rating: +23+x


To those Foundation personnel still active, please heed the following message. All Foundation channels and networks, including the Foundation Intranet (FINET), have been configured to continuously transmit this message. All security clearances have been authorized to view this message in its entirety. Members of the civilian population have been tentatively authorized to view this message.

We are the members of the Overseer Council, the group responsible for leading the previously clandestine organization known as the SCP Foundation. Our previous directive, in collaboration with the nations of the world and various other organizations, was to contain and study anomalous objects, entities, and phenomena.

The Foundation, as it has existed for hundreds of years, is now defunct.

All essential Foundation personnel, including members of the Overseer Council, have been transferred to undisclosed locations until further notice. All non-essential Foundation personnel are hereby relieved of their duties. Any objects previously held in containment facilities are to be ignored.

The expected time before mankind is rendered extinct is approximately nine days, twenty-two hours, and thirty-five minutes.

Though we have failed in our mission, we pray that someone, somewhere will survive what awaits us. So long as we have hope, we will remain alive.

Good luck.



I remember you.

I remember watching you as I watched the rest of them.

Confused. Bewildered. Scared.

You knew what so many had attempted to deny for so long.

You tried, of course. Denial was mainstream. A fad. You attempted to blend in with the rest of them by parroting the tried-and-true catchphrases; you were, as the Overseers put it, a damn good Level 4 researcher who learned early on to shut his mouth and follow orders.

The truth has a habit of being insidious and malignant. It began as a small speck buried in the farthest reaches of your mind, barely present at all except for the odd cold shower or stray thought during your morning commute. It was neatly categorized and catalogued in a manner not too dissimilar from how everything else was treated in your line of work. If it was filed — described, analyzed — it could be treated the same way you treated Him.

Time went on. People were reassigned to and from the project. Old faces vanished. New faces were broken in. Yet you remained. You were a constant, and as the days floated by, you couldn't help but begin to entertain the thoughts you had once kept so buried. You found yourself reviewing the file in the early hours of the morning, before anyone else had even arrived at Site-6810. A couple of your fellow researchers caught you but thought nothing of it. A more hard-working researcher than they could ever hope or desire to be, possibly. Perhaps even a little paranoid.

You're talking to him about paranoia in a fucking time like this? What are you, a comedian?


You'll have to excuse my friend here. He's..another wayward traveler, like you. Another survivor of the war. Not all of us came through unscarred, of course. Some, like him —

Fuck off.

— don't exactly act the same way they did before everything that happened. I don't blame him, and I don't blame the rest of them. There's no coming back from…well, you'll figure that out in time.

Doctor, I need you to focus. You need to breathe and keep calm. You need to remember. You were assigned to SCP-6810. Do you remember that?

Brainwaves are spiking. We're getting something.

Good. Let's start slow. We don't want to overload him. SCP-6810, Doctor. Go back to him. What do you remember? He was there as long as you could remember. Never moving a muscle, never talking…but you knew better than to call it dormant. Had they listened to you, many of them would still be —



Let's try something else. Do you remember your colleagues? Your fellow researchers? What happened to them? They came to work day by day, just like you. You talked to them at the watercooler. You passed them by on your way to the cafeteria. They all seemed so normal. Well, as normal as one could be, given the circumstances.

And what of your colleagues now? So much has time has passed. So many lives reshaped — reformed. Site-6810 stands today as a hollow building, its guts and its soul forcibly extracted by the cold hand of a shapeless, malevolent force. The few who witnessed the first round of horrors in the initial hours of the containment breach had been spared the suffering that would ensue. They would die ignorant of the magnitude of chaos and blood that began to seep from every corner and every crevice of a world staring down its end.

There was a flash, then screaming. A woman — you remember her. Cute. You liked her. She looked at you, tears flowing from her eyes and dancing down her cheeks. She grasped your hand, harder than her muscles had any right to facilitate, and dragged you to the bowels of the building. The horrors licked at your heels, but they had not reached the pods. She placed you in one before placing herself in the adjacent pod. She pressed a button, looked you in the eyes, and steeled herself for eternity.

Too late.

Too late.

Three of them broke down the door. The doors of the pods closed slowly, just slowly enough for one of them to keep it open as the creatures next to him scooped her out like the filling of a candy. There was only a moment of pain before the screaming, then the squelching, then the metal.

They turned to you just as the door of your pod closed and the interior pressurized.

You feel into the longest slumber of your life — scared, broken, and alone.

It's time to wake up, Doctor.




Perfect. Perfect. Come on…keep going —

ITEM #: SCP-6810




ITEM: SCP-6810


THAUMIEL-DARK (See Containment Class Notice)


Containment Class Notice:

By direct order of O5 Command, SCP-6810 has received the Containment Class of Thaumiel-Dark. This Containment Class is not to be used for any anomalies save for SCP-6810.

A Thaumiel-Dark anomaly is an entity or object that is actively utilized by the SCP Foundation for the purposes of containing other anomalies, but poses an ongoing risk to containment efforts analogous to that of a Keter-class anomaly. Thaumiel-Dark and Thaumiel-Keter may be used interchangeably in this context.

Special Containment Procedures: SCP-6810 must be destroyed as soon as possible. Currently, no viable method of terminating SCP-6810 is available to the Foundation.

SCP-6810, unless otherwise expressly ordered by members of the Overseer Council, is to remain under constant suppression from an array of magnetized AO-V devices. Any movement, vocalizations, or other behavior exhibited by SCP-6810 are to be treated as an attempt at breaching containment and responded to with an appropriate level of force as determined by Site-6810 Command.

No interaction with SCP-6810 is permitted under any circumstances. All personnel attempting to interact with SCP-6810 in any capacity outside of such circumstances explicitly ordered by the Overseer Council are to be terminated.


It's not good enough. We need more. The system recognizes the memory, but it fades out too quickly. Too vague — unclear, muddled.

I don’t blame you. I really don’t. The technology was always imperfect. That briefing you received on stasis pods? It deliberately…shall we say, overlooked some design flaws. Nobody really expected them to ever be used. There had been containment breaches before, sure, but nothing necessitating something like this.

Nothing endangering the concept of a human being itself.

What can't you remember?

Bakersfield. 1999. Remember? You saw them. You saw all of them. They made you feel scared. They made you feel like things were hopeless — like the war was lost already.

Go easy on him. It's been a while.

We don't have time. We need to know.

You were a Level 4 researcher. You were working on SCP-6810. You were frightened. Worried. Apprehensive.


Good. I'm gonna run the system again. We should get more this time. Hang tight, kid.


The general attitude of personnel assigned to SCP-6810 — in this context, referring to overall disposition, the manner in which stressors are responded to, the manner in which interactions with others occur, etc. — must remain "positive." This is interpreted and enforced solely at the discretion of the Site Commander and O5 Command. Personnel are advised to generally exhibit behaviors consistent with those who have remained at Site-6810 for considerable lengths of time. Personnel deviating from this policy will be terminated immediately by on-site security operatives.

In the event of a containment breach, preparations are to be initiated in accordance with standard Foundation policies for addressing XK-Class End of the World scenarios, with several exceptions detailed in Document 6810-Tigris. All personnel belonging to Abrahamic faiths will be apprehended and transported to the last known location of SCP-6810 for emergency implementation of Procedure 6810-Euphrates. All personnel used for Procedure 6810-Euphrates during containment breaches are to be considered expendable regardless of security clearance. Members of the O5 Council will be transported to an undisclosed off-world facility pending further assessment of the situation. Personnel who are non-religious or secular must act in accordance with Operation: Scorched Earth as described in Document 6810-Tigris.




They must have expected this. So hellbent on secrecy and security that failsafe measures were put everywhere. A network is one thing, but someone's brain? No wonder they—

It was standard procedure for all personnel on the project. You know that. Why are you acting so surprised? Things got out. That's part of the reason we're in this situation.


I may not be able to get the Description pulled up, but it looks like the addenda don't have the same level of security. Probably figured it wouldn't make sense without context.

It won't.

But we have context. You. You're going to figure it out for us. You're the key, Doctor.

Let's see if we can get an addendum here —


Addendum III: Operational Report 6810-H

The following is a report detailing the actions of elements of Mobile Task Force 6810-Alpha during a search for the third item described in Document 6810-B. The search was organized directly at the behest of O5 Command and involved considerable resource expenditure, primarily to ensure MTF 6810-Alpha operatives were successfully embedded into the highest echelons of the Roman Catholic Church. Operational objectives were achieved.

By direct order of O5 Command, the names of MTF 6810-Alpha personnel used during this operation have been expunged. Instead, alphabetical designations will be utilized.


Team consists of four MTF 6810-Alpha operatives (henceforth designated MTF-A through MTF-D). MTF-A is assigned the role of team commander. MTF-B and MTF-C possess comprehensive knowledge of the history of Roman Catholicism, while MTF-D is familiar with the internal layout of the Vatican Church. All operatives are fluent in English and Italian, with proficient understanding of Latin.

Team is deployed to Vatican City on [REDACTED] at approximately 0330 hours and provided with attire consistent with Church security. Team is successfully able to bypass security checkpoints by displaying security ID badges provided by O5 Command. MTF-A states their purpose is a "routine investigation" and provides several forged documents consistent with this statement. Security appears to accept this explanation and allows the team to pass unhindered. Team proceeds to the entrance of the Church and, after a brief conversation with a security officer regarding an unrelated matter, enters the structure.

MTF-A contacts Command, reporting that the interior of the Church does not match known schematics detailing its layout. Walls appear to extend infinitely, with a seemingly infinite number of rooms and staircases leading to a second floor possessing similar properties. MTF-C ascends the staircase, confirming MTF-A's suspicions. The staircase does not seem to possess any discernable terminator. MTF-B walks forward and turns right upon reaching a wall, finding the adjacent hallway to be visually indistinguishable from the initial hallway. MTF-A requests further orders from Command given the situation. After a brief delay, Command instructs team to continue their investigation and continue reporting their findings.

Team begins entering various rooms, finding the majority of them empty. Most rooms are described as bare, occasionally possessing a chair or stained mattress. Bookshelves in rooms possessing them are lined with books that do not appear to be unusual or anomalous, typically chronicling the history of Roman Catholicism as publicly understood. Investigation continues without incident until 0400 hours, at which time MTF-D requests the presence of his fellow team members at a room roughly 600 meters from the entrance of the Church.

The room is described as red and coated in an unidentified liquid with a viscosity similar to that of feces. There is a single mattress stained with what appears to be the same substance. The room does not possess any lights and is only visible for the first two meters. MTF-B is instructed to activate his flashlight and does so, revealing that the room is extremely spacious, far in excess of what should be geometrically possible given the size of the church and its adjacency to the exterior walls. Within the room are additional doors of a different composition than the hallway doors. Material comprising these doors is described as "bone" without further clarification. MTF-A, without receiving orders from Command, instructs his team to enter the room.

MTF-C kneels and collects a small sample of the aforementioned substance, which solidifies upon contact. MTF-C returns the substance to the ground in an attempt to restore it to a liquid state, which fails. Exposing this solidified substance to the remainder of the liquid within the room causes a similar state transition, resulting in the remainder of the substance within the room solidifying within three seconds. Consequently, two of the five visible doors become inaccessible. Attempts to destroy or otherwise move the now solid substance prove futile. MTF-A selects one of the two accessible doors, seemingly at random, and moves through it. MTF-B is ordered to enter the second door and compiles without hesitation. MTF-C follows MTF-A, while MTF-D follows MTF-B.

Immediately upon closing the door behind them, MTF-B and MTF-D cease to respond to any attempts at communication. MTF-A and MTF-C return to the initial room, finding the door used by MTF-B and MTF-D missing. No further anomalies are reported. Following this event, Command detects audible screaming consistent with MTF-B and MTF-D, but MTF-A and MTF-C consistently report not hearing such vocalizations. MTF-A and MTF-C return to the door and prop it open using a table. They then proceed inside the secondary room.

MTF-A reports being within a dark, cramped hallway, extending approximately 150m to the front before visibility reduces to zero. MTF-C is to his rear, and is heard loading a sidearm. When questioned, MTF-C states that his action is precautionary. MTF-A and MTF-C proceed further down the hallway, which terminates in a cross-shaped room with a door to the left, front, and right. MTF-A and MTF-C take a moment to discuss which door they should open, during which time the same feces-like substance begins to be expelled from the corners of the room, gradually flooding the area. In a panic, the two open the door on the left.

The door slams shut behind MTF-A and MTF-C. Attempts to open the door invariably fail. MTF-C moves forward with his weapon drawn, encountering a spherical, mechanical object with a physical appearance matching that of the third item described in Document 6810-B. MTF-C notifies MTF-A of the object's presence, who in turn notifies Command. Command instructs MTF-A to seize the object and exfiltrate from the area. Elements of MTF-6810 Alpha not deployed to the Vatican are dispatched to aid in extraction. MTF-A seizes the object, which immediately causes production of the substance described previously to accelerate dramatically. Control reports hearing a loud, continuous grinding noise, which is not audible to MTF-A or MTF-C. The door to the room in which both operatives were present at this time began producing extremely loud "banging" noises consistent with attempts at forced entry into the room.

Without another method of exiting the room and suspecting there were hostiles present on the other side of the door, MTF-A and MTF-C began discussing potential methods of escape. MTF-C proposes self-termination to ensure Foundation operational security is maintained. MTF-A declines and contacts Control. Before Control is able to provide a response, the door is broken down. MTF-C discharges his weapon three times before screaming; his vocalizations are cut off several seconds later following audio consistent with flesh being torn and gurgling. MTF-A is not heard, but the transmission cuts off five seconds after MTF-C's presumed termination.

Approximately nineteen hours passed before Control reestablished communication with the team.

Feed becomes audible. Transmission is interlaced with extreme interference, rendering full clarity unattainable. Rapid footsteps on concrete, consistent with sprinting, are heard through the static. Control asks the individual transmitting the audio to identify themselves. Individual identifies himself as MTF-A. Control inquires as to the length of time from the last transmission and the status of MTF-B through MTF-D. After a moment, MTF-A responds. Transcription of response provided below.

MTF-A: Cogs…I am a cog. I grind, and I move, and I…[grunting] — I am metal. I am man. I am metal. I am not metal. I am not — [heavy breathing] — I am flesh. I am bone. Oh my God. They put — [coughing] — these are not parts. I am not parts.

[Sounds of something being torn]

[MTF-A breathes heavily and grunts, his vocalizations becoming gradually more distressed. The tearing sound becomes louder.]

I am more than parts. I am a person. I am flesh. I am real. I am real. I am real. [Retching] — no skin. No skin. Only parts. I am a man. I am flesh. No skin. Where is [name of MTF-C]? Where is he? Hello? Hello? Is anyone there? Is anyone parts? I am parts too. I am metal. I am a man. I am just parts. I am a metal. I am humbled. I am metal. I —

[Several thuds are heard, followed by what was described by Control as a "metallic scraping" sound. MTF-A is heard grunting and attempting to speak, seemingly unable to do so due to something choking him or otherwise obstructing his throat. Attempts at vocalization continue for roughly three minutes before he is able to speak intelligibly]

P - p … p - please - p - leas - - help — help — no — no — n—

[The tearing sound reaches a climax. MTF-A screams for a moment, then there is an impact.]

At this point, MTF-A ceased to speak. The feed remained active for an additional six hours, transmitting a series of noises described as "mechanical" and "grinding" until eventually cutting out entirely. Subsequent attempts to reestablish contact with MTF-A proved futile. In response to the loss of all operational personnel and the potential for a massive breach of Foundation secrecy, a Quick Reaction Force (QRF) comprised of fellow MTF 6810-Alpha operatives was dispatched to perform emergency information suppression in the area.

Upon arrival at Vatican City, the QRF found no signs of the interior areas described by the operation team, nor any indication that the team had been present. Security personnel denied encountering any individuals matching the descriptions of operation team members. However, a small, spherical object consistent with that described by Document 6810-B and MTF-A was later located in the sewer system beneath the Vatican and recovered for further analysis. The object posed no threat to recovery personnel and remained easily contained in a standard storage locker for the duration of travel to Site-6810. Within six days, the object was analyzed and classified as SCP-6810-A.

Oh my God.

I remember.

We should have done something. Why didn't we do something? We waited so long —

What could we have done, huh? You wanna be the one to go to the fucking Council and talk about burning the fucking thing alive? You think they're going to sign off on that? You're deluded.

There had to have been something — anything. The signs were there. We knew what would happen if we didn't act.

We did act. It just didn't matter. The board was set. It was just a matter of our enemy moving the pieces.


Did you get the file?


Not a single security message.

I was there, you know. You didn't see me — none of them did. But I was there.

I’ve always been there, Doctor. Always by your side. You, of course, had long prided yourself on being the one person who seemed to understand 6810. The Vatican? The religious references? The prophetic doomsday ramblings?

All too simple. Contrived, even.

They were so close to the truth. But he knew what they were doing. They were good men, Doctor. That I do not doubt. I wish more could have been done.

You may be surprised to hear that, given the line of work I’m involved in. Why would I care? If anything, it suits me. But desperate times have a habit of necessitating desperate measures. And…shit. If these aren’t desperate times, I don’t know what is.

We thought we had it under control, of course. Well, more specifically, that you had it under control. A weird interview here, sure. A few dead D-Class guys there, yeah. But nothing too concerning. We thought it was a false alarm; a lengthy file in your database describing an apocalyptic threat that would never actually manifest.

We were wrong. We had spent so much time in the dark that, by the time the light was shone upon us, it was blinding — rejected.

The things that have happened cannot be allowed to persist. The world…it’s not right. Nothing is right anymore. Man walks the earth a diseased, wretched husk; a parody of what he used to be.

We will make sure their sacrifice is not in vain. You need to give me more for us to do that. You need to help me. We need to know. Come on —

Then I saw heaven opened, and behold, a white horse! The one sitting on it is called Faithful and True, and in righteousness he judges and makes war. His eyes are like a flame of fire, and on his head are many diadems, and he has a name written that no one knows but himself. He is clothed in a metal sheet dipped in blood, and the name by which he is called is The Word of God. And the armies of heaven, arrayed in smoldering iron, white and pure, were following him on white horses. From his mouth comes a sharp sword with which to strike down the nations, and he will rule them with a rod of iron. He will tread the winepress of the fury of the wrath of God the Almighty, and make the cogs anew.

In your time, Doctor, I am sure you have seen many gods.

Wait. Wait. Give him a minute. He's not —

But none quite like this.

Description: SCP-6810 designates a humanoid entity with an appearance, size, and physiology generally consistent with that of an adult human male, albeit with some anatomical deviations. Tissue samples collected from SCP-6810 following its containment suggested that its DNA is human, though aberrations were reported during genetic sequencing and subsequent analyses have proven inconclusive. There are a series of lacerations and bruises along the lower thorax and chest, with less severe but present lacerations also found along the legs, groin, and extremities. Puncture wounds are present in the palms of both hands with signs of tetanus. Additional lacerations and puncture wounds can be found on the upper scalp at the hairline, though the shape of such wounds is inconsistent with the injuries described previously. Hairline fractures to the lower leg bones and wrists consistent with significant blunt force trauma are present, though they do not appear to markedly inhibit SCP-6810's locomotion. All of these wounds remain present regardless of any further damage inflicted to SCP-6810 or the completion of regenerative processes.

SCP-6810, upon closer inspection, possesses several significant differences from baseline human anatomy. Chiefly, all external protein structures, such as hair, nails, etc. are in fact comprised of a substance with physical properties matching those of metals, namely iron and/or steel. X-ray analysis has shown that SCP-6810's skeletal structure lacks bone, instead solely utilizing the aforementioned substance. These structures and the skeleton remain intact even when SCP-6810's skin, musculature, and internal organs are destroyed. Attempts to burn or disintegrate these structures through the use of extreme temperatures or acidic solutions have similarly proven futile. Further analysis of this substance is complicated by the inherent difficulty posed by collecting samples, both in virtue of SCP-6810's behavior during such efforts and the physical resilience of the substance itself.

SCP-6810's most common appearance, described above, is considered to be analogous to a disguise or "suit" and will be discarded in circumstances where SCP-6810 deems its use unnecessary. The second appearance, generally regarded as its "true" appearance, is that of a humanoid being possessing a pale white epidermis, no visible hair, no visible facial features save for two eyes lacking pupils, and two appendages of unknown function extending from the base of the jaw. SCP-6810 communicates with sapient beings in a manner presumed to be telepathic in nature, suggesting it is incapable of vocalization and perceived speech in its "disguise" is merely illusory. SCP-6810's disposal of its "disguise" is highly infrequent and typically only occurs in the presence of individuals already acquainted with the entity (such as members of the O5 Council). SCP-6810 has been observed rapidly moving its head while in this form in a manner consistent with physical distress; the cause of this behavior remains unknown.

While SCP-6810 can be "killed" and reduced to a state of cognitive inactivity or physical immobility, it will inevitably return to its state prior to any such damage being inflicted, albeit with full recall of the events that transpired prior to its "death." Likewise, attempts to transport SCP-6810 to areas significantly distant from its containment chamber will fail, as SCP-6810 will dematerialize and reappear in its containment chamber after a period of time ranging from thirty (30) minutes to three (3) hours. Efforts to transport SCP-6810 to off-planet facilities, parallel dimensions, or subject it to circumstances in which local reality collapses have all yielded identical results. Leaving SCP-6810 in a severely wounded but still living state (I.E., all limbs severed and cauterized) has proven an effective means of containment, though is currently not authorized per direct order by the Ethics Committee.

Based on an ongoing analysis conducted by research personnel assigned to SCP-6810 and historical documents assessed by O5 Command, it is presumed that SCP-6810 is the entity referred to as [DATA EXPUNGED] within [DATA EXPUNGED]. This poses a major contradiction per the descriptions provided within [DATA EXPUNGED]. Documents recovered from the archives of the Roman Catholic Church in Vatican City provide accounts consistent with SCP-6810 as observed by Foundation personnel, suggesting that [DATA EXPUNGED] was [DATA EXPUNGED] or otherwise a deliberate attempt to suppress public knowledge of SCP-6810's nature. All Catholic Popes from █████ to the present appear to be complicit in such efforts for unknown reasons. Further investigation of the Roman Catholic Church and its connection to SCP-6810 is ongoing.

While in its active state, SCP-6810 will randomly produce noises described as clicking or grinding. The source of this audio remains unknown. When questioned, SCP-6810 will disregard inquiries pertaining to these noises or otherwise attempt to change the topic.

Behavioral Analysis: SCP-6810 is sapient and exhibits behaviors consistent with high intellect, on par with or exceeding that of baseline humans. It is particularly interested in matters pertaining to Abrahamic faiths, chiefly those of the Old Testament or historical events occurring during the reign of the Roman Empire. Meaningful interaction with SCP-6810 is frustrated by its hostility towards Foundation personnel, whom it consistently regards as a threat to its existence or otherwise thwarting an agenda it refuses to detail. It will, however, interact with members of the O5 Council, albeit sparingly, and only if it is promised that such interactions will not be recorded, transcribed, or otherwise archived in any way. It is unknown if SCP-6810 is capable of detecting the use of recording devices or later transcriptions of its conversations as such efforts have yet to be attempted.

When not interacting with Foundation personnel within its active state, SCP-6810 remains seated on the floor of its containment chamber, muttering to itself in an unknown language and exhibiting signs of physical distress. Medical personnel exposed to SCP-6810 during its active state have consistently failed to detect any apparent injuries save for those described above, which are not regarded as the cause of this distress. SCP-6810 has elaborated on such distress only once, though did so in a somewhat unclear manner (see Addendum I).

SCP-6810 continuously produces a black, oil-like liquid within its containment chamber of unknown origin. Further study of this liquid is ongoing.


Some time ago, I watched a man once respected and cherished — worshipped, even — stare in my face unafraid. Unbowed. With the shouting of those who denounced him licking at his feet, he accepted his death in a manner I have not seen since.

He was, as much as a man can be, immortal.

Amidst his apostles were traitors, of course. But the traitors, as time showed me, would prove the least of my worries. His death was an inevitability, and I didn’t fear for what would occur when it happened. I did fear, however, the Church. I feared its ravenous maw; its insatiable spread. I feared its potential.

I’m sorry to continue what must seem like a facade to you, Doctor, but you are still not ready yet. I do not enjoy lying to you. Who I am will be known when you are ready. But we must continue.

The Church, or what came to be known as the church, had long dedicated itself to the practice of suppressing the truth. Their very existence depended on it, after all. Unbelievers were a threat to the established order; more threatening than the unbelievers were those who believed in Him but rejected the Church's teachings.

When the Church had finally excised Europe of anything it perceived to be a blight on God's creation,

When the Church had finished its task, 6810 was set upon the world with a singular purpose. I watched as it sat in Site-6810, its will and its might slowly leaving its body.

That was 150 years ago.

Whatever will had departed his wretched soul found its way back to Him.

Addendum I: Document 6810-A

The following is a transcription of the personal log of Pope █████, who was active at the height of the Church's power. The existence of this Pope is not public knowledge and has actively been suppressed by parties affiliated with the Roman Catholic Church.

By the grace of God:

I write this as a man of virtue, and a man following the example of Jesus Christ, the Lord, and the Holy Spirit. I have known only peace and salvation through his teachings, and thus, the world has become anew; resurrected from the fires of damnation through his hand alone. I hope you understand, therefore, that my writings originate from a deep, enveloping pain within my soul.

I am the Pope of the Church, clothed in the fabric of God himself. I speak for him, and his son.

I have failed.

When I first met Christ, I was a boy. My father was a Christian, but my mother knew not of the Holy and the Godly. Nonetheless, she was his child, and she spoke to me in words that only I could understand. She too had met Christ, yet had rejected his message. She told me that Christ was a deceiver; that scripture was wrong.

When Christ came to me, I was in my bed, preparing to retire for the evening. I heard a crackling, like the splinters of the walls themselves breaking under an enormous pressure. The air became foul and tainted with the stench of blood and waste. My mother and father, had they heard him, would have rushed to my aid, believing a servant of Hell had come to slay all before him. Yet, somehow, I knew this was no agent of Lucifer. I knew it to be the Son.

His eyes were black — blacker than the night. He had no mouth, yet tubing wrapped around his face as if to speak. His slick, brilliant body dripped onto the floor then back again like a puddle given shape and form. Each of his movements seemed labored, and brought forth more the foul, black liquid. The crackling became louder, and a thick, brutal blackness enveloped both of us. When I heard his voice, I began to weep, witnessing the glory of God himself.

He told me that the Church had strayed from the path; that man had yet to fulfill its promise, and he was cast upon mankind for all eternity. Christ's crucifixion at the hands of the Romans had been little more than a spectacle — a grand subterfuge. I could only experience the pain and the anguish Christ felt in those moments, his mind traveling back to a great deception and the tragedy of man's folly. Long had he taken our form to walk among us, yet no longer could he entertain the masquerade.

The remainder of Christ's message I will not convey here, for it betrays the written word.

Christ asked only that I tell the Jews, the Christians, the Muslims, and the unbelievers of what he had entrusted to me. He told of a prophetic vision in which I would lead the Church to a brighter future, one where the Holy texts would finally, by the grace of our Lord, reveal the truth of man. I became Pope, and remembered my visit with Christ in my youth. I knew I would be a shapeless, formless, spineless thing — a thing of fear and cowardice — if I did not honor Christ's request.

I told my colleagues in the Church of Christ's visit. Some reacted with scorn. Others reacted with condemnation. There was much debate amongst the Cardinals of how they ought proceed. The few who did not find my message to be sacrilige stood alongside me, their conviction unbroken. Inexorably, they found themselves at the end of a boot heel, or speaking to the blade of a darkened knife in the eternal twilight.

Christ did not visit me again, but I knew he was alongside me, guiding me to victory. He would not betray me. He would not abandon me.

[The next several pages are various Christian prayers and have been expunged in the interest of brevity.]

Unanimously, I was stripped of my title and cast into the catacombs. Christ is silent now. I have failed him, and I will spend the remainder of my days forgotten, a failure not even granted the privilege of being remembered.

I grow weak. Whoever brings me food has ceased to perform their duties. My closest friend is the concrete — the cold, the damp, and the silent.

I walk along God's path to his Kingdom, praying that forgiveness will be granted in spite of my fleshly damnation.

The next several pages are blank. The journal concludes with one additional page, written in a substance identified as dried blood.

there is nothing

there is nothing else

there is only black

i am sorry

Addendum II: Document 6810-B

The following is a letter from an unnamed high-ranking cardinal to Pope ████, who succeeded the Pope responsible for writing Document 6810-A.

Your Holiness,

My men have surveyed the catacombs and have identified the remains of █████. He shall be collected and buried in accordance with your requests. However, I find it necessary to mention the presence of three items of unusual nature within his cell, recovered at the time his remains were discovered. These items are currently being held in the archives awaiting your guidance.

The first item of note is █████'s journal, much of which was written prior to his imprisonment. Blasphemy is present throughout much of the journal. In the final pages, however, he begins to write in blood. My men did not discover any injuries on his body that would suggest this was possible. There may have been another man with him in the cell. We are currently searching for any evidence of such an individual's presence.

The second item is a necklace, apparently created directly at the request of █████ by the jewlers in ██████████. This necklace is a crucifix depicting the blasphemous entity he described to us some time ago.

The third item is a small spherical mechanism, the nature of which I would prefer to discuss in private.

We await your guidance.

The nature of the "third item" described in this letter remains unknown. A search for this item and its relevance to SCP-6810 is ongoing was completed on ██/██/1999. A description of the search party's findings is provided in Addendum III.


The Pope. I remember him. Quite the character. You would have liked him, I think.

He was, if nothing else, a man of conviction. A man of character. He was so steadfast and sure of his beliefs that he accepted what the Church would do to him the moment he realized they had deceived man. Though he failed to expose them, his efforts, brief as they were, I struggle to call futile.

Had it not been for the Pope, you would not be here, Doctor.

I trust you have begun to realize who I am. Your…condition is such that you cannot do anything about it, nor would I allow you to try even if you had the means. I am not here to hurt you. I am here to help. You must trust me if we are to have any hope of making things right.

I have my reasons for aiding you. Don’t think too much about them. It doesn’t matter.

All that matters is that we complete our mission, and the next piece of the puzzle is what your men found on their search. It was a device crafted in the Kingdom of God, and one that was swiftly stolen when it descended from the angels.

You remember it. You remember what it did to them. You remember —

ITEM #: SCP-6810-A




ITEM: SCP-6810-A




Special Containment Procedures: SCP-6810-A is contained within a standard storage locker inside the Site-6810 research wing. This storage locker is protected by a keycard reader which will only grant access to Level 5 keycards or security devices. Pending clearance from O5 Command, all interaction with SCP-6810-A is suspended indefinitely. No further containment procedures have been deemed necessary at this time.

Description: SCP-6810-A is a small, spherical object comprised of a metal believed to be steel and lined with a gold alloy. SCP-6810-A weighs approximately 1kg and is easily manipulated, exhibiting no deviation from standard physical laws. The aforementioned gold alloy along the exterior of SCP-6810-A is etched with various designs of high complexity, all of which depict individuals or circumstances described in the Old Testament.

When a button found in the center of SCP-6810-A is pressed, SCP-6810-A will reshape itself into a cube comprised of the same materials with its upper face slightly ajar. The upper face can be manipulated in order to expose the interior of SCP-6810-A, which is initially empty save for an inscription at its base written in Latin. SCP-6810-A will remain in this state until an object of entirely organic composition is placed within its interior and the upper face is returned to its original position. SCP-6810-A will then slightly vibrate and emit a bright yellow light for several moments before producing a random inorganic object within its interior. Upon removal of this object, SCP-6810-A will return to its spherical form awaiting another activation.

A list of all objects recovered from SCP-6810-A to date is as follows:

Test Number Item Provided Item Received
01 One (1) live Rattus norvegicus (Brown rat) A mechanical object with a general appearance similar to that of many common rodents. After removal from SCP-6810-A, the object became animate and immediately attacked the closest researcher, embedding small metal objects in her skin using its "mouth." While removal of these objects proceeded without incident, the experience was described as unusually painful. Item 01 was subsequently destroyed, emitting a high-pitched noise that caused minor hearing damage to personnel in close proximity. Approximately three weeks following this incident, the researcher injured in this incident reported symptoms consistent with severe tuberculosis before expiring.
02 Forty (40) specimens of Drosophila melanogaster (Fruit fly) An unknown number of small, animate, metallic objects. Upon departure from SCP-6810-A, objects immediately sought out the closest plant life, destroying it rapidly. After all plant life at Site-6810 was terminated, objects attempted to depart the facility via the ventilation system. Full site lockdown declared. MTF 6810-Alpha deployed to manage the situation. MTF 6810-Alpha subsequently eliminated all Item 02 instances through deployment of a localized electromagnetic pulse (EMP) device, rendering them inoperative. Objects subsequently contained in Mechanical Containment Chamber 03.
03 Subject D-2951 SCP-6810-A automatically adjusted its size when exposed to D-2951 as to accommodate his entry. Once SCP-6810-A had enveloped D-2951 and was sealed, D-2951 began screaming and requesting assistance for thirteen seconds, after which time all vocalizations abruptly ceased. SCP-6810-A remained inaccessible for a period of three hours following D-2951's presumed termination. After this period, SCP-6810-A reverted to its spherical form, albeit with a metallic humanoid object situated on its left side. This object was animate and described as wearing "plate armor" in a fashion consistent with medieval knights. When approached by research staff, the object began vocalizing, demanding a duel to the death with the most physically capable individual in close proximity (apparently, Dr. ████████████). When Dr. ████████████ declined the challenge, the object began attacking him, loudly demanding that he retaliate with force. Dr. ████████████ eventually complied and struck the object before drawing his service pistol and firing three rounds into its "head." This rendered the object unresponsive. It was subsequently transferred to Containment Area 09, where it remains inactive as of this writing. Inspection of the object has revealed that, while mostly comprised of iron, the "head" area contains a functioning human brain identified as belonging to D-2951 through DNA analysis. The brain sustained severe damage as a consequence of Dr. ████████████'s actions but nonetheless continues to exhibit low-level activity.
04 Tissue sample collected from SCP-682 [REDACTED]; resulting object transferred to Holding Cell 04 pending further orders from O5 Command

Addendum IV: Interview Log 6810-R

The following interview was conducted three days following the use of SCP-6810-A in Test 04.

Interviewer: Dr. Yuri
Interviewee: SCP-6810

Interview conducted using intercom system connecting SCP-6810's containment chamber to a security office.

Dr. Yuri: SCP-6810, my name is Dr. Gregory Yuri. I am conducting this interview due to our recent recovery of an object designated SCP-6810-A, which we believe somehow pertains to you. Are you aware of such an object?

No response.

Dr. Yuri: SCP-6810, can you —

SCP-6810: Flesh speaks…out of turn. Addresses what he does not…cannot — cannot comprehend. Speaks with authority he l-lacks.

SCP-6810 is noted as speaking in an unusually disjointed, "mechanical" voice.

Dr. Yuri: I'll repeat my question. Are you aware of the spherical object we refer to as SCP-6810-A?

SCP-6810: W-w-wasting your…time. Cogs moving. The Apple does-does-does not obey…anyone. The A-apple is alive. We are alive.

Dr. Yuri: The Apple?

SCP-6810: Authors got—got so close. Decades…centuries w-wasted. Biding time. Cast the Apple upon man. Man rejected the App-apple. Metal rusts. Corrodes. B-but my life…not in vain. Believers know. They w-will act…swiftly. Decisive-ly. The blood of flesh will turn cities r-red…red. Blacken the sky with the fumes and the dying breaths of abominations.

SCP-6810 becomes more fluid and animate.

SCP-6810: The time of God is upon us. You and your petulant ilk think you understand what I have done. The things I have seen. You understand only your own hubris. I am the hand of Creation itself. In your miserable existence and your writhing excuse of a life, I will serve as the only force by which you are provided meaning. I will take you, a child, and turn you into a man. What man was meant to be. And when that happens — for all of you — only then will you comprehend.

Dr. Yuri: This interview is non-optional. You will answer my questions or —

SCP-6810: You have failed. I sit here in captivity only because the screeching and the grinding have been halted for so long. Can you hear it? It has resumed once more. The symphony of metal fills the air again. Flesh curls and rots in my wake. Can you hear it? Can you hear it?

A loud clicking noise begins to emanate from SCP-6810. The noise causes Dr. Yuri to grasp his head in apparent pain. Similar symptoms are reported by all personnel listening to the feed from SCP-6810's containment chamber.

SCP-6810: Deus ego sum. Metallum sum. Deus metallum est. Mox etiam metallum eris.

At this point, SCP-6810 places his palm on the floor, resulting in the metal plates beneath the cell parting and thus creating a hole at the bottom of the chamber. Limited observation of the interior of this hole reveals it to be physically similar to many of the hallways and rooms described in Operational Report 6810-H. Several figures, all of whom possess metal or mechanical objects protruding from their skin, rise from the hole and enter the containment chamber. Two figures are spotted at SCP-6810's flanks with appearances closely matching those of MTF-A and MTF-C from the Vatican operation. All figures approach the north wall of the chamber and begin repeatedly hitting it with tremendous force. A full site lockdown is declared.

Responding security forces move to a walkway above the containment chamber and fire upon all entities, including SCP-6810, with automatic machine guns. Though several of the figures are "killed," they are immediately replaced by more figures emerging from the aforementioned hole. Within twelve minutes, security forces become overwhelmed. The number of figures within the containment chamber at this point is between 100 and 150. Though initially unable to reach security personnel due to the difference in elevation, multiple figures are observed screaming before additional metal objects emerge from their bodies, apparently functioning as wings. These figures elevate themselves to the walkway before attacking and terminating most of the security force present through either exsanguination or forcibly placing body parts into an interior cavity comprised of numerous, rapidly moving cogs.

Visual contact with SCP-6810 is lost. All remaining Site-6810 personnel are ordered to evacuate. A full-scale containment breach is declared. MTF 6810-Alpha is placed on standby to prioritize recontainment of SCP-6810 rather than directly engaging the hostile entities emerging from its containment chamber. The O5 Council is notified of the situation. Thermonuclear devices are armed.

Addendum V: Recontainment Operation 6810-Q

The following is a transcription of radio communications between MTF 6810-Alpha and O5 Command during attempted recapture of SCP-6810.


MTF 6810-Alpha, led by MTF-E, is onboard a V-21 Osprey VTOL aircraft approximately fifteen miles from ██████, Pennsylvania. SCP-6810 is suspected to be within this area. Team consists of MTF-E through MTF-I.

Team activates head-mounted cameras simultaneously, beginning the transmission of a live feed to Control. Cameras flicker to life, revealing the interior of the Osprey. Each team member is armed with standard issue assault rifles, sidearms, and explosives. Equipment consists of transponders, heart rate monitors, and atmospheric filtration masks designed to protect operatives from airborne contaminants.

MTF-E has been provided with SCP-6810-A. His possession of the object is unknown to the other members of the task force.

Control: 6810-Alpha, this is Control. Radio Channel Zero-Niner has been cleared for your use. Please sound off so we can check off comms here over.

MTF-E: Squad lead, checking in.

MTF-F: Agent ██████, reading you loud and clear.

MTF-G: Here.

MTF-H: Reporting.

MTF-I: Here.

MTF-E: All souls accounted for, Control.

Control: Copy that. Standby for tasking. We'll transmit more information on the situation as you get closer to the AO. Out.

MTF-G is seen retrieving a small object from his shoulder pocket. Upon closer inspection of the footage, it is revealed to be a photograph of a woman.

MTF-H: That Sally?

MTF-G: Huh?

MTF-H: That picture. It's of Sally, yeah?

MTF-G: Uh. Yeah. How did you —

MTF-H: Relax, man, I'm not fucking her or anything. Christmas Party. Couple years back. We met. Didn't know each other at the time, but yeah, we met. Seemed like a nice woman. Glad things worked out between you two. How long have you…you know?

MTF-G: We, uh. We've been dating a couple years. Two and a half, maybe.

MTF-H: You don't know how long you've been dating?

MTF-G: No, no. It's not that. Just depends if you count distance or not.

MTF-H: Why wouldn't I count distance?

MTF-G: Shit, man, you know how it is. Everyone has their own take on it. A lot of people think it's weird.

MTF-H: What?

MTF-G: Yeah. You know. "Not real."

MTF-H: Jesus fucking Christ — hey ██████, you hearing this?

MTF-I: Yeah. Insanity.

MTF-H: I knew my girl for fucking years before I actually lived with her, dude. There's nothing to be embarrassed about. What does pique my interest, however, is that you've been with such a prime choice woman for — what did you say, two years? Two and a half? Where's the proposal? Where's the engagement ring? What is this, high school?

MTF-I: Come on, ████████████. Cut the kid some slack. He looks about 12. [Laughs]

MTF-G: I, uh. I was going to propose to her a week ago. Before — you know. Everything.


MTF-H: Oh. Oh, uh. Shit. Sorry, man. I didn't mean anything by it. Hey, uh —

MTF-G: No. It's okay. I get it.

Pilot: Two minutes out.

MTF-E: Keep the channel clear. Shut up.

MTF-E motions to MTF-G.

MTF-E: Kid, don't let these fucking dried up scrotums talk down to you. You're doing fine. When we get this done, buy her a ring. A nice one. Take her somewhere special.

MTF-G: Like, what? A nice restaurant?

MTF-E: Nah. Somewhere classy. Unexpected, but romantic. Like —

[An alarm blares. Lights in the Osprey turn from red to green. Several operatives abruptly stand up.]

Pilot: Two minutes!

MTF-E: Alright. Let's hit 'em.

The team stands and hangs onto the interior handlebars of the Osprey as its speed accelerates.

After passing over a major metropolitan area, the surrounding suburbs and countryside begin to exhibit obvious signs of sustained conflict. Civilians are seen wandering the area in apparent disarray, many of them seemingly disoriented or otherwise aimless as a consequence of damage to surrounding population centers. Several of them, spotting the Osprey on approach, attempt to wave it down to no avail. A small group of civilians are seen congregating on a rooftop with several flares lit, similarly attempting to attract the attention of the pilot.

MTF-E: Control, this is Task Force Alpha. Are you receiving?

Command: Affirmative. Have you made visual contact with SCP-6810?

MTF-E: Negative. Town looks abandoned, though. Signs of a possible engagement between the civilian population and SCP-6810 affiliated entities. Moving in to investigate. We'll link up our cam feeds with you here in a second. Over.

Command: Copy. Keep us posted.

MTF-E reorients his helmet camera. One of the left-hand windows of the Osprey is visible, followed by a rural landscape below the aircraft. Corpses of civilian personnel are visible. Several farmhouses and adjacent structures are either destroyed, ablaze, or severely damaged. Pieces of what appear to be metal rebar are seen jutting from the terrain in random directions, some of which are slightly vibrating from an unknown force.

MTF-F: Jesus fucking Christ. You seeing this shit?

MTF-H: Yeah. Crazy.

MTF-E: Control, there's uh…there's metal all over the place. The area looks almost completely destroyed — like bombs went off everywhere. Definitely SCP-6810 activity. If he's not here, he's close.

Control: Copy. You're clear to investigate.

MTF-E: Alright. Let's get in there. Pilot, take us down.

Pilot: You sure? Area could still be hot.

MTF-E: Yeah. I'm sure. Take off after we're on the ground. We'll call you if we need you.

Pilot complies, descending to the ground. Team exits the aircraft and, after confirmation that there are no hostiles in the immediate area, moves out. Aircraft takes off and begins circling the AO.

MTF-E leads his team deeper into the countryside with a set of hand motions. Civilian bodies are more clearly visible, revealing that most of them possess various pieces of metal protruding from the chest, head, mouth, or extremities. Many of them possess objects of unknown origin and function protruding from the cranium, with visible tearing of the skin around points at which metal pieces can be found. Cause of death for all personnel spotted appears to be exsanguination caused by these objects. Visual review of operation footage suggested that these bodies were completely devoid of blood and possessed a vaguely pale-blue skin coloration, typically indicative of severe oxygen deprivation. MTF-G inspects one of the corpses, finding the body still warm to the touch.

MTF-G: …makes no sense —

MTF-E: Huh?

MTF-G: Bodies look cold. Old, like they've been here for a few days if not longer, but they're still warm. I don't see any blood.

After some time inspecting the area, MTF-E orders his team to follow him inside a nearby farmhouse possessing severe damage. The exterior of the structure appears slightly burned, with large metallic rods extending from the interior through the roof and perimeter walls. The number of corpses present seems to intensify upon approach to the farmhouse, as do the severity of the injuries. MTF-G notes that the number of objects present in each victim's body also increases upon approach to the farmhouse.

MTF-E: Control, what do you make of this?

Control: Unsure. Continue your approach.

MTF-E: Copy.

MTF-G: Farmhouse up ahead. Looks like the door is open.

MTF-H: Shhh, wait. Hold on —

MTF-H performs a hand gesture indicating the presence of unidentified personnel within the farmhouse. The squad, observing this, prepares their rifles and checks ammunition.

MTF-I: Squad lead, approaching the right side of the farmhouse.

MTF-E: Copy.

MTF-E and -F stack up on the left side of the farmhouse's front entrance. MTF-G, -H, and -I stack up on the right side of the structure, immediately adjacent to a window. Team moves slowly, assuming that the occupants of the building are within earshot. MTF-E performs an additional hand gesture, signaling to his team that they should hold fire until ordered to engage.

MTF-E: What do you got, ████████?

MTF-H: Got a few tangos inside. Don't look armed. Not sure what they're doing.

MTF-E: Copy. Wait one.

MTF-E lowers himself out of sight, speaking into his radio The rest of the squad remains quiet and in place.

MTF-E: Control, we've made contact with possible hostiles. Not sure if they're armed or what they're doing here. Please advise. Over.

Control: Copy. Wait one.

MTF-H raises his head, listening in on something. He moves his radio to pick up the audio.

Unknown: …and God has shone his light upon us, curing us of our flesh-borne desires, for we have become immortal angels in the eyes of the Lord — Hallelujah, say we, upon our —

Control: Squad lead, Control.

MTF-E: Go ahead.

Control: Can you get a drone in there without being spotted? We need eyes on the interior of the building before authorizing a breach and clear.

MTF-E: Uh. Standby.

MTF-E moves to the right side of the building, approaching MTF-I.

MTF-E: Hey, got that drone on you?

MTF-I: Yeah. Want me to pop it in?

MTF-E: Can you do that without getting eyes on you?

MTF-I: Think so.

MTF-E: Alright. Do it.

MTF-E shifts back to the front of the building.

MTF-E: Control, we're getting a drone in there. Feed should come through shortly. Standby.

Control: Copy.

MTF-I retrieves a drone from his equipment bag, presses several buttons which silently activate it, and places the drone on the ground. He then retrieves a control module from the same bag, which flickers to life after several moments. The drone's camera turns on, transmitting a direct feed to Control. MTF-I drives the drone to the front of the farmhouse, which begins picking up the audio from the interior.

Unknown: …even now, in the time of the great metamorphosis, there are those that move against us like agents of Lucifer moved against the soldiers of God. In the great cataclysm as we arrive at Armageddon, they will hinder us at every opportunity and seize every thread at their disposal to undo our benevolent tapestry. The flesh betrays! It rots, and it falls by the wayside as we walk to our jobs, walk to our meaningless existences — through His will and His hand, we are born anew! The burning has come to its terminus! Now is the time of the great resurrection!

MTF-I: Shit.

MTF-E: Control, you hearing this?

Control: Copy. This probably a 6810 affiliated group.

MTF-G: You think?

MTF-E: Alright. How do you want to proceed?

Unknown: …need to join me. Join me in embracing His word! His might! His will! You must be strong, and He will be strong in turn! Join me! Do what must be done! He is love! He is ours! We begin, and we rise, and —

The speaker is interrupted by abrupt screaming. Footsteps are heard approaching the front of the farmhouse. The screaming intensifies as several loud thuds are heard.

MTF-G: They're moving. They're moving, captain.

MTF-E: Fuck.

Unknown: Praise Him! Praise Him! Praise Him! Praise —

Metal scraping becomes audible from the interior of the farmhouse. Two civilians exit the farmhouse, immediately spotting the task force.

Civilian: Help! Help us! Please —

MTF-G grabs the civilian, placing his hand over her mouth.

MTF-G: Fuck! Stay quiet! Stay quiet, goddamnit —

Control: Alpha, what is going on down there? What —

MTF-E: Keep her quiet, goddamnit! Control, we're compromised! Shit —

Unknown: They have found us, brothers and sisters! Our time has arrived! We must transcend and become what He knows we can become! We —

The aforementioned metal scraping becomes louder. There is intense screaming, then silence.

MTF-E: Breach and clear! Breach and clear! Go!

Control: Alpha, standby — don't —

MTF-H tosses a flashbang through the right-side window of the farmhouse. It detonates several seconds later. MTF-G then approaches the door, kicking it down in an instant. The task force moves inside the structure. The smoke obscures the transmission, revealing more of the situation as it dissipates.

MTF-G: Jesus fucking Christ.

The smoke fully clears, revealing the interior of the farmhouse. On the floor are civilians with various injuries, all of which involve apparent forced insertion of various metal objects and complex mechanisms. Many of them are still twitching and attempting to vocalize, pleading for help or otherwise requesting assistance from the task force. Various body parts, all of which exhibit occasional movement or muscle spasming, are strewn about the floor. There is no visible blood, with all severed limbs or severe wounds apparently having been cauterized. A thick, black smoke bellows from deeper into the structure. Bodies are mostly attached to the floor, though are some are held up against the walls by metal beams.

In the center of the room is a metallic humanoid, cogs and other moving metal pieces clearly visible beneath what appears to a rubber imitation of skin along its exterior. It is kneeling on the floor in a position consistent with Islamic prayer. The rubber exterior is slightly burned, some of it drooping to the floor or otherwise peeling off the metal "skeleton." It exhibits no obvious reaction to the task force, continuing to pray and recite a religious chant.

Unknown Entity: ..Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name; thy kingdom come; thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread; and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us; and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. Amen.

MTF-G: Put your fucking hands up!

MTF-H: Hands up!

Control: Alpha, apprehend the subject. Do not move outside the structure. I repeat, do not leave the farmhouse. Await further tasking.

MTF-E: Control, say again? We can contact the VTOL for exfil —

Control: Negative, alpha. LZ is hot. Hold position. Over.

Audible chanting is picked up by the task force. It is faint at first, but grows gradually louder, seeming to approach the farmhouse.

MTF-H: We've got more of them. Shit.

MTF-G looks outside the window of the farmhouse. His helmet camera picks up a large group of civilians on approach, all of whom bear the injuries and metal apparatuses previously described. They appear to number in the hundreds.

MTF-G: Oh fuck.

MTF-E: Control, we're getting surrounded. We need exfil now.

Control: Say again?

MTF-H: Hurry up!

Unknown Entity: Heavenly Father, thank You for providing people with strong faith to reach the hearts of children as they seek direction and purpose. May children recognize Your power in their lives and choose to follow You like the first disciples did.

MTF-E: Shut him up! Now!

MTF-H: They're getting closer!

The chanting is now louder than the team's vocalizations.

MTF-E: Open fire!

Gunfire is heard, mostly directed outside the farmhouse. The approaching civilians are unharmed, but begin sprinting at full speed towards the structure. The task force continues to fire, inflicting no apparent damage. As the group approaches, the chanting becomes nearly deafening, joined by an extremely loud metallic "grinding" noise. Within several seconds, they begin to filter past the entrance door.

MTF-H witnesses MTF-I fire into one of the assailants at point blank range before he is thrown to the ground by several of the beings. They keep him restrained as the initial assailant uses a metallic appendage to slice off both of MTF-I's arms at the elbows. When he begins to scream, the main entity "regurgitates" a cog-like object onto MTF-I's face. It begins moving in a clockwise rotation. The details of its effects are not visible, but the distinct noise of flesh tearing is audible.

MTF-E retrieves 6810-A from his equipment bag and presses the central button. Instantly, all transmissions cut out. Control is unable to reestablish contact with the task force.

Approximately sixteen hours pass before MTF-E resumes transmitting.

Control: MTF-E, are you receiving? This is control. Come in, over.


Control: MTF-E, are you there?

MTF-E: …finished.

Control: Say again?

Loud static becomes audible.

MTF-E: He is finished. I am Him.

Static intensifies.

MTF-E: We are the great machine. We are one. We are undying.


MTF-E: My mind is cogs. This is the holiest of pleasures. The eyes are glass. I am complete. I am whole.

Static further intensifies before the transmission cuts out entirely.





I'm sorry.

Don't bother trying to talk to him. He's gone. Sorry, even that's a lie. He never existed. There were always two — you and me.

I have always been with you. Sometimes, before everything happened, you felt me. An odd sensation in the back of your head, distracting you from your work for a few moments before it seemed to go away on its own. Little more than a nuisance, and certainly not even present enough to warrant a trip to the doctor. A faint voice as you walked to the break room to fetch a cup of coffee. Such minor things, barely worthy of consideration let alone anything resembling concern.

What felt like a tickle in your skull were my hands buried in the crannies and crevices of your brain, trying to claw my way to the information I so desperately needed to set things right. I was so neglectful. Irresponsible. I had so much confidence in your Foundation that I allowed myself to place my trust in the hands of men. As it would turn out, the hands of men are such feeble, unreliable things — constantly wavering and ready to collapse under the slightest pressure.

What am I left with after all that has transpired? A broken world, where the mortal roam as newly immortal abominations, always eluding my grasp. Your men — the Task Force — they saw not corpses, but beacons. Conduits. Immobilized, injured, bleeding, yet still alive. Every taste, every odor, every memory filtered through a great network and sent to Him. Whatever mechanism He used, it kept them alive indefinitely, their bodies fueled by the energy he imbued in those infernal metal pillars.

Call it alchemy or magic. Call it whatever you like. But they were alive, and they remained alive. I could not reach them or touch them. They did not age, or grow hungry, or wither away from thirst. They simply remained brains encased in a fleshly prison, forever serving their Lord. The gates of Heaven opened once, and then sealed for the rest of time. Now there is nothing — no pain, no decay, no resurgence, no change. There is only the timeless, aching void of eternal life.

Don't be coy with me, Doctor. You know precisely who I am. You have many names across cultures, but the concept — my identity — is static.

The disease that claims the lives of children in hospital beds. The famine that plunges a town into an abyssal decay. The fire that snuffs out the lives of brave first responders.

I am the end. The eternal rest. And yet, despite all I have done and all the work that remains to be completed, I find myself mocked — parodied by a fusion of bone and steel.

And I am afraid.

Sometimes, when the world grinds to a halt and the cacophony grows quiet, I walk among them and gaze into their faces. They're still present, you know. Conscious, I think is what you call it. Looking around, blinking — very aware of their surroundings. Things have become so surreal that I don't even hide anymore. I simply trudge along in the filth and the iron, watching as their muscles spasm and faint, weak, broken groans escape their lips. The few that can recall what it is like to speak and know their own minds ask for help. They ask for me. I can do nothing but keep walking. I have seen much destruction and anguish in my time, but this…this bears no equal. If I were to tell you that I do not feel their pain, I would be lying to you again.

At the tallest point on the tallest hill, He sits. He looks upon all he has done and all he has created with a faceless expression. The face of the void. I do not know what he thinks nor do I care to know, yet there is a part of me that wishes it is boredom. An eternal, inescapable, oppressive, strangling nothingness. Only then will there be even the remotest hope of settings things right.

Now, Doctor, you understand why I did this to you. Without you, there would only be darkness. I will not feed you platitudes. The darkness will persist, and it will persist for a very long time. Far longer than it has persisted before. The world, as you understood it before all of this, is dead — buried. God is silent. It is up to me and the few that remain to, with time, cleanse Creation of His mistakes. A great disease that has existed in their bodies for decades - centuries - has emerged. He has pulled it forth from their core, and he has exposed it for all to see.

But I knew of this before. I know of it now. What must be done will be done. My work continues. It continues slowly, gradually, and is achingly marginal. But it continues.

There are only a few who remain untouched by His wrath. They huddle together in the darkness like rats, awaiting any sign of the world they knew and loved returning to them. They are scared, and they have nearly embraced what has fallen upon the rest. Yet something in them remains unbowed — unbroken. In the face of cataclysmic defeat, they rise and they stare down the end in one final, solemn act of defiance.

And so, they remain untouched. I leave them be, for they remain the few remaining threads tying the world to normalcy.

I do not know if there will be a time when the light shines upon you once more, Doctor. But you must know that I am not lying when I say that I hope such a day arrives. You are far too valuable and far too important to face the evils of this world. Your time has not yet arrived. When it does, I will return, and I will return with no farces — with no deceit.

For now, if you wish to help the people of this world, you will do so by resting and remaining safe.

Goodbye, Doctor. We will meet again. That I can promise.

Other Works By KingPogan

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