SCP: Find Us Alive - 65: Outside

Episode Date: February 6, 2026

Survivors have been found.This episode was written and produced by Anna Maguire and features the voices of Logan Laidlaw (Harley), Jackson McMurray (Lancaster), Tasch Ritter (Klein), Tabitha Bardall (Love), Anna Maguire (Raddagher), Ashley Quills (Cordell), Vyn Vox (Noah), and features the voices of SCP Authors HarryBlank, GrigoriKarpin, DeskofAltoClef, EmotionalEntropy, Jakmockery, and YossiPossi.Original music by Jackson McMurray.Sign up for our newsletter at hodgepodgeaudio.com for updates, info, art, and more.Join us on Patreon for exclusive behind-the-scenes content! Word of mouth is the best advertising, so be sure to share with your friends if you like the show! Patreon.com/hodgepodgeaudioTHIS EPISODE'S SPONSORS: ccrimsonl, Ducere, Ema_Not_Emma, Flametherex, ovicorv, Eleanor Young, daviyeen, Oozjej, ValerieTilda&Melody, sipof fanta, WhiteFeather, SnugBug, CB, ShinyDrakario, Ellie, CryBabyPhan, PaulYoungThis podcast and all content relating to the SCP Foundation are released under a Creative Commons Sharealike 3.0 license.Advertising Inquiries: https://redcircle.com/brandsPrivacy & Opt-Out: https://redcircle.com/privacy

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Cooperative efforts recovered a number of survivors from the location of Site 107. All of the vehicles are up and running. We are ready for passengers. Meta-back chopper is on the way. Transport to Reno will take about two hours. Everyone's hands were already full by the time we started getting people out. Shouldn't we be wearing PPE or something? PPE for what?

Man, I don't know. Magic and shit? What if there's something wrong with him? We can worry about that when the quick stop. They're out? Do you have a headcount? That's fine. That's fine. We'll have it soon. Do they seem okay? They seem mostly okay, medically speaking.

What are they all wearing? And what's all over their skin? Yeah, we'll need to get some answers about that. These people start to come trickling out of the front doors. They're walking, limbs intact. Very few visible injuries. Fresh ones, at any rate. I call no on the phone for a more, like, personal update. Maybe a little bit of reassurance since he's on the ground and I'm not.

And he tells me... It's certainly difficult to parse. You already knew about the tattoos. I knew about the tattoos. I didn't know about the cutoffs. Somehow, in all the preparations we made, we sort of forgot about how much. time has passed. Half of them had their pants cut into shorts. Some of them were wearing scraps of fabric tied around their heads like scarves. The tattoos I anticipated, but somehow I had forgotten

they didn't have many options for hair-cutting tools. A number of them seemed to have just chopped what they could with office scissors. Others half were gone cutting entirely. Well, of course They're pale. They haven't had real sunlight in months. It's like they've gone feral or something. Better give them their shots. We've got vaccines set up at the quarantine building. Not many injuries.

Lots of bruises, a handful of security personnel walking with limbs and crutches, but we don't see any blood. Up aboard, everybody. You know what tells me that most of the volunteers offering to drive or stay in, like, closer contact to the survivors are non-foundation. probably from Wilson's or the serpent's hand.

Makes sense, if you're already spending your time around uncontained anomalous people and places and objects, that's a few more hours. I helped them load into the vehicles. They're all staring, their eyes so wide, I can see the whites around their irises. Even in just the floodlights,

doesn't look like fear. It's shock, just regular shock. In the gym of the community center, we have bedding and blankets and water and food. There's a half dozen people in a restaurant kitchen in the same block making 200 sandwiches. We mark volunteers who come into close contact with them. We draw an X and permanent marker on the back of their hands. As the survivors walk in the doors, we feed them through a line of volunteers, handing them whatever we think might protect us from them.

Rain ponchos, net trawl gloves, and 95 masks. Anything cheap that we could lift from the local medical clinic? Plenty of mess these days. We all know it won't do anything like meaningful to protect against anomalous effects. But it makes the volunteers feel better. This way, sweetheart. Down to the end of the hall and take a left. Anyone with prescription medication, check in at the medic table on the far side of the gym.

We have refills for everyone according to your medical information on file. Emergency on the right, non-emergency on the left. Sanitary napkins and tampons in both bathrooms on your right. Over there, love, off you go. We're out of men's medium shirt. Take a large. Once you've changed, put all clothes in this bin here. It takes the better part of 40 minutes to get everybody out, and then my phone links.

Can we make it out? What does he look like? I don't know. What's the final head count? 90. It was dark outside. But most of the town's lights were out as a result of the evacuation, which meant we could see the stars. past the open doors of the AB floor

into the ground level and past the security checkpoint It's what I saw first Above the mass of body silhouetted in front of me I could see a slip of stars over their heads I was the last one out of the building It didn't hit me until I felt it I saw the stars

saw the Milky Way in fragments through the doorway, but it still didn't feel real then. It's an illusion, the anomaly warping my mind and my vision. And then I felt a breeze blow in, cold air, cold in the spring midnight, a bright, living chill. And I smelled air, real air, past the scent of vehicle exhaust,

human bodies, the smell of the clean desert. I always thought I would cry when it happened. But I didn't. I just started shaking. Every step took deliberate concentration, like I would forget how to walk if I took my mind of it. My vision blurred. I grew light-headed, but I kept walking.

The world muddled into a dream, like a watercolor painting left in the rain. I hardly remember being hurted into a minivan. I was too focused on taking the deepest breaths I could, trying to remember everything I could smell, dust, and sagebrush. I imagine the sound must have been chaos. All of those people shouting and engines running, the aching thrum of the helicopter rotors,

the medivac that Dr. Gravitt wouldn't need after all. It wasn't until I was buckled in and we were rumbling our way down the private road toward town, toward the community center turned quarantine that I truly realized I had survived after all. The blast didn't kill me. In the moment, I struggled to remember what happened.

The explosion. It rattled my skull and rang through my body in a hard-edged wave. I recalled a loud splitting noise and someone grabbing my arm, hauling me up from my chair. I think my office collapsed. It's not as though I could go check to be sure.

I will confess, once I stepped out past that door, once I saw that the others had breached the threshold and were in the immediate moment, safe, they left my mind entirely. I became so unbearably conscious of every moment, every individual second, that perceiving beyond my own skin felt impossible. I was shuffled into the community's sense. Center. Someone gave me a shot, some kind of new vaccine. A volunteer handed me a pair of scrub pants and an old stiff t-shirt. The t-shirt said Wagner Company Basketball Tournament 2012.

I couldn't remember the volunteer's face if the fate of the world depended on it. Another volunteer at a different folding table gave me a plastic water bottle and a cheese sandwich. Behind a plastic privacy screen lifted from the clinic, I changed out of everything I was wearing and into these makeshift uniforms. Something the foundation could assume was less tainted than what we were wearing when we came out. I dropped my clothes into a pile with everyone else's. I doubted I would see them again,

unceremonious after wearing them for six months. And then I sat on a blue mat on the floor of the gym. Half the lights were off. The volunteers had dimmed the light. as much as possible. Smelled like old sweat and harsh cleaning chemicals. We were advised to get some rest, but I couldn't sleep. How could I possibly manage it?

For a few hours, I laid on that mat, staring up at the metal crossbeams in the ceiling. Once or maybe twice, a tremor like an aftershock rattled the building, but no one seemed to react. The others were somewhere in that room. Klein, Love, Radiger, Lancaster. I looked around for them. Klein was talking to a volunteer who seemed to be gently trying to get her to sit back down.

Lancaster was a few mats away, asleep, dead to the world. Love and Radiger were on the same mat. Love curled up into a ball in Radiger's arms. I realized Dumptruck must not have come out with us, or if he did, he was confiscated while I wasn't paying attention. My eyes found a window then. The gym itself had two exterior doors. They both had windows in them and the glass laced with metal wire

to prevent them from being broken by errant sports equipment. Outside them, the indigo dark of Nevada night. I watched those windows and I lost track of time. And then, the black began to wash into a saw. soft blue. Most everyone was asleep by then. I stood up and walked to those doors. Tried the doorknob. It was unlocked. I propped the door open with a dusty rubber wedge and I sat on the single concrete step outside, overlooking an empty parking lot. It was cool, bordering on cold. My little stoop-faced due east, I realized as the lights spread into the sun.

outlining the ragged edges of the low mountains in the distance. I wanted to close my eyes and listen to the birds, the insects. But I couldn't pull my eyes from the horizon, where it grew pale blue and then pale yellow. The door opened behind me. Lancaster sat down beside me. He didn't speak. Neither did I. I couldn't look at the sun when a...

finally came up from behind the mountain in a band of red. My eyes had grown so sensitive. For months in the dark, I could barely keep them open. I went from squinting to shading my face with my hand, to keeping them closed entirely. But even with them closed, my vision was red behind my eyelids. I felt the light and warmth on my face. I promised myself quietly that I would never miss another sunrise. They moved us all out by the next afternoon.

That was days ago. I haven't seen the sunrise since. I've barely seen the sun at all. Self-administered interview. Name Dr. Amelia Cordell. Position, Site 64 Head of Communications. Concerning Incident 6320-C, which occurred July 2020-2020. Begin log.

First of all, I already told somebody I don't know why it happened. I don't know what happened to any of them, and his recordings didn't tell us anything either. It's Tuesday. I only know because I have a paper calendar on my wall. There's nothing besides it to distinguish one day from the next. I tried journaling properly with a notebook and paper. It was something they were happy to provide me, cheap and easy. but it didn't feel right.

It felt like a performance, like my words were being filtered through my pen into something curated rather than a string of my own thoughts. It's ironic that orating feels less like putting on a show. It took some convincing to get them to give me this. This is a more expensive piece of enrichment than a composition notebook and a ballpoint pen

from the dollar store in town, but they did only give me the cheapest one they had lying around. Or maybe they also got it at the dollar store. Who knows, it's not as though they'd tell me anything. The guilt I feel for what we did to the D-Class, and Lancaster, is immense. Site 107 was not designed to contain humanoids.

In retrospect, it comes across as deliberately cruel the way we built prison cells for the D-class, instead of simply adding a few more dormitories, with higher security, and may have even saved money. But Lancaster and... Lancaster and Greeley, all they had were cots. Greeley was a dash three at the time, and that seemed to negate his need for entertainment somewhat,

but Lancaster wasn't. And we didn't give him enough to do. Just blank walls and fluorescent lights, books he'd already read, a tennis ball, A portable DVD player. Windows in my standard humanoid containment unit. The lights dim automatically based on the day and night cycles above me.

After what my clock claims to be 8 p.m., I can turn them off, but I can't turn them any brighter. Sunlamp bulbs, supplements, three square meals a day delivered through a box on the wall like an airlock, a working kitchenette, a bathroom, a bedroom with a full-sized mattress, a desk, and a particle board bookshelf. a couch and a TV connected to the Foundation's Entertainment Library server, a laptop computer with a word processor, a couple games, and no internet connection. No contact with anyone outside of the staff assigned to our case. If I had to guess, I would figure we're in site 17.

It's the biggest containment site for humanoid anomalies, after all. I am not anomalous, as far as the tests have concluded, but the facility works just as well as a quarantine. I'm grateful that they haven't found a reason to conduct invasive testing on me. Aside from blood work and a few other predictable biological samples, most of the screening has been interviews, questions. A parade of experts, day after day, after day, prodding for chinks in my hypothetical armor,

checking the boxes down the list of items they usually check when they're trying to separate the ordinary from the unusual. But even if they find nothing extraordinary about my person, that may not be the end for me. In a few days, I'll be moved to my new workplace. Site 131 in Reno, Nevada. Nevada again.

I wonder for all being sent there. I can only hope so. I was trying to keep up with what was happening to them. Like, I had some kind of responsibility, you know? And, like, I didn't trust Sight-O-1 to take the best care of them. So I kept trying to get information. I finally have news about Nevada. I was wondering why you're out for so long.

I had to meet a contact. Are you being safe? As much as possible. Dinner's going to be ready in a... 15 or so. I might wait for later. I'm not that hungry. Neither am I.

So, a word is that... Babe, I'll be on. honest, I don't know if I have the energy to keep talking about Nevada. Neither do I. I like it to be over. Maybe I'm just trying to rush through it. Rush through what? They're out safe.

They've been out safe. It's been almost a month. I thought you would want to hear about it. I'm sorry. I do want to hear about it. I'm just stressed out. Harley hasn't been good about responding since they let everybody out of quarantine. He's been through a lot. Okay, I'm ready. What are the updates?

The foundation is in conversation with more than just the UIU now. Who? The global occult coalition. It's international? Seems like it. What about the hen? They've disappeared. It sounds like unit 131 of MTF Town 9 tried to reestablish contact, but after site 01 pushed our volunteers so hard for names and descriptions, they're in the wind. Eh, at least the quake stopped. For now. We don't have any reason to think they'll start again. The UIU is still fidgety about it.

What more closure could we possibly give them? Time. They just need to wait and see that everything has smoothed over now, like it always does. What does the GOC want? I don't know. I couldn't get that far. Wow, a lot to offer.

They sent agents to the site. There's no way they have better equipment than we do. They have different equipment than we do. Hmm. I really wish he would tax me back. Don't push him too hard. I'm scared he's drinking again. He might be.

I wish they hadn't separated them. I think it's easy for us to forget how the foundation feels for everyone else. Not everyone has in a moment. Not everyone has a Noah. We're mostly on our own. We don't have to be. No, we don't. Some of us are working on it.

You and I both, but it may be a while. I don't have the patience. I have enough for us both. How about this? I'll keep seeing what I can pick up through the Great Vine. I'll write it down for you so you can read it when you're ready. No, you can tell me. I want you to tell me.

I can handle it. And if it gets worse? I think I'd rather know. It's not like I'm gonna get anything from Harley. Maybe not. Not unless I keep trying. No pushing. Not pushing.

Besides, what's the worst that could happen? I started trying to get more of them to talk to me. Dr. Cordell. It's all to like... Anyway, I'm just calling to see how you're readjusting. I saw that you're in Chicago? Every once or twice. Sure is from...

The mailbox is full and cannot accept any messages at the same time. Goodbye. Well, you kind of filled up his email inbox. I searched the site staff registries. I asked friends. I called other comms people. Nobody named Ingrid Radiger. Can you check with someone who does?

Well, who is head of security there? They have to know. Has there a name right? here under auxiliary staff or she got transferred to 107 got it can you ask her to call me back can you ask the person you asked to talk to her to tell her to call me back please just do it so half the staff records are outdated plenty of our contact lists have been updated in two years or more it's not like talking to every single comms operator was easy or even doable still had like my regular job to do on top of it all But I did find a lot of them, though.

I found Harley's friends all in different places all over the country. None of them would talk to me on the phone. They were discouraged from it by their directors. They were being watched more than I was, I guess. Although, you know, I'm not watched closely enough. We're like, we wouldn't be dealing with all this. Come on, please. Hello.

Harley! Hi, hi, it's Dr. Cordell. Hi. I'm so happy you picked up. How's it been? That's good, right? Give you some time off to figure things out again? They're not paying me as much.

Oh, I'm sorry. Oh, don't be. It's not anything I wasn't prepared for. Maybe you could ask for full time. They wouldn't listen to me. Maybe not some people, but others listen to you once. I just don't want them to, like, erase what happened to you. One difference would it make if they did?

A lot. We got close, Harley. We got really close to something. Change or something. I don't know. I'm worried that if we lose all your recordings, we'll lose whatever progress we made. We didn't make any progress. What are you talking about? Did you see the number of people who showed up in Nevada? Unpaid leave. People cashed in PTO. It took them years to build up. And the other volunteers from outside the foundation, we still don't even know the real count. And here we are.

And here you are. Out. Safe. You act like it was better on the inside. Yeah, well, the grass is always greener. What's that noise? What noise? What are you doing over there?

I don't know how I describe it. It wasn't like I knew something was like really wrong. I would have reported it if I knew that they were... The point is it was a... impossible to tell the difference between genuinely unusual behavior due to outside forces and ordinary trauma responses. I talked to Harley. I texted Klein and love. I emailed Lancaster. I kind of stalked Radikers' terminal activity. It's not like they were all acting strange the same way. It was all just a different flavor of off for each one of them. And for anyone else I could find, I was hearing from other comms operators that there were disciplinary measures happening.

other non-standard behavior. Some of them are going to therapy more than usual. Somebody was put on probation for doing something with a pencil. I don't know. All I know was that I wasn't making any progress in bringing them back together, and I thought they were just different. Different in a normal way. Different in a...

I just got out of being trapped in a tunnel for months, eating nutrient paste and oatmeal and watching the same six movies over and over kind of way. You can't predict how you'll like... react to that kind of thing. It comes from too far down inside you. I assume we all had it in us. Maybe if someone put me in a hole for that long, I would also end up talking in circles and cutting myself off from my friends. I thought maybe the only reason Harley was bothering to pick up my calls at all was because he was used to calls from his family, more than the rest of us are. But then there was one phone call. It was really weird. He didn't say

much at all. But it was one of those ones where you're like, oh, he's... He might hurt himself after this. Something Overwatch Command? I'm not Overwatch Command, but continue. Now that I'm on the outside, it's almost like I notice that there's something in the air out here that wasn't there on the inside. Someone I knew, a task force agent was in Reno for something. She was on site.

Like, uh, ozone. Like the way it felt to put your fingers up to an old... Z-R-T. Like, you can't feel the static. I didn't want to ring the fire alarm or anything, so I asked her to, you know, check up on him. I got to get pushed through it, and it would be clear on the other side.

It would be clear and clean. I told her to go knock in his dorm door or something, because I knew he would still be in the building at that time. For all your worries about who was real, I think you had it backwards. I'm real. I didn't know what was happening. We're on the inside.

I swear I didn't know. And everything in here... Incident 6320B. Between 452 p.m. and 7.41 p.m. on July 18th, anomalous events were reported from varying foundation sites across the United States, notable instances of which are listed below. Nanticoke, Pennsylvania, an armored vehicle carrying mobile task force Epsilon 6, Unit 58, collided with a concrete traffic barrier. Minor injuries reported. North Lansang, Michigan. Unreported theft of an anomalous object by junior researcher Mosler.

Bloomington, Indiana. Medical staff failed to resuscitate Dr. Amaya Hopkins. Birmingham, Alabama. Containment breach of SEP followed by SEP due to subsequent damage. Personnel and various sites across the country also report an estimated total of $7.5,000 lost in missing whiteboards and writing services, desks, laptop computers and monitors, furniture, bathroom stall walls and doors, office doors, and sheetrock panels. Incident involving injury and casualties were due to the sudden vanishing of one or more individuals. Due to extensive tracking measures placed beforehand, it was quickly determined that the missing individuals were every surviving staff member of the defunct site 107. Four days following the disappearance of staff members and D-class personnel, seismic activities surrounding the town of... Lovada has continued to increase in severity.

The foundation has received no transmission from previously functional communication channels. Episode 65 was written and produced by Anna McGuire. The voice of Harley is Logan Laidlaw. The voice of Cordell is Ashley Quills. The voice of Noah is Vin Vox. Featuring the voices of Harry Blank, Rigori Carpin, Yosi Posi, Emotional Entropy, Jack Mockery, and Desk of Alto Clef. Original music by Jackson McMurray.

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