#I fr do corpse paint when I go to like events….

[ambulatoryhoodie]

Just found out Monster Camp plagiarized my image

Beautiful Glitch, I’m demanding compensation for use of my image and name in your game.

[underfell-crystal]

Item #: SCP-4885

Object Class: Keter

Special Containment Procedures: Currently, it is only theorized that SCP-4885 is contained. To further elaborate, SCP-4885 is contained within an unknown Class-17 Containment Chamber in an unknown site. In the event that SCP-4885 breaches containment, Procedure Invenient Eum is to be enacted, which consists of the following procedures:

Thirty six Class-17 Containment Chambers are to be connected to an independent self-driving vehicle. At all times, 216 inactive Containment Chambers are to be readily available in case of sudden and unforeseen breach of SCP-4885's containment.

One D-Class subject of stable mental health is to be submitted into the vehicle, and driven into the system. A cryptographically secure pseudorandom number generator is to choose a random number between one and thirty-six, and the vehicle is to be transported to a Containment Chamber based on the number chosen.

Each Containment Chamber has a single digital monitor that is capable of outputting video at 720p resolution. Once a D-Class subject is transported to a random chamber, a message is to be sent to every monitor simultaneously. This message consists of the current location of SCP-4885, delivered via an implanted tracking device. The GPS is only accessible by Level 5 Personnel or SCP-4885 containment staff on a need to know basis.

After approximately two hours, each containment chamber is to be transported to a randomly designated Foundation site via self-driving trucks. The trucks are to be disguised as a packaging service in order to prevent suspicion. In the event an accident occurs during this stage, Procedure Invenient Eum is to be enacted again.

No personnel who are aware of SCP-4885's existence are to go within 100 meters of any Class-17 Containment Chamber. Several signs and warnings have been placed around each chamber, labeling it as a water treatment room, and that attempted access is punishable by immediate amnestication and loss of employment as decided by the Ethics Committee.

These warnings tell personnel to report to a nearby Automated Site Overseer of any leaks from the chamber, in which the person will be visually amnesticized by the Overseer, and Procedure Invenient Eum will be reenacted. For more information regarding the composition of Class-17 Containment Chambers, please consult Document 7631.00.

Currently, SCP-4885-1 instances that are located via far2.AIC are contained within Location i. The whereabouts of Location i is only known to far2.AIC. Currently, far2.AIC is connected to 80% of CCTV security cameras within the United States, and 40% of total CCTV security cameras on Earth.

SCP-4885-1 instances discovered by far2.AIC will have specialized Foundation carrier drones to be dispatched and attempt to grab the body, and carry it to Location i, using routes that minimize the chance of unwanted civilian interference. In the event that a civilian notices a drone and SCP-4885 breaches containment, the drone will send an "All Alert" message to SCP-4885's containment team, and Procedure Invenient Eum will be enacted.

In the event that Location i's whereabouts are discovered at large, the next personnel located within Document PAINT-THE-TOWN-YELLOW will establish the next Location i, and their immediate family will be notified of their death.

Description: SCP-4885 is an anomalous humanoid resembling the main character of the popular series of puzzle books "Where's Wally?" (known in the US as "Where's Waldo?"). This entails that SCP-4885 wears a horizontal red and white striped shirt, a red and white bobble hat, and jeans. However, a noticeable difference in appearance from the character is the entity's paler skin and the lack of eyes.

In the event that a subject knows of SCP-4885's current location at any given time1, SCP-4885 will move to the nearest wall and begin to "phase" into it. SCP-4885 will appear inside of the subject, and will reach up the esophagus and grab the subject's chin through their mouth.

SCP-4885 will then proceed to pull themselves through the subject, destroying their internal organs and their spine. Once this has occurred, a yellow liquid will exit the corpse's mouth and will cover the subject entirely, which causes it to become an SCP-4885-1 instance. SCP-4885 will remain in its current location, occasionally patrolling the area, until another person discovers its location once again.

However, if SCP-4885 is close enough to the subject when they discover its location, they will instead approach the subject, attempt to climb into the subject's mouth, enter their abdomen and exit their body through the subject's pelvis. During this time, SCP-4885 can easily dislocate/relocate any joint in its body, and its skin and muscles will gain the consistency of a malleable solid, allowing it to easily climb into and out of the subject.

SCP-4885-1 instances are anomalous corpses that were created by SCP-4885. The entire body of an SCP-4885-1 instance is covered in illustrations similar to those found in Where's Wally? books, with many different characters appearing on the instance's skin. These illustrations originate from the liquid that exits the corpses' mouth. Currently, no instances of the cartoon character "Wally" have been found on an SCP-4885-1 instance. These illustrations cannot be removed from the subject unless the skin it is placed on is removed.

If a subject knows the location of any given SCP-4885-1 instance, SCP-4885 will teleport itself to the subject and kill them in the exact same manner as if they discovered SCP-4885 itself. This will also transform them into an SCP-4885-1 instance.

SCP-4885 was discovered residing in [LOCATION REDACTED] within a small wooden house. Mobile Task Force Chi-19 ("Unrelenting Punishment") was sent to capture an entirely separate anomaly, and did not know of SCP-4885's existence.

Subjects: Amelia Merrick (M-1), James Klein (M-2), Kurt Stoll (M-3)

[BEGIN LOG]

M-1: Mic check.

M-2: Yup.

M-3: All good.

M-1: Equipment check.

M-2: Everything's working as intended.

M-3: Ditto.

M-1: Transcript number… 67. We are entering the house.

M-3: No one's talking to you Melly.

M-2: Oh, stop it. Now is not the time, Kurt.

M-3: Heh, right, sorry.

The group enters the house.

M-1: Initial descriptions of the object were a pair of black spectacles capable of killing the user, and covering their body in strange pictures from an unknown children's book.

M-3: It was obviously Where's Wa-

M-2: Kurt, stay professional.

M-3: I just want to bring some life into M-1's robotic speech.

M-1: I'm trying to keep my job, Kurt.

M-2: Ahem.

M-1: Sigh Right.

The group search the ground floor for the object, and begin to go upstairs. Scraping noises are heard below them, but the group does not notice this.

M-3: There's a picture on the wall.

M-1: Hmm?

M-3: Yeah, looks weird. Looks like crayon.

M-2: Take a picture.

M-3: Already on it.

him.png

The image taken by M-3.

M-2: Good. Think it has something to do with the anomaly?

M-3: Of course. It looks like Waldo.

M-1: Do any of you have an idea on where the object may be?

M-3: Er, I think it's in here.

M-1: Which room is this?

M-3: Um… Bathroom. There's a toilet and a… a shower, yeah. At least I think it's a shower.

The room is circular, with a normal porcelain toilet at the other side of the room. There is a small depression into the floor, leading to a small drain.

M-2: Strange… what kind of shower is this?

M-1: There is a modified sprinkler on the ceiling. There's a switch on one side of the room that, I assume, would activate the sprinkler. Seeing as this house has been abandoned for several years, I doubt it would work.

M-3 activates the switch. Water begins to come out of the sprinkler.

M-1: I stand corrected. Who is paying the water bill for this to work? Is it still hot?

M-3 touches the water, and immediately recoils in pain.

M-3: Gah… it's scalding.

M-1: Who is…

M-2: I have discovered the object. It was rested… uh, resting on the toilet.

M-2 is seen holding a pair of black circular glasses. The lens appear to be missing.

M-1: Good. You know the drill.

M-2 carefully examines the object, checking for fingerprints or any other traces of evidence. A small set of fingerprints are discovered on the temples of the glasses, which are revealed to be his own.

M-2: Yup, these are the ones. I'll put these in a baggie real quick.

M-2 produces a plastic bag from a small container around their waist, and places the glasses inside.

M-3: There's an inscription here. It's in… uh, [REDACTED].

M-1: Where?

M-3: Over here, on the wall.

The phrase "[REDACTED]" is seen on the wall in [REDACTED].

M-3: This was definitely not here when we first got here. Should we just leave it be and tell command about this, or?

M-2: It's most likely memetic. Here. let me translate it. I have training.

M-2 takes out a small Foundation-made translator, and inputs the phrase.

M-2: Huh, well never mind, doesn't appear to be memetic. It says… "The basement. The corpses from a child's book are in the basement. He is there too. Fr-. " And then it cuts off.

M-3: Hm. Take a picture and we'll send it ba-

M-2 begins to groan and hold their stomach.

M-3: Are you okay? What happened?

A set of fingers exit M-2's mouth, and grab their jaw. The hands push down, launching the jaw across the room. SCP-4885 exits M-2's body.

M-1: W-what the f-

Both M-1 and M-3 begin shooting at SCP-4885. The entity charges towards M-1 and shoves their fingers down their throat, and begin clawing into their mouth by unhinging their jaw.

M-3: Please, fuck, oh god. P-please, command. We're at [LOCATION REDACTED]. I repeat, [LOCATION REDACTED]. We need assistance, asap. Help. HE-

The audio is abruptly severed.

[END LOG]

When the transcript was received by a nearby site, the site almost immediately went into lockdown as SCP-4885 killed most of its personnel. The O5 Council enacted an emergency meeting, and Procedure Invenient Eum was created. Shortly after this, the procedure was enacted, and SCP-4885 was theorized to be contained. All information regarding SCP-4885's location of discovery was removed via an automatic algorithm, and SCP-4885's file was created.

You had this bitch on standby didn’t you

[pamphletstoinspire]

Infandum - Definitions: Abominable, Monstrous, Unspeakable, Unutterable.

Image is a detail from “The Procession of the Trojan Horse in Troy” by Domenico Tiepolo (1773)

In 1789 George Washington prayed in St. Paul’s Church, on what we now call lower Broadway, on the day of his inauguration as the first president of the United States. The churchyard was already old. On September 11, 2001, several new corpses were lying on the old graves. Then quickly a temporary morgue was set up in a nearby hotel. All that the founding fathers stood for was contradicted in a thunderous attack on the heart of the city that calls itself the capital of the world.

Grown children had grown accustomed to taking prosperity for granted and had often scorned the virtues that created the prosperity. The frenzied celebrations of the third millennium were largely conspicuous for their cheerful banality. There were fireworks but no great blazing works of art. A generation after men went to the moon, celebrants did circles on Ferris wheels; in London a dome was built with no particular purpose in mind and was hastily filled with just about everything except an altar to God. The general euphoria was tinged with melancholy, almost like that of Alexander with no more worlds to conquer. What to do with endless peace? Some said that history had ended. Then came an airplane flying so low in a city that usually does not notice noise of any kind, that I had to take notice.

Crowds screamed and ran when the first tower fell; when the second came down, many just sat stupefied on the ground and groaned. Those buildings were not widely loved by New Yorkers. In the 1960s when Penn Station was dismantled, they were built with the rebarbative euphoria of the “International School,” whose architects and sycophantic political backers defied everything that had gone before. An architect famously complained that the towers “tilted” the Manhattan skyline.

They stood, nonetheless, tall evangels of great enterprise, and at night when their cold steel was a shadow and their lights flooded the harbor, they could stun sullen eyes. Those who saw them collapse felt a collapse in themselves. About 25 percent of the onlookers are said to have had post-traumatic stress, a syndrome that can be traced back to the silence of our first ancestors as they left Eden in shock. Helpless reporters, kept at a distance, heard from eyewitnesses responses like that of Aeneas when Dido asked him to recount the loss of his ships and sailors: “Infandum, regina, iubes renovare dolorem” (Oh queen, you bid me retell a tale that should not be uttered).

The horrific shock treatment of September 11 has rattled three modern assumptions. The first was the politicized dismissal of natural law. George Washington in his pew at St.Paul’s believed in the inalienable right to life. The primacy of natural law was vindicated when people at the World Trade Center struggled to rescue one another, often sacrificing their lives to do so. A man leaving his apartment to go to work in one of the towers heard his wife crying that she was going into labor. Instead of going to his office, he took her to the hospital and watched his baby enter the world as his building collapsed. The baby’s first act was to save his father. In a world of carnage in Bethlehem, men once heard the cry of the baby who saves all those who call upon Him, through all ages, even as late as September 11, 2001. The thousands of lives crushed on that day will make it harder to say that life doesn’t count.

Secondly, the holy priesthood has been a victim of modern assault. God’s gift of priestly intercession had recently become an object of incomprehension and mockery. Books were written on how the priesthood might be reformed out of existence. A saint once said that a priest is a man who would die to be one. On September 11, a chaplain of the New York City Fire Department, Rev. Mychal Judge, was crushed by debris while giving the last rites to a dying fireman. Members of his company carried Father Judge to New York’s oldest Catholic church a few blocks away and laid him on the marble pavement in front of the altar. Each knelt at the altar rail before going back to the flames. I stayed a while and saw the blood flow down the altar steps. Above the altar was a painting of Christ bleeding on the cross—the gift of a Spanish king and old enough for St. Elizabeth Ann Seton to have prayed before it. More than local Catholic history was encompassed in that scene. For those who had forgotten, the Eucharist is a sacrifice of blood, and it is the priest who offers the sacrifice. September 11 gave an indulgent world, and even delicate catechists, an icon of the priesthood.

The fall of the towers quaked modern man’s third error: his contempt for objective truth. The whole world said that what happened on September 11 was hideously wrong, and suddenly we realized how rarely in recent times we have heard things that are hideous and wrong called hideous and wrong. So many firemen wanted to confess before entering the chaos that we priests gave general absolution. They would not have wanted to confess if they didn’t know the portent of the moment; nor would they have made the sign of the cross if they thought existence was a jumbled quilt of inconsequential opinions. A rescue worker next to me boasted that his lucky penny and his little crucifix had saved him when he was tossed ten feet in the air by the reverberations of falling steel. He got up, brushed himself off, and went back into the bedlam. If he was superstitious, he was only half so. The Holy Father has often been patronized by savants who thought that his description of a “culture of death” was extravagantly romantic pessimism. They have not spoken like that since September 11.

A crowd of people blinded by smoke were panicking in a Wall Street subway exit. One man calmly led them to safety. He was blind, and he and his seeing-eye dog knew every corner of that station. One might say—and if one were rational, one would have to say—that each generation, culturally blinded in ways peculiar to its age, is offered a hand to safety by people whose holiness is often considered a handicap. At the World Trade Center, rescued men and women were heard to use words like “guardian angel” and “savior.” Days later, confession lines were long and congregations stood in the streets outside packed churches. One waits to see if grace will build upon grace.

Perhaps it would be naive to hope that a new Christian consciousness suddenly and smoothly will arise. On a train a few days after the attack, I sat next to a teenager wearing the ritual garb of his atomistic tribe, backwards baseball cap and such. When I recounted how rescuers had kept rushing into 240,000 tons of collapsing ironwork without any apparent thought for themselves, he replied in a voice coached by the sentinels of self-absorption: “They must be sick.” It will take more than one September day to humanize a generation.

We were attacked on what was to have been the day of the primary elections for the city’s mayoral office. One police-man, speaking through a gas mask, gasped how all this chaos made all those candidates and all their “issues” seem so small. (That is only the gist of what he said; he used sturdy monosyllabic Tudor metaphors appropriate to the passion of the moment.) I do not see that problem being quickly cured. William Clinton, still unaccustomed to his reduced place in life, arrived on the scene the day before the president. The spectacle of his pumping up oceans of empathy in front of cameras carried bad taste to a length he had not managed even in the White House. Sobered by the day’s events, the media virtually ignored him. As a chronicler said of Napoleon, “He embarrassed God.” Within days, an organist from another state faxed offers of special fees to parishes whose organists could not manage the number of funerals. A company from Maine advertised hand-held devices that send sonic vibrations to soothe grief.

Such inanities of the human race can only be understood as little burps from Beelzebub’s inferior minions. Beelzebub did not win the day against courage. In a World War II speech, Churchill paraphrased St. Thomas Aquinas in describing courage as the foundational quality for all the virtues. The politicians of his day who wanted compromise with evil do not share a place on his plinth, and nations that were neutral then do not boast of it now. When asked about evacuating Elizabeth and Margaret Rose during the blitz, Queen Elizabeth famously said that the princesses “will not leave unless I leave, and I will not leave unless the King leaves, and the King will not leave.” On September 11, through the roaring and crashing and screaming, it may be that many began to hear Christ the King as if for the first time: “I am with you always until the end of the world.”

Written by: Fr. George W. Rutler