Containment Procedures
As SCP-6919 is no longer cleared for use by Foundation personnel, containment efforts are to focus instead on identification of anyone suffering symptoms of prolonged SCP-6919 exposure. Such individuals are to be surveilled, but containment of affected individuals is deemed unnecessary in all but the most severe cases.
Any individuals claiming to know or be Dr. Alfred Delapore are to be sent for immediate psychological evaluation.
Description
SCP-6919 is the former Class-D amnestic designated AMN-980. Although individuals exposed to SCP-6919 have exhibited a wide and often conflicting array of responses, commonalities among all sufferers include: affinity for aquatic activities such as swimming and surfing, sporadic appearance of "colored lights" on the edges of their vision, resistance to amnesticization processes and associated implantation of false memories, resistance to hypnotism, loss of sense of self, spontaneous and often inappropriate activation of the mammalian diving reflex, and renewed faith in divine powers. Individuals suffering from thalassophobia have been known to overcome the condition after being repeatedly dosed with SCP-6919.
In the most severe cases, individuals have been discovered to possess knowledge of Foundation sites and contained anomalies in areas they have never visited, occasionally far exceeding the level of security to which they have access. In light of Incidents 5389-B-Alpha and 5389-B-Beta, it is theorized that massive doses of SCP-6919 may either cause temporary physiological changes to the individual or alter the perception of the individual by those around them. At present, this remains purely speculative; testing of this trait has been denied due to the potential for test subjects acquiring sensitive information from SCP-6919's aforementioned anomalous properties.
The anomalous qualities of SCP-6919 were only brought to the attention of the Foundation in the wake of the suicide of Dr. Delapore. Having been under Foundation employ for decades, Delapore had been dosed with AMN-980 many times over the years due to the anomalies he worked with. At present, only 91 individuals have been identified in advanced stages of SCP-6919 exposure, the majority of them Foundation personnel or D-class individuals.
Addenda
Addendum 1: Personal Journal of Dr. Delapore
I don't know when I started writing my thoughts down in a journal. It feels habitual, like part of my daily routine, but I haven't been able to find any previous entries anywhere on my computer.
I am Dr. Alfred Delapore. That is what my ID card states, and considering that it is my photograph on the ID card, I frankly cannot find any reason to doubt that I am indeed Dr. Alfred Delapore. Today, I performed a routine test of an anomaly contained on this site. I do not remember which one I am working with— I know where the containment is located, and I know that knowledge of the object activates it primary anomalous effect. I know that protocol for my assigned anomaly requires me to take Class-H anterograde amnestics prior to testing so that we cannot recall the anomaly and thus cannot activate its anomalous properties.
Why, then, does it feel like I've forgotten something? I am aware that working for the Foundation involves routine amnesticization, but this sense of déjà vu doesn't typically accompany that process. I don't think it does, at least. Amnestics typically bestow blissful ignorance— you can't feel you've forgotten something if you don't know it existed to begin with.
I will write to remind myself of who I am and what I do. I am Dr. Alfred Delapore. This is my office. This is my journal. This is my job.
I am Dr. Alfred Delapore. I write this journal on a computer registered to my name. To log into this computer, I use a password that only I know. Why I use the password I do is personal, sentimental, and regards personal history of which my coworkers are unaware. Therefore, this must be my computer, this must be my office, and this must be my journal.
I work with a cognitohazardous anomaly. Before testing, I take a dose of Class-H anterograde amnestic so I cannot activate the anomaly's effects after testing is complete. Anterograde amnestics only prevent the formation of new memories, and thus they do not have the ability to affect my sense of self.
I did not work with my assigned anomaly today. I did not work with my assigned anomaly yesterday. I did not work with my assigned anomaly the day before. I know this because the testing logs do not show any tests performed after September 19th, which is the last time I recall taking the anterograde amnestic.
I do not know why I cannot recall anything that happened today prior to sitting down to write this journal. I will leave this journal for my future reference in case these memory issues persist. I will ask my coworkers about my previous activities. Foundation sites are rather securely monitored. Someone will know what I did today. Someone will know what I've forgotten.
I am Dr. A. Delapore. This is my computer. It sits inside the office I've occupied for nearly a decade atop a desk filled with my belongings. The password to this computer is known only to me. It is a phrase spoken to me by my infant son many years ago, an anecdote I've never spoken of to anyone. As there are no others who could log into this computer, it must be mine, and I must be A. Delapore.
Nobody knows what I did yesterday. According to both my coworkers and Foundation records, I am supposed to be on a leave of absence that began on Saturday, September 21st and will end on Monday, September 30th. I do not understand why I would have filed for a leave of absence in the middle of testing an anomaly. We had only just begun our tests. It would not make sense for the researcher in charge of these tests to depart at this time.
I will inquire into this oddity tomorrow. I will visit the chambers where the anomaly is tested. I know I have left detailed records there of everything I need to know prior to or following interaction with the anomaly. Perhaps this will lend some insight into my inability to recall the past few days.
I am Dr. Albert Delapore. This is my computer, which requires my credentials to log in. The password to this computer is a phrase spoken to me by my late son. I have never discussed much about him with my coworkers, and they have been kind enough not to probe about his passing or other details about him. It stands to reason, then, that only I would know the password to this computer, that these memories are my own, and that I am indeed Dr. Albert Delapore.
I ended my previous journal entry stating that I would visit the testing area of the anomaly to which I am assigned. Though I recall writing a journal entry about that visit, there are no files on my computer that have been edited since I wrote my journal entry on the 24th of September.
This is odd, but less worrying than the inconsistencies within my previous journal entries. I stated I was administered a Class-H amnestic before testing the anomaly to which I am assigned. This is wholly untrue; the properties of the anomaly affect early memories, thus Class-D amnestics are used after interacting with the anomaly in order to counteract its effects. Inability to remember the identity of the anomaly in question is a result of the destruction of memories that the anomaly had altered.
I do not know why my journal entries are wrong. This has always been the procedure for the tests I performed. Has someone tampered with my journal? It wouldn't exactly make sense, since the last time the document was edited was night of September 24th, at the time I recall sitting down to write it. Why, then, are there inconsistencies?
I am Dr. A. Delapore. The computer from which I write is registered under my name, and the password used to log into it comes from the last conversation I had with my son before he drowned. Nobody else knows how my son died; all I've ever told them is that he passed before I began working with the Foundation.
Today was supposed to be the day I returned from the leave of absence that I did not schedule. I followed the same path I always have to reach the containment area for my assigned anomaly, but I found it empty. There were no records of it ever having been occupied, despite the fact I was there working just last week.
As I think back on my actions during the day, I realize I cannot recall the faces of anyone I passed by or spoke to. I only remember seeing colored lights hovering in my vision, obscuring their faces. It was as if I had been staring into the sun just moments before. As I think back to previous days, all conversations I remember having are shrouded by the same blindness. Why didn't I write that in my journals? It's quite hard to ignore. Is this new? I remember experiencing this previously, but at the same time it feels unfamiliar.
I am Dr. Delapore, but I did not write that previous entry. The information contained within is accurate, but I was not in my office at all on September 30th. The events described in the journal occurred yesterday, yet the document was last edited before any of it happened. Furthermore, there was a guard standing in front of my office, with whom I had to argue for several minutes in order to be allowed in. He did not seem to accept, for whatever reason, that I was Dr. Delapore, despite the fact that I am indeed Dr. Delapore.
I have, however, discovered the reason behind the absence of the testing site for my anomaly: I am in the wrong Foundation site. It is puzzling indeed that my office is located somewhere entirely different from where I work, but it is more puzzling that the location of my office and the location where I perform my tests are hours apart by car. How, then, do I remember writing entries into my journal mere minutes after performing tests? I know I did not move this computer, nor did I use a different one.
I will have to investigate tomorrow. After all, I have testing scheduled, so I will have to be at the proper site for it.
I am Delapore, though I have been stripped of the title of "doctor". I was arrested attempting to enter the site where my anomaly is contained. I remember being there less than a month prior, yet I am told that the area is strictly off-limits, and that it has been for nearly a year and a half. Site-109, I am told, collapsed into the ocean in April of last year.
I am being kept in my office under guard, but they have graciously allowed me access to my personal computer, albeit only under strict supervision. Every word I type is overseen, but I cannot see the face of the person watching me. All I see is a hovering flame, blinding me from discerning any of his features. I don't believe he's even reacting to anything I write.
I stood up. I walked around the office. I even left for a moment to grab coffee, and I did not announce my departure beforehand.
The guard is gone. I don't know when he vanished, but the only thing in the place where he had stood is the flame that had been obscuring his face. It almost seems to be beckoning me towards the window, urging me to leave. Perhaps I'll follow it. Clearly, something is wrong here, if this guard is so willing not to do his job.
Addendum 2: Summary of Incidents 5389-B-Alpha and 5389-B-Beta
On October 8th, 2019, an individual initially identified as Dr. Alfred Delapore (hereafter referred to as SCP-6919-A) attempted entry into the restricted area surrounding SCP-5389-B and was summarily detained. Despite the claims made in his journal, he had never attempted entry to SCP-5389-B prior to this, nor was he ever previously detained by the Foundation. Furthermore, there exist no records of any guard having been posted outside of Dr. Delapore's office; no security staff on-site recall conversations or events similar to what was described in Delapore's October 2nd or October 7th journal entries.
Later that evening, SCP-6919-A was found deceased within his cell. Autopsy revealed a lethal quantity of SCP-6919 in his system; cause of death was ruled to be suicide. Following the events of December 15th, 2019, SCP-6919-A's corpse was exhumed. Investigation found that they were not Dr. Alfred Delapore, but instead a D-class individual that had been on-site during the collapse of SCP-5389-B. Investigation into how they escaped the collapse is ongoing.
On December 15th, 2019, Dr. Alfred Delapore was once again detained attempting to enter the secure perimeter around SCP-5389-B. Following his detainment, Dr. Delapore was found dead in a similar manner to SCP-6919-A. Autopsy revealed a lethal dose of SCP-6919 within his system; cause of death was ruled to be suicide. Investigation into the personal belongings of Dr. Delapore revealed that several journal entries had been written on his computer in the time between SCP-6919-A and Dr. Delapore being detained at SCP-5389-B's perimeter.
Addendum 3: Further Personal Journals of Dr. Delapore
I am Dr. Alfred Delapore. This is my computer, but how it came to be in this strange office is beyond my knowledge. The password and account name are the same as I remember them being. I do not believe that anyone else knows these credentials, but clearly, I am wrong. Though the previous entries describe details of my personal life and actions within the Foundation, it was not I who wrote them.
I do not know where I have been the past year. I recall a containment breach at my Foundation site. I recall water rushing into the facility as alarm bells sounded, as many of our containment procedures spontaneously failed. I remember the creatures rushing in— faceless, hairless hounds; four-legged beasts with an additional pair of twisted arms sprouting from their necks. I recall the way they bayed and cried as they dragged people into the rising waters, the horde rushing at us faster and more fearsome than any tidal wave.
I do not know how I came to be in this office. I do not know how I escaped Site-109. All I know is that something important to me had been contained there. I need to go back.
I am Dr. Alfred Delapore. I have worked for the Foundation since the day my son was taken into their care; they deemed me the best person to study his anomalous properties, since only I am immune to their effects. He alters the memories of those who interact with him, but he cannot alter mine, since he is already such a prominent figure in them. Perhaps he is simply unwilling to alter my memories. Perhaps he already did alter them. To be honest, I'm not certain.
I leave this entry as record of my existence. While I was the best suited to studying my son, I was not the only one who worked with him. In 2015, we had extracted a compound from the secretions of another anomaly at the same site, SCP-5389-A. Initially, it was believed to function similar to common psychedelic drugs, though over time we found that, when metabolized by certain enzymes found in the livers of SCP-5389-A, it would produce a substance known as AMN-980. The compound immunized individuals against memory-altering effects, though it did so by erasing affected memories. This was how other individuals were able to work with me in my studies, as it negated my son's anomalous effects.
I remember this all vividly, yet I cannot find any documentation concerning my son. His designation belongs instead to an anomaly I do not recall ever existing. AMN-980, too, does not have any documentation. It is not mentioned among lists of current or retired amnestics, it is not listed among our documents on assorted anomalous compounds, and the secretions of SCP-5389-A are never referred to within their documents. I know my memories to be true. Why am I the only one who recalls this?
My son is calling to me. My son, for whom I joined the Foundation, for whom I toiled endlessly to cure of his condition, who I remember being pulled under the rising tide as Site-109's supports buckled, is calling my name. These lights in my vision, the ones that hide others from me, I finally have come to understand. They are here to guide me, to pull my focus away from other people, to keep the only face fresh in my memory that of my son.
My son is alive, but not for long. Site-109 has collapsed, so He must be trapped within it. I don't know how, but He's in there, clinging desperately to life. I hear His cries, I hear Him splutter as He chokes on seawater. I know His time is growing short. I must go there. I must find Him.
I am Dr. Delapore, and my son is drowning in Site-109.