls unevenly into a smile, laughter coming in a sharp quick bite. "Yeah. Me neither." And so he's stopping in front of an interface that glows dully, a red alert that says 'Warning: Evacuation in Progress' and shows a simple map of the nearest exit. Will taps the screen and it wakes up properly.

"I don't know. I guess that depends on how fast it moves."

Most of the files are locked, because of course they are, but Will can look at the status of all the rooms with an expanded version of the map. And the containment area that's lit up with warnings and suggested exit routes right now is--

"SCP 023," he reads. That means...nothing to him. He taps the hovering text, hoping some of it's not classified. What comes up is a list of warnings.

No eye contact.

Will seek crossroads.

No reflective surfaces.

Experimentation suspended indefinitely.

Ripley isn't really prepared to hear Graham assign himself some blame, here -- in fact, she hears it, and isn't sure where the basis of it is rooted. There's some sense of self-inflicted responsibility, here, but at most she will duly make a note of it. No time for that now -- look, she isn't going to forsake him on his choice to break her out.

The name SCP 023 means just as much to Ellen as it does Will. From over his shoulder, her eyes are alert and pinned to the screen, ears straining for sounds under the slow thrumming alarm over them.

"What in God's..." Her words crackle away into silence as she reads the warnings on the escaped anomaly, sounding more like something out of ancient lore than a creature under scientific watch. What the hell kind of operation is all of this?

"I've seen some crazy things, and even this has me wanting to call bullshit." But even as she says it, and her tone says it along with her -- she knows she isn't actually calling bullshit. She has seen something absolutely insane, a horror so bone-cuttingly-deep that she feel the marks in her core perhaps for the rest of her life. Something that even she teeters the line of questioning, could that all have really happened?

She shakes her head and taps the screen, perhaps a little too aggressively (okay, definitely too aggressively) on the name SCP 023, and it procures a name in a pop-up box.

"'Black Shuck'... Sounds pleasant." Get a move on then, shall we?

Will’s right there with her. Ripley’s tone is of someone who’s wishing she wasn’t already coming up with contingency plans about the impossible news she’s just been handed. Sounds like they’re both people who have been presented with the unlikely and the impossible enough that they’d rather be prepared.

“Sounds like whatever happens with eye contact, it doesn’t have to be direct. No Perseus trick with a polished shield.” Presumably it’s dangerous. The fact that it doesn’t specify what happens, only how to avoid it, seems ominous. Maybe it’s just the dread of the unknown.

“Looks like we’re heading right, now?” Assuming this evacuation route they’re being suggested is still clear.

"Yeah, but-- look," Ellen insists, dragging a finger along the lines of the map. "We turn right, but we'll hit two points where the hallways split up before we make it to the exit. And...the exit shares a hallway that splits at the opposite end, as well."

Thankfully (?) this section, massive in expanse, seems to be maze-like; there are three additional 'crossroads' elsewhere in the section, and the creature, whatever it is...could be drawn to those points instead. Or does it make a rounds to all of them? Games of chance were never something that Ripley enjoyed before, so guess how she's feeling about it now.

"Worst part is, we might not know where it is until we're literally on top of it." They don't know what it is, if there will be cues of its presence -- meaning they will have to find the exit without looking ahead.

Ellen seems to buckle for a moment, scoffing, laughing bitterly, turning from the terminal and pressing a hand to her forehead. "I'm awake for one day..." It's barely audible, her words sharpened with her frayed nerves, but she stops on her feet and takes a breath. Perception seems to teeter for a moment, her understanding of what is here and now. She wants to question this -- is this really happening? Is she not dreaming, of this bizarre housing facility for inexplicable things, to be tested on and quarantined...it sounds like something Ellen's deeply-slumbering mind might come up with in cryogenic sleep, after escaping the clutches of that alien. She could be asleep now adrift in space, her escape pod damaged, oxygen slowly escaping, causing a chemical reaction to take root and show her this vivid hallucination...

Then what does it matter? Awake or not -- she's here, whether this is a test of the mind or true reality.

"We'll have to memorize the map," she says abruptly, tone almost too level, before turning back to Graham. "If we can't look at it, then we have to do this effectively blind."

Ripley’s right. Will reaches out and just barely touches the map, not wanting to trigger the touch screen. He traces over their presumed route. “Crossroads. Wonder what it likes about them. It’s an odd...hunting style. Can’t watch your back in every direction .”

Assuming it hunts. Will’s seen just enough about the SCPs held here that he isn’t convinced they’ll even recognize it as a creature if—when—they eventually come across it.

When Ripley turns away, Will is hyper aware. He feels it like hooks on his skin, and he forces himself to keep facing the map with his body—even if his eyes keep flicking towards her. She’s visibly collecting herself, and Will feels a doubt crawl over himself that he hasn’t felt in...months. Not unless he counts waking up from dreams. A sense of surrealism.

He almost apologizes, or reaches out, or says something functional but to distract from it. He ends up biting his lip and listening to her when she turns back on her own. “Blind and in an unfamiliar area.” In a tone of can’t wait, too distant to sound fully sarcastic. Will’s back to staring at the map.

“Right, right, left, second door on the left, right. —Oh.” He glances back over at her. If they’re discussing plans as if the worst might happen, he’d rather both of them talk about this now. “My title’s not just— for show. The only fortunate thing about this timing is that I’ve got a gun. Just so you— just so you know.” He pulls up his jacket, just enough to show his hip holster.

“If we come across anything else that looks like it could be used as a weapon, we should probably take it.”

[ omg. she's most definitely the test subject. maybe they managed to grab her after the prom instead of her dying? idk. either way this poor girl has been through a lot so why not throw some more. just be careful. ]

[Cole is a Keter level SCP who refuses to stay where he's put and instead likes to wander about helping people. He can teleport short distances and open locked doors by asking them nicely. His genial nature and empathy make him fairly safe to interact with and his psychometry allows him to give background information about objects, though that information may not entirely make sense.]

[ late to the party but this is my jam. Will can be the only prisoner, a fellow prisoner, or a visiting law enforcement officer in the SCP facility. he might be meeting with the other character to see if they actually did the crime they're accused of (and consequently sending, or trying NOT to send, them to their eventual deaths as test subjects). I'm open to lots of different permutations of this.

would love it to end in the two characters working together, however begrudgingly, in a survival horror environment. okay with RNGing the monster, intentionally picking one, or making up our own. very open to using this meme to facilitate cross-canon stuff. ]

[How about an exhausted officer working with Will, either as a prisoner or otherwise, when something gets loose?]

[ I'm up for that! do you have preferences for if yours (is his name really Duck omg, excellent) is a prisoner or not? It could make for interesting drama, for sure. Is there anything he'd be likely to be in trouble for, mistakenly or otherwise? I'm down for starting mid-action or just-as-shit-hits-the-fan as far as jumping into, by the way.

EDITING BC I'm realizing I might be reading your sentence wrong, did you want WILL to be the prisoner, I'm very very okay with that too, actually! ]

Edited 2018-09-17 01:30 (UTC)

[It's a nickname. But yes, he is literally canonically called Duck, and hasn't revealed his real name yet.

Given Duck is canonically a forest ranger and fights on the LAW'S side, I figured having him be an officer or at least security would make sense and line up better with his canon form; that said, I'd definitely be open to having him also be either a prisoner or an SCP himself, given he is kind of supernatural in ways.

Do you have a Discord we can maybe plot over, or...? bc oh boy this could be some wild shit.]

[Duck is The Chosen One in canon and is used to seeing weirdass shit happen, more or less, so I could see him as working there to help contain somebody or something else.]

[This? This hurts. Almost as much as the newly-developed dart guns, capable of punching through even his skin and injecting suppressants to reduce him to little more than human.

Doesn't change his eyes, though, that's just something he's always had. Right now, those eyes are glancing down his broken nose, head tilted back to let it stop bleeding, and across the table at Duck. He's not pleased, and with his more ghoulish traits repressed by a boatload of drugs, not healing, either. His fingers, except for the left pinkie and ring finger, which are currently broken, grip the chair he's cuffed to, the only evidence that he's in much pain at all.

He's glad he studied English, at least, even if he was never good at it.]

Who are you?

[Duck is, meanwhile, literally only any better off because of how tough he is-- he isn't an expert at fighting by any means, but he can take a hit or twelve and bounce back pretty damned fast. He's sore and bruised, but nothing has been broken, and Uta didn't even manage to draw blood-- and it's not for lack of trying.

Still, he looks exhausted and disappointed; he hates it when he has to do this kind of shit. He knows he's put on assignments like this because they know he can take it, but that isn't much of a consolation when he feels like dirt for having to beat up on some person who was just unlucky enough to be born special. He drops himself heavily into a chair across from Uta, giving him a clearly frustrated look.]

Officer Duck Newton. I'm your new security, if the beatin' you just got wasn't a good indication.

[He pauses for a moment. Duck. Really?]

You came all the way to Japan... To get me?

[The doves ain't got shit on the ducks, it'd seem. Uta tries to tilt his head down, and is rewarded with a fresh splurt of blood. He leans back again, frustration evident in his movements. How long does this usually take again? His skin's not broken either - small favors - but he's a mess. Definitely got the worse end of that fight. He's not spent as much time around humans as some ghouls, and he's never seen one heal from being this hurt... Though he's definitely hurt some people, this badly and worse.]

Somethin' like that.

[More like he was sent to Japan to get him. And his Japanese is, well, clumsy, at best, so he's glad this guy speaks at least a little English. Duck's drawl makes it hard for him to really master the accent in the first place. He tries, though, to his credit.

Duck winces when he sees that spurt of blood; he picks himself up with a huff, and goes to a bag he brought with him that is stocked with both the drugs that are currently stalling out Uta's powers, and some medical supplies... just in case. He pulls out a pad of sterile gauze, tearing open the pack, and then he turns and heads back over to Uta, pressing it up against Uta's broken nose as carefully as he can.]

Sorry 'bout that, but you did kinda... come at me. Self-defense and all that stuff.

I... thought you were a... [He focuses. This word is hard to say in English.] Dove?

[It comes out more like dub, between the nose and the accent, but he flaps his good hand like a wing to try and explain... As much as he can, cuffed to a chair. This sucks, but at least he's not dead. At the mercy of a human with weapons that work against ghouls... but not dead.]

Uh... dove?

[He clearly doesn't know the term.]

Is that... a joke? Or, like...?

They are the police who hunt us.

[He shrugs. Everyone in Japan knows that much.]

Us... What is the word?

[Duck clears his throat, ruffling his hair with a sigh.]

Uh... ghouls is the word we've been usin' back home. 'Course, if y'all have, like, a real name or something...

"Ghouls." Close enough.

[He shrugs once more, a little more hesitantly this time. That hurts, he got bashed there.]

I guess I will be given a number or something soon. Do you need my name?

Well... I mean, yeah, they'll give you a number an' all once we get there, but if you got a name, that'd be a whole lot easier for me to remember in the meantime.

[This feels so fucked up, every time. He knows he had to do this for a reason-- that if this dude weren't drugged all to hell and back, he'd be tearing him apart. But...

Ugh.]

I am Uta.

[Might as well have someone remember it. He'd so hate to be totally forgotten.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

SECURE. CONTAIN. PROTECT.

Dr. K | OC

Sam Kincaid | The Damned of the 2/19th

emilie yuuhi | OC

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Lt. Ellen Ripley || Alien/s || ota

up to you if Ripley heard sirens/etc in her cell or not

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carrie white | carrie

Cole | Dragon Age (ota)

Will Graham | Hannibal NBC | open to cross-canon & ocs

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Duck Newton | The Adventure Zone: Amnesty

Haha this is gonna be GOOD.

Y E P

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