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- Luke 1:1-4, King James Version Content warning: This article contains child abduction, religious trauma, ritual child abuse, and racism.
rating: +198+–x content warning Threat Level: Orange WWSCSTT school building, circa 1979.
Special Containment Procedures: As of 09/23/2009, SCP-5952 is uncontained.
Agents are to collaborate with WWSCSTT faculty and security to collect and document information pertaining to sightings, testimonies, and disappearances related to SCP-5952. Mobile Task Force Theta-6 ("Witch Hunters") is to be sent into the premises of WWSCSTT as needed to patrol the grounds for SCP-5952.
As per the Hierophant Accord, no cameras are to be brought onto the premises.
Tracking devices of any kind are prohibited. Agents may not enter the chapel, dormitories, or any unmarked buildings except in the case of a confirmed SCP-5952 • sighting within such areas. Finally, agents may not communicate with the student body unless instructed to by faculty.
Description: According to eyewitness accounts, SCP-5952 is a bipedal humanoid entity in excess of 2.4 meters in height. Its physiology is reportedly misshapen: SCP-5952's legs are asymmetrical, its right leg slightly shorter than its left, forcing it to limp. Its feet end in club-like bone protrusions.
SCP-5952's facial features consist of a slanted, toothless mouth and two eyes.
Assuming witness sketches to be accurate, the positioning of SCP-5952's eyes would leave abnormally large blind spots in its vision.
SCP-5952's torso appears to have forced it into a hunch.
Despite its physiology, SCP-5952 is reportedly capable of feats of strength and speed equivalent to those of a theoretical human of its size in good health.
SCP-5952 has been spotted exclusively in and around the Whitewater Second Chance School for Troubled Teens (WWSCSTT), a rehabilitory boarding school for delinquent teenage girls located ~21 km from the village of Whitewater, Mississippi. Accounts of SCP-5952 suggest its primary motivation is the stalking and kidnapping of the WWSCSTT student body; victims of SCP-5952 frequently report sightings prior to their eventual disappearance. Among faculty, SCP-5952 is known as "the Warbalang".
To date, victims of SCP-5952 consist entirely of students enrolled in WWSCSTT.
SCP-5952's intentions are presently unknown; no victim taken off the premises of WWSCSTT has been recovered dead or alive.
HISTORY On 6/14/2009, agents of GoI-5705B ("First United Temple of the Dixieland")1 contacted the Foundation for assistance in containing SCP-5952.
Despite forewarning for WWSCSTT administration, initial task force deployments were denied entry to the premises. When challenged, WWSCSTT representatives cited obscure but ultimately binding clauses in the SUSEOCT2, showing that entry outside the terms set by WWSCSTT would legally resolve as hostilities against a signing party.
WWSCSTT subsequently provided Foundation liaisons with terms of "acceptable interaction", citing concerns regarding the nature of SCP-5952 and the suspicion it may have connections to the Foundation. Only upon agreement to the terms (designated "the Hierophant Accord" by WWSCSTT administration) would the SCP Foundation be allowed to operate within the campus. Attempts to negotiate for less restrictive measures were rejected.
On 7/08/2009, the Foundation accepted the terms of the Hierophant Accord.
INTERVIEW-5952-A DATE: 7/09/2009 SUBJECT: Pastor Roy Warbler • • • [BEGIN LOG 1] Agent Belloso: Let the record show that Father Warbler- (Agent Belloso cuts himself off) Agent Belloso: Affirmative. Apologies.
Pastor Warbler: You've got nothing to apologize for, young man. And even if you did?
Well, you came to the right place.
Agent Belloso: Right, right. So, I assume you've already been briefed about my organization, and what it does.
Pastor Warbler: Much respect to the SCP Foundation, by the by.
Agent Belloso: (brief pause) … right. Let's cut to the issue, then. Just for the record, Whitewater School has apparently been the target of a number of kidnappings in recent years, all of which have been centered around the Whitewater student body. Due in part to budgetary concerns, the campus has been unable to install a camera system, and as such no images of SC-apologies, the anomaly have been obtained by either party. No victim of the anomaly has been located.
Pastor Warbler: Such a sick man, targeting those poor girls. But they're vulnerable; not a lot of people outside the church are gonna notice. That's why he does what he does, I'd wager.
Agent Belloso: The school, you mean.
Pastor Warbler: Well, Whitewater ain't exactly public, as y'all call it. First and foremost, we're a school. We're also a church, if my title ain't tipping you off. Fundamentally, it's all the same: someone's teaching you something, whether that be math or Matthew.
Agent Belloso: I suppose your situation is… unique, in some ways.
Pastor Warbler: Brother, you could say that again. Not too many schools gotta deal with a demon that ain't piggybacking off a body, mind you.
Agent Belloso: Demons?
Pastor Warbler: Certainly, brother. Demons all around us, hiding in the sinful cracks within the temples of our bodies. I say it's only gotten worse since I was a boy, all the good work the church is doing. Hell, you seem like the kind to be carrying a demon yourself, and no offense intended, young man. You'd do well to pay Elder Rockwell a visit before heading back to the city. I think he's in today.
Agent Belloso: I'm… never mind. So you believe this is a demon.
Pastor Warbler: Brother, if a beast calls itself a "Warbalang" and steals kids into the night, well I'm not sure what else you call that.
Agent Belloso: Fair enough… and for the record, I think you meant "berbalang"? In which case- Pastor Warbler: I meant what I said, young man. 'War'-'buh'-'lang'. It's what I hear the kids call it, and I can only assume they learned it through some unholy communion with the damn thing. The type's among 'em.
Agent Belloso: Then you believe the ber-Warbalang was summoned.
Pastor Warbler: That's a theory, and I don't know how they do it in the city but a "theory" don't pass here. But I figure some of them gotta be talking to it if they know its name.
Agent Belloso: Interesting. Do you have any… suggestions, on which students we should be talking to?
Pastor Warbler: No.
Agent Belloso: Pardon?
Pastor Warbler: These ain't chickens and they ain't in your basket. Even if one of them summoned that damn Warbalang, they're our wards, and we can't be letting the new folk do whatever they please with 'em, can we?
Agent Belloso: … right, thank you.
[END LOG 1] CLOSING NOTES: Let the record show that Father Warbler subjected me to the most invasive search I've had in my career. - Agent Belloso INCIDENT-5952-A VELASQUEZ-FORD On 08/04/2009, WWSCSTT faculty contacted the Foundation regarding recent sightings of SCP-5952.
While sightings reportedly spanned across the campus, internal cross-referencing on the part of WWSCSTT revealed that they primarily occurred within sight of Luna Julia Dominguez Velasquez, a 14-year-old Chilean-American student with a history of substance abuse. WWSCSTT administration concluded that SCP-5952 was plotting to kidnap Ms. Velasquez, and requested assistance from the Foundation and GoI-5705-B in strengthening security.
As per the Hierophant Accord, no video capture was allowed on the premises. As such, Junior Field Researcher Marcus Ford of MTF-θ6 was tasked with documenting the situation through digital audio recording.
Excerpted transcripts have been provided below. The original logs, as well as full transcriptions, may be requested from RAISA with appropriate clearance; however, the tapes appear to have been interfered with prior to recovery.
+ 08/05/2009 AUDIO LOG-5952-A [BEGIN LOG 1] A faint rustling can be heard.
Researcher Ford: This is Junior Researcher… Ford, Field Researcher for Theta-6, Witch Hunters, reporting at Seven sharp, August 5th, 2009. Theta-6 was flown in yesterday for SCP-5952, and… Ford briefly trails off.
Ford: Am I doing this right?
Agent Schumer: Don't sweat it, Ford. Just get it all down, and you'll be fine.
Ford: Oh, alright. Ma'am, yes, ma'am. Or… is it supposed to be chief?
[EXTRANEOUS DATA OMITTED] Ford: And again, thank you, chief. Right, Theta-6 is helping Whitewater with containment measures, as well as… United Dixieland Church, Group of Interest 5705-B.
We've been given reign to look through campus and buildings, though Whitewater's apparently blocked off special zones with a red tape. If I'm not mistaken, crossing that is gonna be… it's forbidden by the treaty. So… don't cross those.
Ford: Theta-6's contact with command will be limited, as Whitewater is sparsely connected to the info grid. Hell, they don't even have CCTV. Hopefully, well… hopefully we'll make it. I'm confident.
Ford: Agents Samson Whateley and Rene Belloso went out to the faculty mess for breakfast. I should probably follow.
Ford pauses.
Ford: Over.
The tape recorder is switched off.
[END LOG 1] [BEGIN LOG 2.1] Log 2 begins in what sounds to be a mess hall.
Agent Belloso: -but I can't stand your jokes.
Agent Whateley: Come on, you laugh at 'em.
Belloso: Especially because I laugh at them. And besides the point. Ford?
Ford: Sir, yes, sir.
Belloso: Now that you've had your breakfast, I'd like to talk about whatever put that look on your face.
Ford: Sir, elaborate, sir?
Belloso: First, just call me "Officer". Second, Theta-6 learns to spot when something's amiss. Can you tell me about what you encountered on the way here that has you looking like that?
Ford: Sir, it's just nerves, really. I… Ford trails off, before continuing with a sigh.
Ford: … way here, one of the students just approached me and… struck up conversation. She… ah, yes, sorry, I misspoke and she was actually faculty, right.
Thanks, chief.
Ford: So… so she comes up to me, and I guess JFR dress code looks like a uniform, cause she talks like I'm a student. Talks about how odd it is for a man to be here, probing me with questions, you know. None of them really stuck out, I guess, all typical for a black… man in a whitish girls' school. But… Whateley: She was stiff? Didn't blink? Ticked like a clock or moved like a muscle?
Ford: No, it wasn't her, no. The questions… I mean it just felt like some kind of survey.
I… I got it recorded, the questions, but they'd be along the lines of "how often do you cry", "are you allergic to seafood", "do you believe in a god". Just… and sometimes, depending on how I answered, she'd shake her head or smile or tell me to take up or break a habit. It's… I mean again, I got it on tape, and it's really hard to describe, yeah?
Belloso: Odd. You think you can give us a listen after breakfast?
[END LOG 2.1] [BEGIN LOG 4.1] Ford: Junior Field Researcher Ford, approximately 800 hours. Theta-6 has just been… briefed?
Belloso: Researcher Ford played us a tape. It's… curious, to say the least. Between this and Father Warbler's statement, it seems the student body plays a less-than-passive role in sub-veil activity.
Whateley: Really? Cause it sounds like this school just sort of sucks.
Belloso: Really.
Whateley: Really! This reads like code, a sort of "here's how not to get your ass whooped" that the teachers won't whoop your ass for.
Agent Belloso sighs.
Schumer: I don't know, Sammy. Some of what she's saying… she asks Ford about castration anxiety. Suggests he drink less water. And… well, who just drops "shame red isn't your color" out of nowhere? He wasn't even wearing red.
Schumer: And honestly? I think that regardless of whether or not this is some kind of witch child or just a battered one, the point at which you stop the new kid for a quarter of an hour to probe his life story is not the point of innocence.
Whateley: So, they're up to something. How does that tie into 5952?
Schumer: Far as I know, it doesn't. But it does ties into its victims.
Ford: The ones we're not allowed to talk to? Because… Ford cuts themself off. All remain silent for several seconds.
Belloso: … Ford, do you think you could give us some privacy?
[END LOG 4.1] [BEGIN LOG 4.3] Researcher Ford appears to be wandering the campus, alternating between humming, whistling, and singing show-tunes to themself. Their footsteps suggest they are outdoors, though within the reasonably maintained grounds.
Ford: (Singing to themself) "Who will deny that you and I and every n-" Unknown Man: Well met, young man.
Ford sputters, coming to a stop.
Unknown Man: Relax, young man. Really, I quite liked it.
Ford: Uh… who are you?
[DATA LOST] Ford: Right, right. Uh… name's Ford.
Unknown Man: Ford, Ford… that's a fine name. I haven't met too many Fords, but they're always a treat when I do. Walk with me?
Ford: S-sure. And thanks. [DATA LOST] ain't a bad name either.
One of the pair, likely the Unknown Man, resumes walking, and the other subsequently follows.
Unknown Man: A lot of people will tell you the Mississippi summer is unbearable.
Maybe they'll flee to Maine or Minnesota during the dog days. Me? I love this little slice of heaven. Smelling the flowers, listening to the trees. You know what I'm talking about.
Ford: Right.
Unknown Man: Of course, I'm not one to be stupid. Summer's the time of sunburns, of mosquitoes, of heat strokes. Humans weren't made to withstand the full brunt of God's love, glorious as it is. God's love is divine. Us humans, we ain't been divine for… four thousand years, give or take.
Unknown Man: God knows that, of course. He knows all. So God gives his love, and God takes his love. He knows that it's that darkness, that little bit of misery, that lets us appreciate the love. That even, sometimes, lets us mete out that love properly.
The sound of crunching and snapping underfoot suggest the pair are walking upon less- maintained grounds.
Unknown Man: You get what I'm saying, right? The heat, the sun, that's love. But when you're drowned in that love, 24/7, it stops feeling like love. More like hate. But it's still love, a tough one. That's Hell.
Ford: I… that sounds appropriate, I guess.
Unknown Man: So summer is the season of love.
The pair continue walking for several minutes. Eventually, their footsteps become infrequent, suggesting difficulty in navigating terrain.
Ford: You're a bit weird, but in a good way.
Unknown Man: It's good to be weird, young man. It's how we get innovators.
Ford chuckles weakly, then stops. The Unknown Man stops shortly thereafter.
Unknown Man: See something?
Ford: Nah, nah, it's just… man, I don't know if I'm supposed to be out here. I'm with… I'm with South Carolina Public, you know? I gotta be on board case they need me. How are they supposed to call when I'm walking the forest, yeah?
Unknown Man: Rest assured, a nature walk is the perfect- A sudden beeping interrupts the Unknown Man.
Unknown Man: Fiddlesticks. Wait here, alright Ford?
The Unknown Man is heard disappearing further into the woods.
Ford: … shit, man.
[END LOG 4.3] [BEGIN LOG 4.5] Researcher Ford can be heard walking through the underbrush. Suddenly, they stop.
Ford: … that ain't right.
Ford approaches something, slowly, stopping twelve paces into their approach.
Ford: … I'd take a picture of this if I had a camera, so I guess I gotta describe it. Right… I'm standing in front of some old, wooden… cellar door? There's no building, not any that I can see, so I gotta assume this leads to some kind of maintenance tunnel. I don't know how far I am from campus, these woods are something else, but even so this place is ridiculously rural. Some sorta power plant, defunct or otherwise?
Ford: The doors are pretty well maintained given the rest of the woods. Red-painted wood. Not about to call them "pristine", but if you told me there was a party going on down there I might not jump to the worst conclusion.
Ford: Touching them, they're colder than I'd guess. The paint's dry and the handle's wood, so the cold might be coming from inside. This place still active?
Ford tries one of the doors, pulling it open with some effort.
Ford: I think the hinges need some oiling, but all in all this door definitely works. Back of the door is… well, it's painted brown, like dirt. Taped to it is… Ford trails off. The sound of something ripping can be heard.
Ford: That's going into evidence. [DATA LOST] Ford: So, looks like the cellar leads to a stairwell. Little steep, railing on the side. The light's not giving me too much more, so hold while I get my flashlight ready.
Ford can be heard setting their bag down, rummaging through it for their flashlight. After half a minute, Ford can be heard removing something from the bag and clicking it.
Ford: … son of a bitch.
Ford sighs.
Ford: Can't go any further. Looks like the tunnel was taped off by Whitewater. Guess that explains that.
Grumbling to themself, Ford dons their pack and walks off.
[END LOG 4.5] [BEGIN LOG 4.6] Ford can be heard walking through a thick undergrowth, whistling show-tunes to themself.
Eleven minutes into LOG 4.6, a distant snapping sound can be heard. All of a sudden, Ford stops and becomes silent. They wait for several seconds, before resuming their trek in silence at a slower pace.
Ford's pace gradually quickens, though they attempt to remain silent. Less care is taken to avoid branches as the recording goes on.
Eventually, Ford catches themself on a branch, screams, and begins running. The sound of distant snapping can be heard more clearly during this time. Near the end of the log, the snapping is accompanied by a series of pained wheezes.
Sixteen minutes into LOG 4.6, Ford can be heard falling to the ground. They do not appear to get up, and the tape remains silent for eight more minutes, until a series of footsteps and the voices of what are assumed to be students can be heard. The voices chatter indistinctly for several seconds, until an Unknown Girl emerges from the crowd.
Unknown Girl: Oh heavens!
The Unknown Girl rushes over to Ford, possibly dropping to her knees. The tape recorder is switched off soon after.
[END LOG 4] [BEGIN LOG 5] The tape recorder is switched on.
Unknown Girl: Praise the Father, creator of the universe, who… who stands firm at the gates of Heaven against the unclean hordes. Praise Jesus, my light in the storm, who watches over the calf in the abattoir and the goat in the clutches of the unbaptized butcher. Praise the Holy Spirit, by which His miracles are made manifest. Praise… no, no.
Unknown Girl: Father, be merciful unto the wandering Canaanite in the land of blood and b-basalt. Who… damn it, who knows not the evils of… The Unknown Girl grumbles in frustration.
Unknown Girl: Jesus, I implore you to have mercy on this man, as… you have my flock.
Send him your angel of clay to combat the boneless… the boneless malevolence around him. Let not the Father or his eunuch angel bring him to harm. I know you will not fail him, for through God, all things are possible.
Unknown Girl: Amen.
The tape recorder is switched off.
[END LOG 5] + 08/06/2009 AUDIO LOG-5952-B [BEGIN LOG 1] The tape has been switched on in an outdoor area. The sound of footsteps can be heard for several seconds.
Unknown Girl: You dropped this, sir.
Ford: … huh?
Unknown Girl: This is yours, right?
Ford: I mean, yeah, but… I really shouldn't be talking to you, ma'am.
Unknown Girl: Call me Luna, and no worries. Good luck!
"Luna" can be heard running off.
Ford: … wait, how long's this been running?
The tape recorder is switched off.
[END LOG 1] [BEGIN LOG 2] Ford: This is Junior Researcher Ford, Field Researcher for Theta-6, Witch Hunters, reporting at… noon-something, August 6th, 2009. I've got a killer headache and I'm due for a rabies vaccine the minute medical gets back.
Ford: Agent Whateley says they found me mid-day, passed out just inside the campus grounds. Says I must have passed out outta fear, no injuries to the head. I think… it's a bit of a blur, but I remember being chased by SCP-5952, or something like it. I didn't get a good look at it.
Ford: Update on Elder [DATA LOST] Ford: So… yeah. Agents want me to lay low for a while, or at least keep it inside.
There is a pause, before the tape recorder is switched off.
[END LOG 2] [BEGIN LOG 3] The tape recorder is switched on; however, Researcher Ford remains silent for approximately forty seconds.
Ford: … no, I don't remember recording that. I… The tape recorder is switched off.
[END LOG 3] [BEGIN LOG 4.1] As the tape recorder is switched on, air conditioning can be heard in the background.
Ford: (whispering) If I had a camera, I could prove that I didn't cross a red tape. Still, I feel like this is a matter of "forgot", because a ton of these doors are taped off.
A pause.
Ford: Sorry, let me backtrack: I'm standing in what looks like a cross between my old high school and a utility tunnel. Possibly ground level, I haven't been on too many stairs.
Place is empty; not sure what they intended to use it for.
Ford sighs, and begins walking.
Ford: You know, I always wondered why the Foundation wanted to keep all the idle chatter on record. I mean, you come in as an intern and it's… it's complicated. On one hand, you wanna be professional, say only what you need to. But wandering these halls, I gotta wonder: what needs saying?
Ford: It doesn't feel like I'm any closer to the mystery of the Warbalang. How does a kooky ol' priest, a woodland maintenance labyrinth, and… and whatever's up with those students play into it all? You think the Foundation would give me some string to pin a corkboard, rather than talking to myself.
Ford: … wonder if that's why they keep it on record.
[END LOG 4.1] [BEGIN LOG 4.4] Ford: … that's new.
Ford: You can't see it, but I'm standing in front of a door. It's big, some kind of metal, with a window. I can't see much of anything inside. Now, around the door is red tape, but get this: the tape along the floor's been scratched up quite a bit. If the tape were a wall, I mean, I could probably fit through the alleyway.
Ford: Logically, I shouldn't.
A pause. After several seconds, the sound of scraping metal can be heard.
Ford: The handle was cold, and the air from inside's colder still. This ain't lit, but that's why I- Researcher Ford suddenly begins retching.
Ford: … the things I do for the kids.
Something clicks, and Ford presumably steps into the room; the tape picks up sounds of an unspecified heat pump device. Ford remains silent for several seconds, and presumably walks around examining the room. A soft squishing noise can occasionally be heard.
Ford: This is a freezer, yeah, but I don't know if it's for food. Doesn't smell edible.
Dissection? I could spend an hour talking about what I'm seeing here.
Ford: Stepping back: the freezer's organized into shelves. What's on the shelf… it's a lot. I'm seeing what looks like a lamb shank, sitting by its lonesome. And mind you, there's the occasional ceiling hook, so… I don't know. Next to it looks like a jar of… hrm.
Some kind of strip of meat, lots of them, all in a single jar. Still bloody. Might be… chicken gristle? The kind you find in the cheap cuts. I don't know.
Ford: Weirdest thing isn't on a shelf. There's some workbench, you know, in the freezer.
Spot of blood in the middle, as well as some tools, a jar of… looks like a pickled squid.
Makes sense, there's also a tray of tentacles off to the side. Are they supposed to look like that, though? Halfway up the tentacle, it looks like the suckers just end.
Ford: Assuming someone works here, I don't… this ain't school stuff.
A pause.
Ford: So what did she mean by "boneless malevolence"?
Sighing, Ford exits the room, resealing the freezer door. The squishing sound is still faintly audible.
[END LOG 4.4] [BEGIN LOG 4.7] Ford: Realistically, I probably should have- Ford cuts themself off as they stop walking. They remain silent for a little over a minute.
Ford: … that's a camera.
The tape recorder is switched off.
[END LOG 4] [BEGIN LOG 5] As the tape recorder is switched on, Researcher Ford sighs, knocking thrice upon a wooden door.
Pastor Warbler: (through the door) Just one second.
After a few seconds, the door opens.
Warbler: Ah, you're with… SCP, right? You don't look like temple folk.
Ford: Right, er, right. Theta… I'm with the people trying to find the Warbalang.
Warbler: Well, the enemy of my enemy is my friend, so I see we're already well acquainted, young man.
Ford gulps.
Warbler: Young man, why don't you have a seat? I'd love to hear progress on the case so far, if you got any. You do have progress on the case, don'tcha?
Ford swallows again, and takes a seat.
Warbler: … don't tell me you're pulling my chain, young man.
Ford: No! No, I… I-I have, well, I've gotten… well I've seen a lot, sure, yeah, it's just, there's piecing it together. I feel like there's- Warbler: How hard could it be, young man? It's a demon with a limp, surely it can't be hard to track. Unless you've been complicating things, your job is far easier than you're making it sound right now.
There's a brief pause. Ford's breath is audibly ragged.
Ford: … I think there's something in the school.
Another pause. Warbler suddenly laughs.
Warbler: What the hell are we paying y'all for?! Of course there's something in the school! I knew that and you knew that! We have its name, for Christ's sake!
Ford: That's not what I- Warbler: I ought to report y'all to the BBB for wasting my time. "Ha ha, I'm the SCP Foundation, for five easy payments of heaven knows how many zeroes on your damn checks, we'll sit on our thumbs and tell you everything you already knew about the literal demon out for your children! We're the good guys!" Warbler: You're lucky this is 2009, boy, because if you sat there looking stupid back in my day- Ford: I don't think the Warbalang is working alone!
Warbler, whose next words had been obscured by Ford's interjection, cuts himself off.
There is another pause.
Warbler: … an insider, then. How did you… come about that?
Another pause.
Ford: Do you know what a "eunuch angel" is?
Warbler: No.
Ford: What about… say, "the land of blood and basalt"?
Warbler: No… but I assume that means "Hell".
Ford: "Boneless malevolence"?
Warbler: You mean "benevolence".
Another pause.
Warbler: You haven't been listening in on our sermons, have you? I appreciate your dedication to the Lord, but you have a job do, son.
Ford: But, what does it- Warbler: It's another way to say "the Holy Spirit". More importantly, brother, I'm very concerned with how you're handling this investigation. It sounds to me like you stuck your nose where it didn't belong, jumped to your own conclusions, then came to me with a lurid tale based entirely on a half-remembered sermon.
Warbler: Anything else?
Ford: I… one more question.
Warbler: Yes?
Ford: We were briefed that you didn't have CCTV. But I was exploring, within the red tape, mind you, and… I saw a camera. Why… why didn't you tell us?
Another pause.
Warbler: Bless your heart. You've just been fucking with me.
A loud crash can be heard. Ford screams, possibly falling out of their chair and running from the room. They continue running for approximately two minutes, before the tape recorder is switched off.
[END LOG 5] [BEGIN LOG 9] Whateley: -this place. It's creepy as hell and I can't even take a piss without asking the faculty.
Schumer: Come on, Sammy. We've got a job to do, you know?
Whateley: Not according to them. Are we some kind of set dressing? "Oh no, you can't film the creep stealing children! What about privacy? What about fucking privacy for the fucking cradle robber?! Think of the children, or at least the thing that steals them!" Belloso: Samson.
Whateley: You listened to those tapes, Ren. "Too rural" my fat ass! Cameras!
Belloso: We don't know that.
Whateley: So Ford's a liar, now?
Belloso: Of course not. But right now, all we know is that somewhere on campus, there's something that looks like a camera. Getting information out of that camera is another issue entirely.
Whateley: Semantics, Rene.
Belloso: Well, Agent Whateley, why don't we go down there ourselves? Look for everything Ford missed.
Schumer: I… Agent Schumer trails off. All remain silent for several seconds.
Belloso: … yes, Agent Schumer?
Schumer: Well… I mean, at this point, do they… I have to concur with Sammy. How much do they actually want us to solve this case?
Belloso: Enough to pay us, agents. Why else do you cram four people into a crowded tent on the edge of the woods? Enrichment? We're not hikers, and let's not pretend we're anything more than magic cops with a lower market rate than the next most competent bidder.
Belloso: And you know what? Yes, I'm just as confused about everything I've heard as everyone else on the force. But evidence of a third party is evidence of a third party, and you can't charge tuition fees on a missing child. We can stand to play along with their delusions if the alternative is an unconditional victory for SCP-5952.
All remain silent for several seconds.
Belloso: Ford, Schumer, you two get some rest. Samson, let's table this business until after night watch, alright? We'll look into this tomorrow, as a team.
The tape recorder is switched off.
[END LOG 9] + 08/07/2009 AUDIO LOG-5952-C [BEGIN LOG 1.1] The tape begins in an indoors environment, against the sound of AC. Several sets of footsteps can be heard as Researcher Ford clears their throat.
Ford: This is Junior Researcher Ford, Field Researcher for Theta-Six, and it's- Another agent says something indistinct.
Ford: (now whispering) Right. Witch Hunters is investigating the Whitewater maintenance tunnels, or whatever they are. Overfill classrooms? Storage? I don't know.
Ford grumbles, and remains silent. No words are spoken for approximately four minutes, although MTF-θ6 occasionally stops, presumably to inspect their surroundings.
Finally, MTF-θ6 arrives in an area with an audible heat-pump device. Something causes Ford to grunt in apparent surprise.
Schumer: (indistinct) -Ford?
Ford remains silent for several seconds.
Whateley: You alright, buddy?
Ford: Uh… yeah, yeah. I think… I think I saw a rat. It looked like it was shaved.
Whateley: I don't like this school.
MTF-θ6 continues.
[END LOG 1.1] [BEGIN LOG 1.3] Ford: (still whispering) Having kept better track, I know we're underground right now, so keep that in mind.
Ford: We're standing at the edge of a hallway, about fifty feet or so. The walls are a bit… drab? Off-peach paint, dotted with one or two of those motivational posters they had in grade school. Fluorescent lighting, but two of the three are flickering something fierce.
Six doors, the kind where you're not sure if it's wood or plastic. Reminds me a bit of the old hall they had the Sunday school classes in back when I was a kid.
Ford: At the end's a stairway. Goes up, maybe to the surface. I'm getting a bad feeling from it, and I don't know how much of that's the scenery.
Ford: Whenever y'all're ready.
MTF-θ6 advances slowly, their footsteps muffled by carpeting.
Ford: Door one, right side. Looks like there was a nameplate here, but it's gone now.
Blocked off by red tape. Continuing on.
Ford: Door two, left side. Still got its name plate. Looks like… yeah, "Sunday school teen". Doesn't appear to be blocked off. Officer Belloso?
Agent Belloso can be heard grunting in affirmation, before knocking on the door. There is no response, and the door is opened shortly thereafter.
Ford: … not sure what I expected. Room looks like a Sunday school classroom. Some drawers, few posters. Looks pretty clean, but it is Saturday. And… Ford sniffs.
Ford: Hrm. Smells like… a bit like your hands after eating lox. Not as tasty. (slightly louder) Anyone else smell that?
Silence.
Ford: Right. Belloso's moving to door three, on the left again. Nameplate says it's… says it's Elder Rockwell's office. No tape, but I don't know if Elder Rockwell wants to see us right now. Right. We're skipping this one.
Ford: As for door four, on the right again… nameplate says it's- [END LOG 1.3] [BEGIN LOG 1.4] The existence of Log 1.4 is purely speculative, derived from the sudden shift from the end of Log 1.3 to the next section of audio.
[END LOG 1.4] [BEGIN LOG 1.5] Researcher Ford, audibly crying, is heard running through a hard-floored hallway.
According to the sound of footsteps, they are most likely alone; however, a steady squelching noise can be heard in the background.
Approximately three minutes pass, and the squelching gradually diminishes to the point of inaudibility; however, Ford continues running for approximately four and a half more minutes, before collapsing to the ground with a shout of pain.
Over the course of six more minutes, Ford remains silent save for sobbing. Suddenly, they make an effort to quiet themselves.
Further down the hallway, the sound of hobbled footsteps can be heard.
Ford soon attempts to silently crawl away, picking up the tape recorder. Meanwhile, the sound of footsteps continues, and begins getting louder.
Approximately a minute later, Ford suddenly screams. They remain screaming as the footsteps get closer and are soon joined by a series of pained wheezes. It's at this point that the tape recorder is thrown at something hard, eliciting a sharp grunt from an unknown figure.
The footsteps stop; the pained wheezes do not.
The tape recorder is switched off.
[END LOG 1] [BEGIN LOG 2] It is presumed that due to its differing gait, constant wheezing, and apparent unwillingness to speak, the Unknown Figure currently in possession of the tape recorder is not Researcher Ford.
The Unknown Figure appears to be present in an air-conditioned room. It soon abandons the recorder on a hard surface, only to return several minutes later with what appear to be books. The Unknown Figure proceeds to flip through the books in apparent hurry, occasionally grunting in apparent distress.
After several more minutes, the tape recorder is switched off.
[END LOG 2] [BEGIN LOG 4] The Unknown Figure appears to be crawling through a cramped indoor environment.
Two figures, identified as Agents Belloso and Whateley, can be heard from behind a wall.
Belloso: -isn't the time, Samson.
Whateley: I hate it when you try to play smartass, Ren. You didn't know shit about the Veil until they scooped you up and spat you onto the force. You know that I've been this, Ren?
Belloso: Really. Apologies, then. I wasn't aware that children were expendable assets.
Whateley: Fuck you, asshole! Was Amelia expendable? What about Ford? Was all this just some stupid sacrificial fucking pit to throw half of Witch Hunters down? Are we just going to hope the Warbalang gets too fucking fat on the meat of an actual adult and every tool they had on hand to stop it? "Let he who is without sin cast himself into the fucking whirlpool"!
Belloso: Samson, what's gotten into you?
Whateley: I don't know, but I hope it gets into you. Yes, I worry about the mission, yes I worry about the children, but what kind of saviors can't even save their own? We need to go back for them, Ren, God damn whatever came out of that pool.
Both remain silent for several seconds.
Belloso: … fine. We'll backtrack, looking out for Schumer and Ford as we do. But if we find anything of interest to the mission along the way, we take care of it first. Alright?
Whateley: Right. And… Both remain silent for several more seconds, before Agent Whateley sighs.
Whateley: … I'm sorry, Ren. For all of that. I just… Belloso: You're forgiven.
The two can be heard walking off. The tape recorder is switched off shortly thereafter.
[END LOG 4] [BEGIN LOG 8] The tape begins with the Unknown Figure inside what is presumably the freezer from the day before. With it is another Unknown Entity, apparently still but making a constant gurgling sound.
The Unknown Figure paces around the room for several minutes before suddenly stopping. After a few seconds, it sets the tape recorder down.
Over the next minute, a wet smacking can be heard as the Unknown Entity begins screaming in apparent pain. Finally, it goes silent.
The tape recorder is switched off.
[END LOG 8] [BEGIN LOG 14] Unknown Girl: (distant, singing) -to the brim with girlish glee, three little maids from school! Everything is a- The tape recorder is switched off.
[END LOG 14] INCIDENT-5952-B SCHUMER-VELASQUEZ-FORD On 08/08/2009 at 10:31 AM, WWSCSTT administration forcibly detained Agents Rene Belloso and Samson Whateley as they explored the campus grounds. After subjection to a round of enhanced interrogation, the two agents were informed that Luna Velasquez had gone missing, and that the SCP Foundation was considered at fault for her disappearance.
Agents Belloso and Whateley protested; however, WWSCSTT procured Junior Researcher Ford's tape recorder as evidence of collusion between SCP-5952 and the Foundation. With this in mind, WWSCSTT filed a suit against the Foundation.
Following an impromptu convention of SUSEOCT representatives, the Foundation was officially declared at fault for the disappearance of Luna Velasquez3, and subsequently coerced into paying reparations to WWSCSTT in exchange for Agents Belloso and Whateley.
Agent Amelia Schumer's remains were found on 08/14/2009.
Contrary to claims by WWSCSTT, the whereabouts of Junior Researcher Ford, SCP-5952, and Ms. Velasquez are unknown.
INCIDENT-5952-C-FORD On 10/19/2009 at 22:01 PM, Elliot Ngo, a resident of Whitewater commuting along MS 26 from his job in the town of Starling, reported a short male of African descent dragging a bound figure of indeterminate origin along the side of the road. The pair was apprehended by the Whitewater Police Department; LITTLEKATIE.aic, which had been tasked with monitoring the executive organs of Whitewater, subsequently alerted the SCP Foundation. Mobile Task Force Gamma-691 ("When Something Interesting Happens") was immediately deployed in response.
Agents arrived at the station to find an African-American male and an entity of indeterminate species in custody; upon spotting the agents, the male immediately produced a valid ID for Junior Researcher Markus Ford. Both were taken into custody of the Foundation.
An immediate medical evaluation of Researcher Ford indicated severe malnutrition and dehydration, as well as trauma responses incongruent with their known psychological profile: Researcher Ford now displays acute cleithro-, teuthi-, and mechanophobia, as well as extended states of hypervigilance. They are mentally unfit for interrogation as of the time of writing, and have been placed on an eight month psychiatric leave.
The entity captured by Ford, presumed to be SCP-5952 and tentatively designated URA-5952, has been genetically identified as an instance of SoI-0044. At the time of recovery, it possessed numerous bruises indicative of struggle, as well as a deep puncture wound in its back. Due to the dearth of information on SoI-004 physiology, little more can be ascertained at present.
In light of Incident-5952-C-Ford, URA-5952 will be designated SCP-5952 and transferred to the jurisdiction of USNVBR-Site-56 after 1 year without incident. Until then, URA-5952 will be contained at Outpost-691 per SoI-004's guidelines.
+ Show (1) Proposed Additions On 04/29/2010, the annual full-capacity activation of the Foundation PANOPTICON surveillance network was conducted. During this time, PANOPTICON's resident Artificial Intelligence Construct5 flagged footage of a teenage girl in a public park in Toronto, Ontario. A review by the office of O5-10 determined the woman to be Marie Romero, a 15-year-old Cuban-Canadian female who had recently immigrated to Canada.
When questioned, however, ASE.aic denied that the figure was Ms. Romero, insisting her to be the missing Luna Velasquez.
Foundation Overwatch was initially skeptical of such claims, citing [REDACTED].
However, investigation by agents embedded in both the Canadian and Cuban governments revealed severe inconsistencies in Ms. Romero's documentation.
Furthermore, medical records of Celia Fernandez, Ms. Romero's maternal guardian, were inconsistent with those expected during Ms. Romero's birth, and no formal adoption documentation relating to either of her guardians could be found.
Agent Bowers was dispatched to investigate the Romero family, under the cover of impromptu census work.
INTERVIEW-5952-I DATE: 05/12/2010 SUBJECT: PoI-6119 ("Marie Romero") [BEGIN LOG 2] Agent Bowers: Good afternoon, Ms. Romero. Or would you prefer if I call you "Marie"?
PoI-6119: Am I in trouble?
Agent Bowers: Don't worry, Ms. Romero, this is just routine survey work. Some of this might sound a bit silly, but I promise you there's no wrong answers, and once we're done I'll be on my way. Alright?
Agent Bowers observes that PoI-6119 pauses, before nodding.
Agent Bowers: Good, good. (Agent Bowers flips to the next page of his handout) Now, our records are a bit… jumbled, one could say. There's a tiny bit we need to work out in demographics. So… religiously, how would you say you identify?
PoI-6119: Er… Jewish.6 Agent Bowers: Right, right. So… how about ethnically?
PoI-6119: Well… latina? Or hispanic. I don't know if it makes a difference. I mean, I was born in Canada, so… yeah.
Agent Bowers: Eh, we'll put you down for either.
[EXTRANEOUS DATA OMITTED] Agent Bowers: Good. (Agent Bowers flips to the next page of his handout) Now, the state of Canada is testing viral advertisement techniques in order to improve the quality of its PSAs. As part of this, you might have come across an image, video, or portion of text you may or may not recognize.
PoI-6119: Alllllright. Shoot.
Agent Bowers: Right.
Agent Bowers presents PoI-6119 with the first image, a mental primer for the two-factor Class-W Mnestic cognitohazards inserted into the subsequent pictures.
Agent Bowers: Can you tell me what this is?
PoI-6119: I… like, you mean like a rorschach?
Agent Bowers: More… what you think the image is.
PoI-6119: I… moldy garden hoses?
Agent Bowers: Right, right. This one?
Agent Bowers presents PoI-6119 with a picture of Ava Fernandez, PoI-6119's supposed maternal grandmother. Ava Fernandez died on 02/21/2008; the picture had been taken two years before.
PoI-6119: … I don't… I don't think I've seen this, no. Is it… is the brightness supposed to be like that?7 Agent Bowers: That's alright, that's part of the campaign. Now, what about this?
Agent Bowers presents PoI-6119 with an image of URA-5952.
Agent Bowers: What about- PoI-6119: No. I haven't seen this.
Agent Bowers: Huh. This was the one we thought would work. Have you at least heard of "the Warba-" PoI-6119: I. Haven't. Seen it.
Agent Bowers: … right. What about this?
Agent Bowers presents PoI-6119 with a print-out of the phrase "BONELESS BENEVOLENCE". Both remain silent for several seconds.
Agent Bowers: … you don't need to spend so long on it if you don't remember it.
Arguably, that you don't remember it is just as helpful to know as if you did.
Both remain silent for several seconds.
Agent Bowers: Is some- PoI-6119: Don't take me back.
Agent Bowers: … what do you mean by that?
PoI-6119: You don't have to do this. Please don't — (PoI-6119 interrupts herself with a whimper) … I promise I'm better. I'm clean.
Agent Bowers: I… don't worry, Ms. Romero, we're- PoI-6119: I swear I've learned to love the Lord. I repudiate the egregore8. I repudiate the flesh that envies. I repudiate Eve and Lilith and the serpent and (stuttering) I, I, I s- submit to, to the Lord and his Red R-right… PoI-6119 begins sobbing.
PoI-6119: I swear I didn't want to escape with the Warbalang, I swear I swear I swear I didn't mean to get caught and I swear I'm not troubled anymore and- PoI-6119's words become indistinct as Agent Bowers is suddenly and forcefully dragged away from her, eliciting audible shock from him. Agent Bowers is dragged along a wooden flooring, before a door is opened.
Mrs. Fernandez: I think it's time for you to leave.
Agent Bowers is forcibly ejected from the premises.
[END LOG 2] CLOSING NOTES: PoI-6119 and her family have refused further contact with the Foundation. Due to their exposure to mnestics, amnesticization has been delayed.
SUSEOCT prohibits further investigation of WWSCSTT.
Footnotes 1. A subsidiary branch of the Horizon Initiative active in the Southern United States, and a party to the SUSEOCT.
2. Southern United States Extranormal Organization Cooperation Treaty.
3. Of note is that GoI-5705B's representatives voted against the Foundation unanimously, the only GoI to do so.
4. A near-extinct offshoot of humanity with a highly malleable physiology, thought to have been the product of controlled breeding efforts by Homo sapiens decensus.
5. ASE.aic 6. Ms. Velasquez's family were Christian Baptists; Mrs. Fernandez is ethnically Jewish, though her family is religiously atheistic.
7. Under laboratory conditions, "brightness" has been reported among 49% of those exposed to the two-factor mnestic cognitohazards, with 76% of such cases occurring among the control group without relevant memories.
8. In certain occult sects, an "egregore" is a sapient being created from the thoughts and desires of a collective.
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