rating: +11+x

Item #: SCP-7475

Object Class: Safe

Special Containment Procedures: SCP-7475 is to surrounded by a barbed wire fence, on which two to four Foundation security personnel are to patrol on a bi-hourly basis. SCP-7475-A instances are to be placed in Site-50's High Security Arms section. Requests for experimentation with SCP-7475-A instances or SCP-7475-B is currently unavailable, and shall remain so under direct orders from the Ethics Committee (see 'Ethics Committee minutes for January-February, 1976' for more information).

Description: SCP-7475 is a heavily modified industrial arms manufacturing facility located in [REDACTED], Chile, formerly owned by GoI-001 ("The Chaos Insurgency"). SCP-7475's products, also known as SCP-7475-A, exhibit a variety of different anomalous properties, although they universally inflict physical harm to both users and intended targets. SCP-7475 itself has sustained damage to its interior prior to its acquisition by the Foundation.

SCP-7475 is comprised of four sections: a research, manufacturing, administrative, and a basement. Research and manufacturing are at ground level. The administrative section is composed of a series of cat-walks that oversee manufacturing and a central room, where the entrance to the basement can be found. Originally intended to be a hidden exit, the tunnel's collapse has limited the room available to a makeshift sleeping area, various pieces of destroyed equipment, and a single restraining bed.

SCP-7475-B is located in the manufacturing room of SCP-7475. Located towards the center, it is fifteen meters in height and ten meters in length. SCP-7475-B produces SCP-7475-A's anomalous properties by taking non-anomalous fire arms and expelling SCP-7475-A instances from separate ports on opposite sides of the machine. A lever near the top right side of the exit port turns SCP-7475-B on and off, alongside a large funnel. SCP-7475-B also seems to emanate the odor of rotting meat. (See Addendum.7475.II)

SCP-7475's research room, located adjacent to manufacturing, contains various apparatuses capable of producing an unknown substance, that was cited as a critical component of SCP-7475-A's and SCP-7475-B's creation by its creators. Requests for recreating this substance have been denied by the Ethics Committee on an unanimous vote (see Addendum.7475.1 for more information).

SCP-7475, originally created by GoI-2312 ("Prometheus Labs Inc.") to produce intermediary equipment for its products, was forcefully acquired by GoI-001 ("The Chaos Insurgency") in late 1973 following the coup d'etat by Chilean general Augusto Pinochet in September of that year. GoI-001 hoped to use the facility for military and commercial ends. Although officially protected by Pinochet's government in exchange for a personnel share of the revenue generated by the facility, its existence was revealed to Foundation liaisons on January 13th 1975 by a Pinochet representative when this share was not delivered.

The Foundation raided SCP-7475 on January 20th, 1975. Upon arriving, personnel discovered that SCP-7475 had sustained some interior damage from a battle that took place inside the facility. Eleven corpses were discovered, six of them wearing GoI-001 related uniforms, while the rest wore various pieces of mismatched clothing. Analysis suggested that many had been victims of SCP-7475-A.

Addendum-7475.1 — Recovered Documents

After containment was established, SCP-7475 was searched for various documents, both relating to SCP-7475 itself and to GoI-001 as a whole. The following documents have been arranged in sequential order when possible, and dateless documents placed where they would most likely originate in the timeline.

9-20-73: Letters in Admin's Office, Document Collection A3D1

Dear Sgt. Bruckheimer,

I hope this reaches you. Foundation personnel have been lax - probably too concerned with dealing with the bastards in the capital to worry about us. Still, I hope that you have taken the necessary precautions regarding contacts with your superior officers.

Your gamble paid off, but General Jackson is not pleased with your recent partners. I had to calm him down from marching off to court martial you for working with this 'Eagle Company'. Even so, I know that he will attempt to undermine your position re: your underlings. I was only able to get you two, maybe three scientists/engineers on your operation. I would highly encourage you to get results as fast as you can. I have no doubt that you can do it, even with Mexico still fresh in everyone's minds.

I patiently await your word.

Major General Flint

Son of a bitch thinks he's better than me. Not just Jackson - Flint and all those fuckers. I'll make sure that I keep this thing framed, when I prove all of them wrong.

9-25-73: Sergeant Bruckheimer's Diary, Page 2

Dr. Jin arrived today. He was a pudgy little man, big glasses and thick little fingers. From what I can gather, he's quiet intelligent. That could be dangerous. Still, with my boys and Eagle Company in tow, we'll manage.

When I introduced Jin to my men, he was confused at the presence of Company. "Who are these people?" he asked me, confused at their different attire and manner. Them lugging guns around at all times didn't help matters much. When Santiago came in, swaggering with three pistols on his hips, I knew we were in for a spiel of half-cocked bullshit from the world's greatest bullshitter.

Before that, I told him, "This is Eagle Company. I took them on before we took this place - and this is Captain Santiago."

Santiago came and shook Jin's hand. They went back and forth as us three went deeper into the facility.

When we got to the Research room, I told Santiago to stay outside. He bit his lip, and wanted to say something, but he went off. He's too cocky. That may be a problem. Will deal with that later, however.

I told Jin about the operation we're going to be running. I told them I already had a good idea on how to get the ball rolling. When Jin asked me how, I gave him the diary. I told him and the others to read it, and get back to me. When Jin asked me where he was going to sleep, I stretched my arms out to the research room. There were also sleeping bags in the corner, if he wanted something more comfy.

That felt good.

9-30-73: Dr. Jin's Research Notes

Despite the prevailing conditions here being quite amateur and bordering on the inhospitable for my purposes, the research possibilities suggested by the document produced by Sgt. Bruckheimer are remarkable enough to make up for it.

This diary, supposedly recovered following this facility's fall, was owned by a PL employee. A 'Dr. Ignacio Montero'. A remarkable fellow, if only from his writings. Although I hesitate to call it a diary. It would probably be more accurate to describe it as a revolutionary treatise that could change our understanding of human consciousness.

Although dense and requiring many additional fields of study, I have been able to draw a couple fundamental observations drawn from Dr. Montero's research: that human emotion has a specific material effect on the environment; that this material effect is dependent on a heretofore unknown extract (what I shall call 'S-energy' for short) that is excreted by the human body during moments of high emotional intensity into the surrounding environment, but most especially in the body itself; and, with the correct configurations of alchemical rituals and apparati, this S-energy can be concentrated into a physical substance that is extremely energy dense.

If true, this has the potential to be more powerful than the atom itself. It has the potential to power entire civilizations. Presuming, of course, that it is true.

But from all Dr. Montero's notes, he seems to have been able to create and extract the S-energy, primarily, it seems, from pre-existing human cadavers. Although some of his propositions are without efficacy, if this S-energy is real, it can be used to great ends in the Insurgency. Why stop at simply weapons? We could produce alternative forms of energy, ones that could bring their cost to near zero. Human corpses are ubiquitous in this world. Although Dr. Montero focused on those who died suffering, there is no indication that only negative emotions can produce this, or that they even must be deceased. Extreme joy in the birth of a child, for instance, could be an excellent source of S-energy. Funerals, sporting events, and moments of extreme religious/sexual ecstasy, could just as easily be used.

What grand scientific opportunities abound in this place!

10/15/73: Sgt. Bruckheimer's Diary, Page 16

Two dozen failures; no dice on extracts.

Santiago and his boys were drinking downstairs last night. This wouldn't be really noteworthy, if one of them hadn't shot one of my guys when he told them to keep it down. I had enough of it, and I told him that if he and his boys wanted to drink, they were going to have to get their own goddamn liquor in town and away from here.

Santiago was pissed. Unsurprising, but what did surprise me, was his insolence in insinuating that I am partly to blame for this. Despite the fact that he was the one who suggested that I supply the booze, and he was the one who said he could handle it. If he hadn't given me the little shit who shot my guy, I would have killed him right then and there.

I'm not sure what to do with him. The dipshit's in the hatch downstairs, the one those Labs fuckers used to get out of here. I'll probably just have him shot, to make an example.

But it won't be long before something else happens, and I'm not sure if I'll be able to keep Santiago and his men in check. I promised them money back then. I can't pay them in cash, and I certainly will not given them the equipment here. Jackson's on my ass too. Flint keeps talking to me about how hard he works on my behalf, and yet, he was the one who keeps penny pinching me on how much I spend. If I don't have money, nothing will get done. It'll be Mexico all over again.

No more Mexicos. Not with my name plastered on it, at least.

10-23-73: Memo from Dr. Jin to Sgt. Bruckheimer

I will need three additional human cadavers for an additional attempt at a batch of concentrated S-energy, all to gained humanely (from cemeteries, battlefields, etc.) as per my prior memoranda. Although I am optimistic, I believe that additional avenues of research must be considered, such as my recommendation on focusing on other other forms of high emotional intensity i.e love, sadness, anger, revulsion, etc. Perhaps, even, of relocating production of the extraction to an external facility where such things can happen under better conditions without need for outside sources.

We don't have the resources for such a project. I can get you maybe two more, three if I'm lucky, but unless I can get results, I don't know if I can give you anything else. — Sgt. Bruckheimer

10-29-73: Dr. Jin Research Notes, Page 23

We have done it!

It was on our third cadaver that we had finally extracted the illusive substance, that persistence fleer from human cognition!

The apparatuses were working for three straight days on this one. At [REDACTED] degrees, and with the right combination of prior substances ([REDACTED], [REDACTED], and [REDACTED]2) and 79 hours of constant upkeep and repeated adjustments to create chemical perfection, we have found the Goldilocks zone of S-energy extraction. While Dr. Montero was extracting droplets, we are extracting several milliliters.

I quickly summoned Sgt. Bruckheimer, and informed him of the situation. Despite his military background, he quickly grasped the significance of this, and congratulated us on our work. But, just as quickly, he asked how to make S-energy extraction more efficient. In my ecstatic condition, I gave him a refresher on our research, and on my hypothesis, building upon Dr. Montero's personal findings, that living subjects will be more capable of creating S-energy on the scale needed for weapon production.

But that lay in the future. Today, we must prove that it can be used in small arms.

11-5-73: Letters in Admin's Office, Document Collection A3D

Dear. Sgt. Bruckheimer,

My dear friend, your gift to the General has done wonders for your position here at high command. To hold the physical creation of your theories has awoken in him something I have not seen in him for years: genuine intelligence!

He is in conference with the other General from high command. And no, despite what you may ask in your next letter, I was not allowed there, even as a minutes taker. But the practical results of your weapon will be more than enough to show the world what you're capable of.

I must admit, as well, you choice for the 1911 was ingenious. He wouldn't shut up about his time in Normandy for an hour after he got it. I envy your position, Bill, I really do. You can only listen to so many of his old war stories before they all begin to blend together, and you start wondering if even he is bored of them.

P.S. Do you have room for an old friend in your operation? A liaison position sounds like a good vacation.

Your friend, Major General Flint

Ass-kissing fuck.

11-15-1973: Memo from Cpt. Santiago to Sgt. Bruckheimer


I have a source. He works discreetly, clean. No Reds in his workforce, I can assure you. And if some are, I'll take full responsibility, and deal with him myself. He lives in [REDACTED]; that's all I can say in print.

We leave tomorrow.

-Captain Santiago of the 1st Eagle Company

11-18-1973: Sgt. Bruckheimer's Diary, Page 35

Finally got back from [REDACTED]. My ass is killing me from riding around all day. Santiago didn't make it easier, by deciding to take the backroads. Safety, he assured me — I think just an excuse to torture me for a bit.

His guy was legit. Got us a dozen or so workers. All with some sort of fire-arm background, all willing to keep quiet with some promise of extra cash.

They'll be busy converting the factory into a proper arms facility. As I write, I can hear them banging away and shouting orders at one another, swearing and joking with one another. It's been too long since I heard anything but bickering in here.

Dr. Jin has been pushing me for funding for his project to extract S-energy. Problem is, we don't have the time. Jackson's been sending millions a month, but that won't last forever. I can't waste resources on his 'humane' method (as if keeping people locked in cages while you pump them with drugs is more humane than using the dead, which is what it would inevitably fall into).

Human misery is easier to create than human happiness. We must utilize that fact. But how?

12-13-73: Letters in Admin's Office, Document Collection A3D

Sgt. Bruckheimer,

I have received your requests. I can grant three of them: (1) one restraining bed, (2) one Foundation captive, and (3) Scalper. They will be arriving shortly. The others may be granted when we have results.

I hope that you take the proper safety precautions regarding some of our comrade's potential queasiness over distasteful means. If discovered, you and I shall face worse than court martials.

Do not make me regret this.

General Jackson

12-28-1973: Dr. Jin's Research Notes, Page 69

I have lost two of my apparatuses.

I did not notice them at all until one of my assistants pointed it out. We have created so many, that it must have slipped past me somehow. In my rage, I had presumed that one of Santiago's men had taken it. I marched my way up to the Admins office, but my anger turned to confusion, as I saw the large man in front of me, one I hadn't seen before.

He must have been around 2 meters! And he had big, blue eyes, and a shaved head, and he stared into me, like he was studying me under a microscope.

Then, Sgt. Bruckheimer came behind him, and clapped him on the back. "This, Dr. Jin, is Scalper. Scalper, this is Dr. Jin." This 'Scalper' smiled, and extended his hand out to me. I shook it, still confused. But my reason for being here came back, and with it, the rage.

Then, the Sergeant told me that he knew they were gone. He had taken them. I was aghast. He had come into my laboratory, and took my tools without telling me! I demanded them back. I raised my voice, far louder than I had ever used before in such a setting. But Sgt. Bruckheimer simply told me, smiling, that I had better get back to work, before more of them go missing.

I am offended. No, I am livid. I have not asked much of him. I have tried, to the best of my ability, to work with him, to compromise, for the good of the Insurgency. But this is one step too far! I will write General Jackson about this. If the Sergeant thinks I am going to let him walk over me, he is out of his mind.

1-2-1974: Sgt. Bruckheimer's Diary, Page 38

Haven't written this in awhile. Hard to keep everything straight. Don't really like thinking about the things happening. Too many possibilities flood my mind, and the fears come back.

The General approved my plan. I have him eating out of the palm of my hand. We're tied at the waist now. If I fall, he falls with me. Flint has no idea what's going on now. I showed the General some of our correspondences - oh, yes, Flint, I did that. I hope you find out about it, someday, so I can make you know how badly you fucked it in Mexico.

It was him. It was always him. It was a simple job, and he was supposed to be there to pick us up. A simple in and out OP against a Foundie site, and we lost half of our unit because he was wandering around with his dick in his hands. And then he just so happened to find us, just when I was about to give the surrender order. Convenient, isn't it, Flint? Almost as if you were listening. As if you wanted to humiliate me.

I know you did it. I know you left me to die there. It was me they blamed. ME. My plan had worked perfectly, flawlessly, before you failed me. I know you were always jealous of me. Even back in training, I know you wanted to be me. But just because you spoke three more languages than me and your daddy was a one of the good old boys, you got to become an 'intelligence officer' while I got stuck killing Foundies. Not that I mind. But I could have if I had gone to a fancy Ivy League college with your rich cocksucking friends. Not anymore. I won. And while you're bored out of your mind in a clerk office, looking over a million boring reports, away from the action, you'll be wondering, Where did it all go wrong?, and I know it will be me who did it.

Look at me. I've already lost what I wanted to write. I'm too pissed to think. Knew I shouldn't have written in this.

1-10-74: Letters in Research Office, Document Collection A3E

Dr. Jin,

I have received your letter regarding Sgt. Bruckheimer's recent behavior re: confiscation of research instruments. But I must assure you that I will ensure that you receive additional resources in acquiring more apparatuses necessary for your research. I must also disagree with your assessment regarding Sgt. Bruckheimer's mental state. After extensive talks in person, I can guarantee that Sgt. Bruckheimer is of sound mind, and is simply doing what he considers in the best interests of the Insurgency. If you have any additional concerns, do not hesitate to write me again.

General Jackson

1-30-1974: Dr. Jin's Research Notes, Page 75

I haven't received additional apparatuses, despite the repeated promises of such from the General. I am beginning to think that him and the Sergeant are in collaboration.

Regardless, I have to press forward. Already, the Sergeant has been demanding progress on a machine that can easily process S-energy into a form that can mass produce enchanted small arms for profit. I call it the Enchanter, which, while not a completely original name, fits it quiet nicely. It is moving forward at a splendid pace, but not forward enough too his liking. Theoretically, presuming all conditions are met in the design document3, then it should be easy enough that a Neanderthals could use it. Fully automated, with the help of the anomalous and that great fountain of miracles, human ingenuity.

2-8-1974: Unlabeled Document in Admin's Office, Document Collection A3F

Subject's dead. Got a good two gallons of the stuff.

What do you want me to do with it? Sorry for the mess in advance, I got a bit carried away - Scalper

Put it in the container with the rest, and put it in Research. Dr. Jin will extract what else he can get out of it.— Sgt. Bruckheimer

2-8-1974: Dr. Jin's Research Notes, Page 77

That strange man, Scalper, dropped off a barrel. Behind him, one of his lackies was holding two milk jugs, glowing radiantly in the gloominess of the factory. After he placed it upright, Scalper nodded to me, and told the man - a boy, really, barely growing the faint outlines of stubble on his chin - slammed the two jugs onto one of my assistant's desk.

I asked what was inside the barrel. "Cadavers," he said, smiling. "The General finally came through."

"And the extract? How did you get it?"

He shrugged. "Don't know. Above my pay grade."

And with that, he walked out.

Confused, I walked to the container, and opened it up. I had not thought much of it, at least, not until the fresh smell wafted out, and I stepped back as I felt my lunch rise up in my throat, burning. I wasn't even sure what I had just seen. It was just a mass of flesh and cornucopias of red. It was only then I realized that I was seeing a human body, with ripped up legs and feet and arms and hands and organs that piled on top of each other, slushing together.

I stared inside, and, with great trepidation, I began to break it down for the apparatuses. It got easier, the further I got into it. I just thought of it like any other task, some unpleasant thing that needed to be done, regardless of one's personal needs and desires. Still the fear gripped me, and my hands shook as I worked.

I vomited only once. It was when I saw the head, held it in my arms and I saw that it had no teeth. And no scalp.

I need to get out of here.

4-7-74: Sgt. Bruckheimer's Journal, Page 40

The Enchanter is ready. Dr. Jin has finished it.

I see he's lost a lot of weight. I know he wanders around the facility at night, sometimes. I know he stares up at my admin's office. He'll think I'm asleep. I rarely do these days.

I'm thankful that the hatch is sound proof. Smell proof, too.

The Enchanters been outfitted to the assembly lines. The workers are confused as to what it is. That's above their paygrade. Santiago is making sure they remember it.

Speaking of, he's been a lot quieter these days. It's Scalpers doing. He's been talking with some of his men, and, to my surprise, some of them like him. Santiago's afraid they're going to switch the Insurgency proper, and leave him behind. At least, that's what Scalpers new friends are saying about him. Scalper asked if they could sleep up here with him and me. I gave him the go ahead, as long as he kept them in line.

I am so glad I got Scalper. He's loyal, knows how to follow orders, doesn't ask questions. He doesn't complain. He doesn't ask for more and more money. He's a fucking professional. Unlike all of them.

We have 10 gallons of S-energy. We shall be starting the first batch soon.

5-19-74: Letters in Admin's Office, Document Collection A3D


I apologize in advance for the tardiness of this letter. I have been feeling under the weather recently, and have been unable to attend to business as well as I wanted to.

The first rifles you have sent me have had a very positive impact on your reputation among high command. It destroyed a watermelon from four miles away. Simple, but effective, especially considering prior events (I fear that many simply do not understand the true events of Mexico, as you so elucidated to me).

I expect they shall make a tidy profit. Big enough that they won't look too closely. It will, surely, keep the Major General Flint off our backs for awhile longer. He truly has been a thorn in my side since you showed me his true feelings. I know he is suspicious, much more than the others in High Command. He has always been one of the softer ones, unwilling to go above the call of duty for our cause. Unlike you, Sergeant, and unlike his father. That was a man who understood the greater good.

I'll be sending five bodies over the course of the next five months. I hope that you will ensure that each and every one is put to good and efficient use.

Yours truly, Jackson

P.S. The Springfield you sent me has worked splendidly. Reminds me of my grandfather, who fought in the Civil War with one of these. The 33rd Ohio infantry regiment. A more civilized time indeed! Can you make me anymore of these older models?

8-15-74: Dr. Jin's Research Notes, Page 79

I don't sleep much. Nor do I write. When left alone with my thoughts, I freeze up, and I see the head and Scalper smiling.

It's gotten better. But not much. I haven't let anyone else see me dealing with them. I have to push through it. The worst part is that I am getting more from these than I ever got from the old bodies, the ones who probably died less painfully than whatever they're doing.

I know it was Scalper. He occasionally looks at me, and he gives me these knowing eyes, as if he knows that I know. He had to have known I would see it. It was almost like he was threatening me. If it was, it certainly worked.

Scalper has developed a coterie of minions that seem to answer to him. A couple of the Sergeant's men, and four or five of Santiago's men. They look to him for guidance, more than I ever saw them do from their Captain. Even when he threatened to court martial them, they just looked at him, blankly. I don't know if they respect Scalper more, or simply fear him more.

The only thing Santiago could do was walk away.

The Sergeant demands that I do more to create bigger, better weapons. Find ways of making the enchanter go even farther. I don't know if I can, and I certainly don't want to, for I know that if this place is successful, it will create a thousand other monstrosities. It will not stop here. Even if the Insurgency shuts it down, the things that happened here can not go unpunished, not by the universe or God. It will spread, our weapons reaching all over the world, until someone breaks it down and analyzes it and realizes how to make it, and then we shall see a new type of warfare that would make all prior wars seem like simple child's play. Did Maxim ever feel this way, about the monstrosity he created?

10-18-1974: Sgt. Bruckheimer's Diary, Page 44

Jin is still sending letters out. It was alright when it was just to the General, but his constant attempts at contacting High Command have been nothing short of annoying.

I have simply stopped sending them. They all end up in my office. And they piss me off.

'A crime against man', 'immoral use of human lives', 'violating his sacred oath both to the Insurgency and to mankind', and, worst of all, 'unprofessional and not fit for command.'

Would someone as 'unfit' as he says I am, be able to get this place up and running? Would he be able to turn some factory in the middle of nowhere into a profitable business? One that is funding dozens of operations around the world, for the good of man? The world is worth a couple dead Foundies.

The nerve. The fucking nerve. Along with Santiago. He's been requesting - he no longer demands, not with Scalper in the room, no he doesn't - that he be allowed to recruit more men. I had three shot the other day for trying to desert. He stood there and watched as Scalper tested some of our products on them, in front of the others. It took them a couple hours to die, as the tumors consumed them. Scalper, apparently, made them all watch. Just to make sure.

I couldn't use their bodies, unfortunately. But no matter.

Anyway, I told Santiago no. Not worth the money, and I refuse to let him bring anymore of his fools into this mess. He said nothing. He simply walked out, his jaw tight and with hateful eyes.

Everything just feels right.

11-4-74: Letters in Admin's Office, Document Collection A3D

Sgt. Bruckheimer,

I regret to inform you that your superior officer, General Benjamin Jackson, has died under unfortunate circumstances that we believe may be a Foundation plot to destroy high command. As I understand it, you and General Jackson were close, especially in the last couple months. He spoke very highly of you, and your accomplishments at your facility. He changed many minds, and convinced us of your talent and dedication to our cause.

As cruel as it is, however, I did not send this letter purely out of a moral obligation to tell you of a close friend's passing - although that was part of it - but also, out of a need to further our investigation. First, I must provide you some context, for the circumstances are most peculiar.

On the morning of the September 29th, General Jackson's adjunct discovered him at his desk. He was clutching an old Springfield - the one, I believe, that you sent to him - and covered in cancerous growths. Cause of death was multiple organ failure due to said growths. He had no other wounds. Nothing was missing from his desk. He had been complaining of feeling ill many times over the course of the past six months, but not to the extent here. We believed he may have concealed that from us, although for what reason, we cannot say.

If you have any information that may be important to the case - possible enemies, unusual activity/happenings, etc. - please send it directly to High Command. I shall expect a response by the end of the month regardless, as I will be forwarding it to your new commanding officer, General Flint, when he arrives. As he was deeply interested in the operation of your facility, and the fact the two of you have worked close together in the past, we believe him to be the best successor to the late General. He shall ensure that the process is as painless as possible.

My deepest condolences and well wishes,

The Administrator of the Foundation4

11-5-74: Letters in Admin's Office, Document Collection A3D


The little adjunct burned the letters. When I cornered him, he said it was to protect the Insurgency.

But I'll find out soon enough. One way, or another.

Happy Thanksgiving.


11-5-74: Sgt. Bruckheimer's Diary, Page 45

He's going to find out.

He's going to find out what I did.

He's going to ask where the Foundies went.

I'm fucked.

12-4-74: Dr. Jin's Research Notes, Page 84

I knew that something was wrong when I got the first letter from General Flint.

He asked me about our weapons. Asked if there were any side effects. He said that he had been getting some concerning reports regarding them, and wanted to check with me.

I had no idea what he was talking about. We had no reported side effects when testing. I didn't respond at first, for fear of the Sergeant reading it. But I decided that simply denying that it had happened wouldn't be enough, and, sure enough, it wasn't. But the Sergeant rarely leaves his room these days as is, so perhaps he hadn't read it at all. And Scalper doesn't read the mail, as far as I can tell.

I received a response today. I read it, and the accompanying pictures. It was sealed, so I knew he hadn't seen them. Prolonged exposure did things. Sometimes they did nothing. Sometimes they could cause your body to rot from the inside. Sometimes they could backfire, exploding in their hand. Sometimes, it kept victims alive, and turned them into something worse, more monstrous. A whole list of things he had found. He then asked, simply, if I had known, or, if the Sergeant had known.

I have not responded yet, for I am considering my options.

I can do a couple of things. I can either confess, or I can run. Saying nothing is no longer an option, either for my soul or for my life. If I confess, then all the men responsible here will pay for what they've done. It may clear all suspicion of me, and may protect me from punishment if I pin it all on the Sergeant. But I can't do that. I simply can't. All that pain and suffering, both here and out in that world, is my fault, just as much as it is the Sergeants and Scalpers. I would be running from what I have done. I will be letting other people clean up my mess, something I can not, in good conscious, do. I will live with that guilt for the rest of my life, as I should, but I have no hope of recompense if I cannot deal with it myself.

And that's why I cannot run. At least, not without dealing with those two. Maybe, if I do, I can have some manner of peace, for what I have contributed to this hell.

But in order to do that, I would need allies. And I doubt that he will jeopardize his money for morals.

I don't know what to do.

I wonder if he's getting more bodies. It's been a bit since I've had one. That scares me.

12-10-74: Sgt. Bruckheimer's Diary, Page 46

No body. No body. Almost out of juice.

Nothing from Flint. Nothing. I'm jumping at every letter I get. I'm terrified.

I've kept them off my back. Gave them some bullshit about not knowing anything. Are they in on it?

Can't be sure. Trust my gut. Don't trust them. Don't. Don't.

No more body. Can't get more.

I need money. I need to get out of dodge. But I need more extract. I need more FUCKING extract. No bodies = no extract. FUCKED FUCKED FUCKED

Need more. I need it or I'll die.

12-20-74: Dr. Jin's Research Notes, Page 85

I have made my decision. I cannot say that it was entirely my own. Bruckheimer has simply gone too far.

Five days ago, Santiago came in, saying that he had lost one of his men. Now, before, we had set up a man hunt for this. The deserters were chased for at least a week before we got to them. But Bruckheimer, who, as far as I can tell, made his first appearance before us, as Santiago was making much noise downstairs. He looked ill, and he was constantly looking around, and staring. Scalper and the rest were near him, looking at Santiago. I watched this from my Research room, and I listened.

Bruckheimer said it was nothing to worry about. That confused Santiago, who said he had to get out there and find him, to make an example of him. It would kill discipline in his company. Bruckheimer waved him off — literally. He then said that if he wanted to, that was his business, but that he wasn't going to waste his manpower on finding someone of no consequence. Santiago, infuriated, left. He has still not come back, although I believe he will soon.

Now, only a couple hours ago, Scalper dropped off a new body. I thought nothing of it, and I opened it up. Inside, I saw another body, except this time, in a uniform I recognized. It was Santiago's man.

I closed it back up, and collapsed in my chair, and I stared at my hands. They are covered in much blood, I know, and I know that nothing I do can clean out the iron smell and the red stuck underneath my fingernails. When I joined the Insurgency that day, they had told me that when fighting evil, one must be willing to dirty one's hands. To not do so is in an act of evil in of itself. And now I sit here having committed a great evil, I know what they meant, now. One must be willing to dirty one's hands to rid the world of evil.

I will eliminate them. And I suspect that once Santiago discovers what has happened to one of his men, I suspect that he will be in agreement. But for now I must simply wait.

1-4-75: Dr. Jin's Research Notes, Page 86

Santiago arrived on the 1st. In that time, I have been trying my best to talk to him, without Bruckheimer's knowledge. It was only when walking past him in the manufacturing room, near the workers, as he huffed and puffed about some new, horrible thing that Bruckheimer had done this time, that I was able to slip him a piece of paper, telling him to meet me in the woods at night. When one of the guards - one of the few non-Scalper/Bruckheimer men here, an unknown quantity in this new struggle - asked where I was going, I told him that I was going for a walk. I hoped that it satisfied his curiosity.

When he arrived at the specified time, I was relieved. He asked what it was about, that he thought that men like me simply had no time for men like he. I apologized for the inconvenience, and began to explain myself.

I started at the beginning. I explained everything. He had been denied for so long, that I felt that, if I had any hope of convincing him of my course, I would need to show him that I had full confidence in him. I have no idea if it worked. But it was the only way. I have no other allies. I can trust neither High Command/General Flint, nor Scalper, who seems to only be driven by bloodlust.

He did not react as I told him. He nodded, occasionally, and his jaws clenched when I went into the gruesome details. He grasped the concept of S-energy fast, only occasionally asking questions.

After I explained everything up to that point, I then told him the fate of his man. He swore, but his eyes scared me more than his words. Even in the dark, the moon showed me his eyes, and they were piercing with hate and revulsion. He said nothing else, but he stared off into the distance. I continued, and he nodded, as if assuring me he was still listening, but he continued to stare off into the distance with hate.

I then begged for his help. That the only way we were going to get out of this, was if we got out of here. There was no telling what Bruckheimer would do when cornered. Desperate men do desperate, horrible things, and it would only be a matter of time before something bad happened.

Santiago looked back to me, and he sized me up. He then cracked a grin. "Honestly," he told me, grinning at me just a little too widely, "you wouldn't have needed to tell me about my man dying to get me to kill that son of a bitch. Now, though, I'm going to make him fucking scream.

He laughed. I laughed alongside him, and through it, he said we must meet from now, two nights from now, to discuss future plans.

I can only place my faith in him.

1-10-75: Dr. Jin's Research Notes, Page 88

It begins tomorrow.

Santiago organized everything. His men are ready to strike tomorrow. I just need to keep my head down.

One of Scalper's boys have turned traitor. He was one of the last ones to join, and it seems that he was kept in the dark about what they had done to one of his old comrades in the Company. He says that Bruckheimer is attempting to flee the country with the proceeds from one last batch of rifles, as he believes that nothing can be done to clear his name from (in his own words) 'high command sabotage'.

I question how much of this was done out of genuine moral outrage, or simple self preservation. Regardless, he is our way of getting Bruckheimer and Scalper to let their guards down. He has a cousin in the workers barracks who trusts him. He will convince them to come out, as he will say that the workers are on strike. When they run out of the admins office, Santiago's men shall strike. I have tried to convince him to only kill Scalper and Bruckheimer, but I fear that he is out for blood. Perhaps its what they all deserve. But those two more than anyone. And I know how to punish those two, to give them a little taste of their own medicine. When its all over, he will have no one to blame but himself.

I am scared at how fast I have turned bloodthirsty. I try not to think about it, and hope for the future.

In my free time, I have been trying, to the best of my knowledge, to test what the side effects of the products here are caused by. I did so on myself. I requested one - an unloaded one, of course - and have held it consistently for many days now. For five days, I have felt horrible. I have vomited four times. There was blood in there. Not much, but a bit.

I have been constantly checking and re-checking the gun. In this time, I have discovered something: that the S-energy in the gun is decreasing. Every day I have broken a chunk off this gun with a knife or a tool and placed it in the apparatus, breaking it down back to its component parts. Even when taking into account such things as the loss of it to inefficiency, it is unmistakable that it is going somewhere.

I then cut my hand, and let the blood drip into a vial. Five milliliters. It hurt, but I had to make sure. I then placed it into the apparatus.

When I got it back, I saw how much S-energy had been produced. It was about seven milliliters. That shouldn't be possible, unless I have an excess of S-energy on my body, and in my blood stream.

It's poison. These things are poisoned, by him. S-energy isn't made equal. I see that now. When we did these things, we created a horrible, corrosive emotional discharge, one that was born in pain, and could thus only spread pain to everything. It's spreading to us, hurting us, twisting us, just like he did to their sources, those people he tortured for God knows how long.

I am sorry. I was responsible for this. I turned your bodies into that, and infused you into these machines of war.

I hope that I can make things right.

Addendum-7475.2 — Incident Log

On 2/13/1975, during the initial attempts at analyzing SCP-7475-B, personnel accidentally turned it on. SCP-7475-B began to expel smoke and heat up for thirty minutes before turning off, and opening up the output port for SCP-7475-A instances to be placed. Placed in there were two decomposing human cadavers. They received significant physical damage from being crushed (presumably by SCP-7475-B) and mutilated (pre-mortem). Both were wearing GoI-001 related uniforms. One of them, lacking four fingers, a tongue and left foot, was wearing the stripes of a Sergeant; the other had its scalped removed and forcefully placed into its mouth.

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