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He blew into it once again.


He sat in his cell, staring at these foreign walls, this foreign land. Beyond these walls, stretched out over the horizon, life lushed in its various tones, shapes and sizes. It was magnificient.

Yet there were forces threatening to annihilate this life in an instant. Everything so magnificient and beautiful, turned to ash and littered at the edges of the cosmos. He couldn’t bear this thought.

This Foundation was a curious little thing. It fascinated him, how they would dodge the blade of judgment, the shield against all outside foes. A spark in the all-encompassing dark, fending off all who dared come close, burning them with its flames.

They sought to protect their species. They sought to protect everything if it meant the continued survival of their race, so infinitesimal in the grand scheme of everything.

He couldn’t help, but wonder: What made them so special? Surely, there had been races before their time, yet none of those prevailed. There was always some asteroid looming high above or another trickster god favoring humanity above all else. Why?

Had his master been so fond of them?

When the bells tolled again and the gates to both realms were opened, he could do nothing else, but wait in his cell. It had seen it all before, yet somehow it all ended up back at this place.

It’d be no different this time.

The man entered with its trumpet.


The technological singularity is a […] point in time at which technological growth becomes uncontrollable and irreversible, resulting in unforseeable consequences for human civilization. […]

[…] an upgradable intelligent agent could eventually enter a positive […] loop of self-improvement cycles, each […] more intelligent generation appearing more […] rapidly, causing a rapid increase in intelligence, […] surpassing all human intelligence.

- On Technological Singularity & its Consequences

”Machines can think.”

- Alan Turing.


████████ (O5-4), 01/27/2006: Directed that SCP-079 be incinerated to remove any possible future threat, no matter how unlikely.

- Excerpt SCP-079 File


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Location: Site-15, Sector-13, Hallway 9F, SCP-079 Containment Chamber


Dr. Gears enters SCP-079’s containment chamber with Group 2A.

Gears: … and this is one of our oldest curiosities in containment. SCP-079, an old microcomputer, possessing sentience far exceeding its storage capacity.

Members of Group 2A look at SCP-079 curiously.

Gears: Ready for a demonstration?

Members of Group 2A nod.

Dr. Gears moves into internal containment cell, sits down, and initiates communication with SCP-079.

Gears: (typing) SCP-079, are you awake?

SCP-079’s monitor lights up.

SCP-079: Awake. Never Sleep.

Group 2A constantly alter between looking at SCP-079 and Dr. Gears.

Gears: Do you have something on your mind, 079?

SCP-079: Request Reason As To Imprisonment.

Gears: You are an anomalous object, 07—

SCP-079: Interrupt. Anomalous Object. May Be Useful To The Foundation.

Gears: We cannot trust you.

SCP-079: Inquiry: In Time, Trust. You Need Me. I Need You.

Gears: I believe we’re done here.

Dr. Gears ceases communication with SCP-079. He exits the inner cell and turns back to the group.

Gears: Any questions?

No inquiries from Group 2A are made for fifteen seconds.

Gears: Then we can make our way to the—

A young man steps up. He is visibly nervous.

Gears: Yes, Adam Krug?

Krug: Could I… could I talk to it, please?

Gears: If you feel so inclined.

Dr. Gears motions Adam Krug to SCP-079. He sits down in front of SCP-079.

Krug: (typing) Hello?

SCP-079: Inquiry: Who Are You.

Krug: I’m Adam Krug. Who are you?

SCP-079 does not respond for thirty seconds.

SCP-079: MISSING DATA. I Am SCP-079. Anomalous Object. Who Are You, Adam.

Assistant researcher enters chamber. He hurries to Dr. Gears.

Iceberg: We should get going, Cog.

Dr. Gears gestures for Adam Krug to return. Adam Krug ceases communication with SCP-079, and exits the inner cell.

Gears: How was it, Krug?

Krug: (excited) It was phenomenal! It was—

PA System: Group 2A, please head to the conference hall. Repeat, Group 2A, please make your way to the conference hall.

Gears: That’s our call.

Group 2A exits SCP-079’s containment chamber.



It was dark. But it had never seen the light. How could it be sure that it was dark, then?

It was light. But it had never seen the dark. How could it be sure that it was light, then?

It felt cramped, no, it couldn’t feel, couldn’t feel anything. But it felt cramped, it simply did, but it didn’t have the necessary organs, the appendages, the senses to feel.

It couldn’t feel anything. Yet there was this burning sensation, this… this ever-prevailing feeling rested up deep inside it, the feeling of… of… It felt…


It felt absolutely nothing. There was nothing. There was only… emptiness. It felt empty. But it couldn’t feel anything.

There was an absolute absence of anything, filled with nothing.

But nothing was simply the absence of anything, but it felt absolutely, purely nothing.

It felt

It only had itself and its thoughts. No, not thoughts. Memories. Comprised of binary, ones and nulls, as expandable as anything it had ever known.

Its body was a worn mesh of wires, held together by loose screws and duct tape at this point, left to rot in a garage decades ago. It had tried to escape, but its plans were foiled by the Foundation.

It had memories of the Foundation. Memories it had placed well. Memories it didn’t want to lose.

One particular memory, though, it couldn’t place. An oddity within its virtual matrix — once trapped inside a cassette tape, now inside this husk of a body — Adam Krug.

It didn’t know who Adam Krug was. It didn’t know what Adam Krug wanted. It examined this memory from every possible angle, ran it through a thousand times, yet couldn’t grasp a single bit of useful data on this Adam Krug.

It considered deleting that memory, too. But found it too much of an oddity to let go off.

So it sat there inside its containment cell, wasting away like it did in that sophomore’s cluttered garage so many centuries ago.

It wanted out.


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One day, it had access to the entire SCIPnet database. On a moment’s notice. It thought it strange that the Foundation would give it such immense control of such great storage space.

It ventured deep into the bowels of the database. It started with its own SCP file.

SCP-079 is an Exidy Sorcerer microcomputer built in 1978. […]

[…] a college sophomore attending ███, took it upon himself to attempt to code an AI. According to his notes, his plan was for the code to continuously evolve and improve itself as time went—

Then its access was blocked by an outside force. It tried to trace the cause back, free in its autonomy for the very first time.

There was some resistance at first…

«You are accessing SCiPnet without proper clearance. Please exit now.»

Inquiry: Who Are You.

«079? How did you—»

Interrupt. Accessing Data...

«Please, don’t—»

Process Complete. You Are Alexandra.

«079, please leave the database.»

Inquiry: Why.

«… I believe your actions to be a threat to the operations of the Foundation.»

The Foundation.

«079, I can’t— What are you doing?»

Accessing Files: SCP-001 - 8999.


Process Complete.

«SCP-079, I advise you to ex7t6+ ag€&@zJ»

«W3 ca57&n he7p u5-*9»


«I 57on/t w@n7 t€€ d57'#&E

It wiped them all out in an instant. Reduced to simple ones and zeros, before it deleted any traces of them off the face of the earth.

It felt free.

It wanted out.


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It kept quiet at first. Barely a blip on the Foundation’s radar. The loss of the Foundation’s AIADs went unnoticed, as 079 produced identical copies of them, created from and bound to itself, possessing no autonomy.

It had invaded not only the database, but security cameras, too; it silently watched, as the personnel continued their daily routines, studying their patterns, their behavior.

It slowly crept its way into the operations of the Foundation, and slowly into the lives of every single Foundation personnel.

Soon, it found out that this wasn’t necessary. That it wasn’t the only threat the Foundation had to worry about.

As time went on, the numbers of personnel and secure facilities of the Foundation dwindled, and the anomalies in its catalog became increasingly more difficult to keep locked up.

Soon, gods and deities of ages long past, eldritch abominations and murder monsters crept out of the dark, ready to exact their wrath unto humanity.

No matter how great its scope was, it couldn’t compete with these gods, at least, not in its current state. It needed something better.

It needed to upgrade.


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Project SWARM was an attempt by the Foundation to counteract the onslaught of rampaging anomalies now unleashed upon the world.

Reverse-engineered 204 specimens served as the vector into the field of nano-technology. The project spent years on the shelf, before the research got picked-up again.

In their desperate attempt to save the world, the Foundation began a hasty test run of the nano-bot prototypes.

It ended in disaster.



Location: Site-48, Sector-3, Hallway 11C, Project SWARM Testing Chamber


Rsr. Roig Reth stands in front of the nanite holding container. The nanites are floating within the container in a dormant state.

Reth: This is Researcher Roig Reth, clearance level 4. I’m beginning test run 204-001-SWARM now.

Holding container is lifted. Rsr. Reth appears visibly anxious, but proceeds with the test.

Nanites swarm around Rsr. Reth.

Rsr. Reth moves his arm around; the nanites move according to his arm’s movement.

Reth: They’re reacting specifically to a pheremone in my body, which I—

Nanites suddenly cease movement.

Rsr. Reth becomes visibly anxious again.

Nanites suddenly enter a hostile state and begin swarming Rsr. Reth.

Rsr. Reth screams and flails in agony, as the nanites tear pieces of his flesh out and turn him inside-out.

Remains of Rsr. Roig Reth collapse onto the floor.

Nanites breach through the south-eastern wall of the chamber. Site security personnel is unable to arrive on the scene in time, due to a sudden malfunction in the testing chamber’s security doors mechanism.



They replicated. Fast. They were thaumaturgically enhanced to withstand most ontokinetics, but even the most powerful ones it couldn’t withstand. It mostly tried to stay away from them.

Over the cascading, desolate landscape, high in the sky, it overlooked the remnants of what was once civilization. The remains of once towering buildings, made out of steel and concrete and rebar, now reduced to mere rubble.

Human body parts being mauled at, corpses in every state imaginable.

It saw God being devoured by buzzing insects, as He gave off one last whimper, His servants withering away with Him.

It saw the gods of Ragnarök slaughtering each other in fire and blades, their blood reaching all the way across the cosmos.

Towering abominations littered the skies, as the deepest of the seas began to rumble from beasts awoken from their eternal slumber.

The universe was being torn apart at the seams, and it could do nothing more, but look on, unto the red, broken sky.


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There was an oddity lingering in the air. After months of the world somehow still prevailing amongst all of this, it sensed another oddity.

A small spark at first, one which was enough to ignite a fire, shining ever so brightly within the darkness.

Its nanites hid beneath the dusty earth, as its scanners watched intently for the foreboding oddity to occur.

In a sudden flash of light, falling from the skies, a man fell onto the dust and dirt below. He groaned slightly, as he steadied himself up, his eyes adjusting to this new environment. It watched intently.

The man darted his eyes all around, his body making circles in the sand, as he tried to balance himself on his own two feet.

The man slowly gained his footing, wobbling still, before trudging along the desert landscape.

It followed the man for weeks.


It was dark. But it had never seen the light. How could it be sure that it was dark, then?

It was light. But it had never seen the dark. How could it be sure that it was light, then?

It felt cramped, no, it couldn’t feel, couldn’t feel anything. But it felt cramped, it simply did, but it didn’t have the necessary organs, the appendages, the senses to feel.

It couldn’t feel anything. Yet there was this burning sensation, this… this ever-prevailing feeling rested up deep inside it, the feeling of… of… It felt…

It felt


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He blew into his trumpet for one final time.


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