The SCP Experience - Fighting the Future | SCP-4989

Episode Date: June 23, 2025

When mysterious black-clad figures begin abducting Foundation guards, a researcher’s search for answers leads him to a war-torn future where he must confront the unthinkable: the enemy is himself. This story was derived from ⁠⁠https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-4989 and is released under Creative Commons Sharealike 3.0. ⁠⁠https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/⁠⁠ * * * DISCLAIMER: This episode contains explicit content. Parental guidance is advised for children under the age of 18. Listen at your own discretion. #thescpexperience #scp #scpfoundation #scpencounters #securecontainprotect #scpstories Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

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Depos minimum of $10 dollars. Veil to pay They're responsible. The conditions apply. The first time I saw one of them was 16 years ago. I had only been working for the foundation for eight months then, and I was still so shocked by the daily discoveries I made. Back then, I was only dealing with minor entities.

As a fresh-faced researcher, the smell of grad school still clinging to me, I had no idea the atrocities I would come to regard as routine in the years ahead. eight months, I wasn't sure I could handle the job. The things I saw while doing my research made my stomach churn and my bladder contract. But I realized it was important work. So, despite my discomfort, I toughed it out. The armed guards that called Site 23 home held a certain fascination for me. Upon reflection, I believe it was because they represented protection and force. These men and women were well-trained and athletic. They were tough and confident. Two things I had never been. I latched on to a small group of them, becoming close friends with a man named

Moyas. We both had an affinity for horror movies and post-metal music. Moias captivated me with stories of his family. He had two little girls that were his whole world, although I had no partner and no real urge to have children. I reveled in the apparent joy Mois's family brought him. After a few months of working together, he invited me to his home and I got to meet his family. They were every bit as wonderful as Mois said, and I bonded with them as quickly as I had bonded with the tough but gentle Moyes. Most days, we had lunch together in the cafeteria, along with several other guards, researchers, and assistants. It was one of the one of these days, April 10th, when they first showed up. Back then, I hadn't even conceived of

such a thing as them. The O5 Council kept many such incidents on a need-to-know basis. Moyes sat across for me at the table, eating his lasagna and side salad. To his right sat another guard, a woman named Kinder. On his left was a junior researcher with whom I had been working on one of the three skips I was assigned to. His name was Blanche. We'd been discussing a particularly bad movie about a haunted pool when six people suddenly blinked into existence in a line between our table and the adjacent one.

At least, I thought they were people. They were humanoid, but dressed, head to toe in black cold weather suits, complete with black masks and goggles that obscured any features. Since they appeared behind Moyes, Kinder, and Blanche, they couldn't see them at first. But I had a good look at these six people. I had a good look at the weapons they wore in holsters on their hips, and at the small emblems on their sleeves,

emblems that featured the letters S-C-P. The crowded cafeteria went silent for a long moment as this sudden intrusion sank in. Even if Moyaz and the others sitting on that side of the table couldn't see the black-draped figures standing menacingly behind them, they could sense the change in the air. The pregnant silence ended violently as shouts exploded from all around the room. With a fork still held in my hand, I gestured dumbly behind Moyez, trying to get his attention

and tell him what was going on, but unable to find the words just yet. As the shouts exploded, the six dark figures started moving. My friend dropped his fork and started to turn around, going for his sidearm. But one of the six figures reached out toward his shoulder with one hand. As soon as the figure touched my friend, they both disappeared. Another figure reached out for Kinder, but the guard was quick, and she ducked under the figure's hand, pulling her sidearm out and firing at her attacker from two feet away. Blood sprayed out from the figure's back as the bullet punched through its chest.

Meanwhile, the four other figures were darting toward the other guards, positioned around the cafeteria. That was something I put together even in my panic. They were only going for the guards. At the time, I thought it was because they posed the greater threat. Now, I know that's wrong. That was not why these black-clad figures went for the guards. Even as the one kinder shot fell to the floor, the other figures were grabbing guards and disappearing with them.

The cafeteria erupted in chaos as researchers and assistants ran for cover, or cowered under tables. As I lurched up from my seat, I glanced down at the person Kinder had shot, Seeing the figure disappear, leaving behind only the blood that had splattered the floor. Before I even made it five yards from the table, it was all over. The figures had disappeared, along with five guards, including my good friend Moyes. That was the first time I encountered them, but it wasn't the last. The second time I encountered these mysterious figures was three years later.

I was no longer just a fresh-faced researcher. I had climbed the ranks and was a second. supervisor overseeing eight researchers working on 16 different skips. Before that first encounter, I had never really given much thought to a managerial career. At that time, back when I wasn't even sure I could handle working for the foundation, all I wanted to do was experiments. The politics and the handling of a managerial role had never appealed to me. But right after Moyas was kidnapped, I stormed to my supervisor's office and demanded she tell me what was going on. Dr. Fletcher was a matronly-looking woman with a steel backbone and the ability

to switch from your friend to your boss seamlessly. She told me that everything was under control and that the O-5 Council was well aware of the situation. I grew furious, yelling at her. If she'd been a man, I might have thrown a punch. Thankfully, I didn't. And she put me in my place with her steely gaze and her cold as ice demeanor. It was that interaction that fueled my desire to climb the ladder. I no longer wanted to be just a researcher. I wanted to become a supervisor so I could do a better job than Dr. Fletcher had, so I could protect the people who worked for me. Three years later, when my second encounter with the figures happened, that heated conversation with Fletcher was not lost on me. This time, it happened late at night. As usual, I was a little. As usual, I was a

working after hours in my office. The facility was fairly quiet, with most of the researchers and guards gone for the night. Suddenly, an alarm erupted throughout the facility, causing me to jerk straight in my chair. A moment of confusion engulfed me because it wasn't a containment breach alarm. It took me a second to recall what the alarm was for. There were intruders in the building. I had been instrumental in having the automated alarm system installed, but it had been nearly a year and a half since it had been used, and at that time, it was just a drill. Yanking my tablet up from the side of my desk, I quickly found live footage of the offenders. My stomach went heavy and cold when I saw that the intruders were wearing all-black uniforms

with small SCP emblems on the sleeves, along with the same black masks and goggles I'd seen three years earlier. They were in the barracks, where overnight guard crews stayed in case of a containment breach. I wasn't thinking as I lurched to my feet and ran out of my office, knowing that the barracks were only one floor down. Even now, I don't know what I expected to do down there, but I ran nonetheless, half watching on the tablet as these figures disappeared with guards. By the time I reached the barracks, a short gunfight had erupted and settled. On the tablet screen, I could see that there was only one black figure left, and he was injured, having been shot in the leg by one of the remaining guards. The guard in question now lay unconscious, having been stunned with some kind of electricity weapon the figure carried.

I knew from the footage that this man and the injured guard were on the other side of the barrack's door. Still not really thinking, I pushed through the door and interrupted the figure as he reached down to touch the unconscious guard. The tinted goggles obscuring the figure's eyes fixed on me as he turned his head at the sound of the door opening. Seeing that I wasn't a threat, I was not armed after all, the figure resumed his mission, which entailed touching the guard so he could no doubt disappear with the man. But something strange happened then. The figure did a double-take, those tinted goggles coming back up to fix on me. Although I couldn't see his eyes, I felt them on me, studying and scrutinizing me.

I stepped forward. Who are you? The words seemed to bring reason back to the figure. He reached down and grabbed hold of the unconscious guard. They disappeared. I heard shuffling behind me and turned to see one of the junior researchers standing in the doorway, his eyes wide. What the hell was that? It's under control, I said, only realizing as the words came out that I was in the same position as Dr. Fletcher had been three years ago.

It's under control? The researcher said, unbelieving. Are you kidding me? What was that? I recognized the need to maintain the illusion that the foundation was in control. If I told this young researcher the truth that I didn't know, it would spread like wildfire throughout the staff. How many would quit?

How many were like me when I first started? Unsure if they could continue working with these unexplainable things. Like Fletcher did years ago, I said the only thing I could. The O5 Council is aware of this problem and is working to remedy it. Don't worry. We'll get them back. As I spoke these empty words, I couldn't bear to face the man. So I turned and surveyed the barracks just to give my eyes something to do.

That was when I saw what looked like a piece of paper on the floor, near where the figure had fallen when he'd been shot in the leg. While the junior researcher spoke in harsh tones, unhappy with my response, I moved over and picked the item up, seeing that it wasn't quite a piece of paper, at least, not any kind of paper I'd seen, It felt more like a flimsy piece of opaque, white plastic, but it was as thin as paper.

I turned it over in my hands, looking at both sides, finding that it was blank, except for a faint oval-shaped outline in one corner. Seeing that the oval was roughly the shape of a thumb, I pressed my right thumb to the outline and was surprised when words showed up on the material. From the Overseers Council. Some of you are concerned about recent events at Site 89. I have heard your concerns, but I want you to rest assured that the Shah's forces will not be taking the site. The Mirage continues to hold steady, and the sharding cannons are functioning properly. There is nothing to worry about in terms of our defenses. I've also become aware of concerns about the presence of the apparatus at Site 89.

I feel it is my duty to remind you that we cannot move the apparatus. the apparatus, even if we wanted to. I am well aware of the catastrophic results of the Shah getting hold of the apparatus, which is why I direct you to the paragraph above. Our defenses are holding steady. I need you to hold steady, too. We will find a way to get past the apparatus's defenses. At such time, we will win this war. In the meantime, we have a fail-safe plan in place on the slim chance that the Shah does take control of the site, which I am confident will not happen. Site 89, with your help, is entirely capable of turning the tide in this war.

Rest assured that everything is under control. Focus on your job, and all will be well. This war is ours to win. We shall prevail, the administrator. The junior researcher stepped up behind me, and I took my thumb away from the oval, causing the words to disappear. What is that?

The man asked, snatching the paper-like item from my grasp. I watched with interest as he inspected the thing, soon enough, putting his thumb to the oval outline. Nothing happened. The words remained hidden. I took the item back from him and channeled Dr. Fletcher as I spoke my next words. Get back to your lab, or I will see you written up.

This is under control. Go now. The steel and my voice work. and the young man slunk out of the barracks. I immediately called an investigatory team to take over. I didn't tell them about the paper-like device, which was snug in my pocket. I headed back up to my office and immediately started researching Site 89. It didn't take me long to find that it didn't exist.

After my encounter with the strange paper-like device, coupled with the fact that there was no such place as Site 89, the only logical conclusion was one of time travel, But even back then, 13 years ago now, I had my doubts. It wasn't until I gained my current position on the O5 Council that I knew the truth of the matter. I've been a member of the Council for just under a year, and the things I've discovered, the things that have been shown to me are astonishing and more than a little disturbing. As the controlling entity of the Foundation, the Council is privy to a whole host of unpleasant truths.

But there are also benefits. For one, I have access to anti-aging protocols that will double my lifespan. However, natural causes aren't the only way death gets you. My predecessor, the woman whose seat I've taken on the council, was 153 when she took her own life. That's something else I've learned since gaining my seat on the council. The most common cause of death for council members is suicide. It's the stress, my fellow members told me, but I think there's more to it than that. I think humans weren't meant to live so long.

I don't think our brains are designed to handle such long lives. But the very thing that kept me with the foundation when I was a fresh-faced researcher is also keeping me on the council. The work is important, it needs to be done. Plus, there was the mystery of the time travelers, and of Site 89. Despite the years passing, I still often thought of my friend Moyes, taken by black- shrouded figures amid the chaos in the cafeteria. There have been several more incidents in the years since, but none of them happened in my vicinity. I just heard about them or read the reports from other sites across the world.

Every time, they were the same. Black-clad figures showing up out of nowhere and always taking guards or task force members, never researchers or assistants or administrators. Until today, that is. My fellow council members were as ignorant as me about the time travelers. They all had their theories, and they were quite willing to give me whatever information they had gathered on the various incidents.

But there was nothing I didn't already know. Until earlier today, when a proposal came across my desk, it was a proposal to build Site 89 in the frozen wastelands of northern Siberia, For construction to begin, a member of the council had to sign off on it. I spent several hours reading the thick proposal carefully several times over, wondering about the implications, working them over in my mind. As usual, I was working late, and the facility was quiet. I got up from my desk and moved to the wall safe, opening it and retrieving the paper-like item.

I still didn't know why my thumb had unlocked the hidden words, whereas the young researcher's thumb had not. Indeed, I had kept this little item hidden from the council, hidden from everyone, for reasons even I didn't understand. Now, as I took it out, I placed my thumb on the oval once again. The words appeared as if floating up from the depths of the off-white material. I read the words, paying close attention to all the mentions of Site 89. Then I read them again and again.

Some of you are concerned about recent events at Site 89. I've also become aware of concerns about the presence of the apparatus at Site 89. Site 89, with your help, is entirely capable of turning the tide in this war. What if I didn't sign off on this proposal? Would another member of the council do it? Was the war this device spoke of inevitable? Or could my actions now make a difference? I had to consider the fact that this was some kind of

elaborate scheme by the foundation's enemies to sabotage this future war. Maybe I was supposed to find this thing. Maybe I was supposed to prevent Site 89 from ever being built. Maybe that would allow the wrong side of the war to win. But wouldn't it have been easier to just assassinate me? As a man of science, I knew I didn't have enough information to answer these questions. I needed more knowledge. But I had no idea where I would get it. As I moved back to my dad, to once again pour fruitlessly over the Site 89 proposal. Something happened. A figure dressed entirely in black appeared,

standing directly to my left. Before I could do anything, the figure reached out and snagged my arm. My surroundings changed immediately. One second, I was in my office. The next, I was standing on a wind-swept roof in the middle of a frigid, snowy desert. The sub-zero temperatures penetrated my bones, bleaching warmth from my body with frightening quickness.

frightening quickness. When I regained some of my composure, I looked up at the figure, who still had hold of me by my arm. With its other hand, the figure reached up and pulled off the mask and goggles that obscured its face. I found myself staring into my own face. Welcome to Site 89, the other version of me said. He did not appear to have aged much at all, probably because of the anti-aging protocols I enjoyed as a member of the council. He only looked slightly older than me. The wrinkles around his eyes a little more pronounced, his hair a little thinner. It would have been hard to tell the difference between us for someone who didn't know my face as well as I knew it. I studied him with a frenzied desperation, hoping his face

would change to one that was not my own. But it remained the same, like staring into a funhouse mirror that only aged you six months. Seeing him standing next to me like that, and hearing him speak in my voice, caused my brain to revolt against this impossibility. I yanked my arm from his grasp and stumbled away, toward the lip of the building we stood on. The wind breezed through my clothes and stung my flesh like razor blades. A weak sun high in the sky struggled to bring light through the dense clouds. As I tottered toward the edge of the building, my gaze caught on something in the distance. The terrain was barren of all but snow and rocks, with craggy, mountains rising up from the horizon in all directions.

But ahead, in the bed of a sloping valley, there sat an army. Strange hunks of machinery stomped around on the treeless valley walls. Hoovering up snow and breaking up stones for some purpose, I couldn't define it first, until I took note at the sturdy-looking stone shelters dotting the valley. I shifted, looking to my left. The same pattern repeated itself, just slightly different. The same thing to my right, and behind me. The place was surrounded.

A ragged battle line encompassed the building, and I could spot the tiny figures of soldiers dressed for the weather milling on the other side of the rock walls that had been erected, apparently with the help of those large machines. Several other strange devices, which looked like artillery guns, sat pointed at the building from every direction. This wasn't a war, it was a siege. They used the snow for water, other me said, stepping to my side.

Those machines filter it and then store it until they have enough to bring back to supply the tanks hidden beyond the reach of our weapons. The cold erased any down in my mind that this was a hallucination. This was real. I was here in the future. I wanted you to see it for yourself. They can't see us because our camouflage system is working well, but they obviously know we're here. They've tried to breach a dozen times now. But our defenses have held strong. Now, let's get you inside before you get frostbite.

Other me guided me toward a metal box about the size of an elevator that hadn't been there before. We stepped in, the doors closed, and then the box descended into the building. Warmth enveloped me. My extremities tingled painfully with the temperature change. It has been stealing our people, I asked, as the elevator continued its descent. I had noticed from outside that the building was only three stories tall, but I knew from the proposal that most of the structure was underground. So it didn't surprise me when we kept descending, going much farther than three stories.

I need continual manpower here, Mother Me said, and there's no way to get reinforcements through the siege lines. So I've sent missions back through time to bring me fighting individuals, people who can help turn the tide of this war. We only took a few at a time to avoid a greater conflict or a timeline catastrophe. I thought about Moyes and about how only guards or task force members were taken. They had been unwilfully drafted into a future war. Finally, the elevator opened, revealing a massive room, crowded with people working at stations as far as I could see.

The stations held no computers, but the people wore skinny headsets that fixed over their temples. They moved their hands in front of them, apparently seeing things that I couldn't, thanks to the headsets. In the middle of the cavernous room, sticking at an odd angle out of the floor, was some kind of device that faintly resembled a supercomputer from a low-budget sci-fi movie made in the 1960s. The apparatus, I said, remembering the note that my thumb had unlocked. Now I knew why my thumb had revealed the words, while the junior researcher's thumb hadn't. The device was designed to only be read by certain people, and apparently I was one of them. At least, Other Me was one of them.

But he was me, wasn't he? Future Me? That's right, Other Me said. All those people are working on breaking down its defenses, so we can use it against the baying hordes outside. A couple of nearby workers suddenly noticed us, and they snapped to attention, saluting us. Administrator, they said. It took me a moment to realize what that meant. The note I'd found had been written by the administrator. It had been written by Other Me.

No wonder my thumb unlocked it. This Future Me wasn't just a cog in Site 89's machinery. He controlled the machine. Back to work, Other Me said with the flap of a hand. He turned to me and leaned. near. We're so close to unlocking the apparatus's defenses. Once we do, this war will be over. This is why you must sign off on the completion of Site 89. If you don't, all the sacrifices we've made, all the people we've conscripted, will have been for nothing. I shook my head, trying to wrap my

mind around this. But since all this is still here right now, isn't it a foregone conclusion that I sign off on it? Other me shook his head. That's not how time travel works. There aren't infinite timelines. There's only one. We only get one shot at this. And before you ask, we can't travel forward in time. How could we if the future didn't even exist yet?

We can only go back. Which is why I came to get you to show you how important Site 89 is. With the knowledge you can give me, isn't there a way to make it so this war never happens? It must happen. There's no way around it. order to stop it, even more people would have to die. Believe me, this is the lesser of two evils. This is the only way. Sign off on Site 89. That's how you can bring this war to an end. It's the only way we can win. I looked around at all the people for a few moments before turning

back to Other Me. Tell me how it started. Who are you fighting against? What is the goal? Is it a war or conquest? Is it for power? Give me the history. me shook his head. That would be too long. Don't you trust me? I'm you. That's why I came and got you instead of someone else. Because I am you and you are me. You know in your heart that I always have humanity's best interests at heart. You know that. I nodded, but I didn't really know that. I thought about how much I had changed in the last 16 years, since starting with the foundation. I had hardened, become desensitized. Oftentimes, I thought about how much I had changed. I thought about how I didn't really like who I'd become.

I'd grown accustomed to lying to those who worked under me, all in the guise of the greater good. And now that I was a member of the council, the need to lie, not only to myself, but to others, had grown considerably. But didn't Other Me know that? Had it been so long that he had forgotten this? Had he hardened to the point where he'd developed tunnel vision?

I cleared my throat and then looked into Other Me's eyes. eyes, my eyes. Did you order the conscription of people from the past? Was that your doing or someone else's? The shock on Other Me's face was clear, but it was there and gone in a moment. It wasn't my doing, it was your doing. You keep talking like we're different people, but we're not. We're the same. So yes, we gave the order to grab soldiers from the past for the greater good, because we had all the pertinent information, and we knew it was the only way to triumph over evil. The greater good, these were phrases the bloodthirsty tyrants used to help themselves sleep at night, or to convince others to do things they normally wouldn't do. I thought about Moyas,

about the hurt his disappearance had caused to his family, his children. They had suddenly been without a father, his wife, without a husband. How many times over had this happened? How many people had disappeared over the centuries? How much pain had this other version of me caused? As these thoughts flashed through my mind, I noticed OtherMe studying my face intently. His gaze made me want to squirm, as if he could see right into my head.

Maybe he could. I recovered, trying my best to turn my face to stone. Okay, I'll do it, I lied. I'll sign off on Site 89. Other Me looked unconvinced for a moment, and I realized I could see into his head just as well as he could see into mine. He didn't believe me. He knew I was lying. I had no intention of signing off on Site 89, at least not yet. Not until I had more information. I can tell you're ill at ease about this, Othermey said.

Let me take you to my office, and I'll give you a rundown of the conflict so far. To put your mind at ease. Yeah, that sounds good. We turned and got back into the elevator. It moved up a few levels and then opened. We walked down a well-appointed hallway and turned into a lavish office with a spacious bedroom and a private bathroom attached.

Other Me directed me toward the desk. It didn't have a computer on it, but I figured Other Me would fix me with a headset, like the people downstairs were wearing. Take a seat, he said, gesturing at the plight. lusher chair. He reached into his pocket and shook his head. I was hoping it wouldn't come to this. Before I could grasp what was happening, he shoved a small device against the side of my neck.

Agony ripped through me as my vision went to blaring white. Then I fell into the dark depths of unconsciousness. I awoke alone, slumped in the shower in other me's private bathroom. My hands and ankles were bound with silver tape. I guessed some things didn't need. improving, like duct tape. It was ubiquitous even in the future. After trying to free my limbs with no success, I managed to crawl out of the bathroom and back into the office, expecting someone to be there. The place was empty. I wormed my way over to the desk and, after some effort, managed to find an ornate, gold and black pen in a decorative, glass-topped box. There was no paper anywhere, and the box wasn't meant to be opened.

so I figured it was a keepsake from a bygone era. I smashed the box open and used the fancy metal pen to slowly rip through the tape around my wrists. With that done, I unfastened my legs, set the pen on the desk, and went to the door. I turned the knob, but the door wouldn't open. There was no lock, at least none that I could see, so I couldn't figure out how to get out.

I tried speaking aloud, thinking the sound of my voice would unlock it, but that didn't work. I banged on it, but no one came. I yelled, but nothing happened. After trying everything I could think of to get out, I realized that even if I could get free of this office, there was nowhere I could go.

I didn't know how to time travel. I had no idea how to get back to my own time. Maybe I could convince someone to send me back, but if other me had warned them about it, I would likely end up unconscious and trust up again. I wandered back to the desk and found a headset identical to the ones the workers downstairs wore. Figuring I had nothing to lose, I put it on. Welcome, administrator, a female voice said as a floating screen popped up in my vision.

I could still see my surroundings, but the translucent 3D screen took up much of my perception. How can I help you today? I thought for a moment, then said, Give me an unbiased rundown of the current conflict, starting as early as necessary to give me a full picture of the war. Yes, administrator. As the computer gave me a future history lesson, complete with narration, still images and videos, I felt a bone-deep sickness take hold in me. There was so much death, so much destruction.

I saw images of starving children, of men and women blown apart, disintegrated, turned to dust. I saw entire cities reduced to ashes. I saw the world embroiled in conflict to the point where it wasn't even recognizable anymore. And I saw what had caused it all, or rather. As the lesson was coming to a close, bringing me up to speed on the here and now, other me appeared out of nowhere, standing in front of the desk. He had a smile on his face, which died on his lips when he saw me sitting in his seat. acting on instinct, I grabbed the pen off the desk and placed the tip against my jugular.

I brought my other hand up, palm open, ready to slam the pen into my neck at a moment's notice. Don't move. Other Me raised his hands as if in surrender. It's okay. Let's not be rash. Stop the lesson, I said, causing the floating screen to disappear, allowing me to focus fully on Other Me. If you make a move or time travel to keep this from happening, I'll jam this pen into my neck.

I will. Then what will happen to you? Will you cease to exist? Will it change history? I think it will. The ghostly pallor coming over other me's face was all the indication I needed. Listen, it's too late. I've just spent several years posing as you during your time.

I signed off on Site 89. It's already in motion. There's nothing you can do to change it. Bullshit, I said. I can end us. I can stop this from going and farther because if I kill myself you won't be around to go back into the past will you other me laughed nervously you don't know how this works you would only be killing yourself the war would go on it

wouldn't change anything i shook my head how could you all those people are dead because of you because of us do you really think you're in the right do you really think all the bloodshed was worth it i lived through it you only watched a documentary you don't know what you're talking about How did you become like this? How could I let this happen? How could I... I trailed off, shaking my head as tears, dripped down my cheeks. The images of those children, those people, dead in the billions, the world a smoldering rubble.

I looked into Other Me's eyes. Then, as hard as I could, I slapped the base of the pen, sending the sharp end into my jugular. No! Other Me screamed. I yanked the pen out. welcoming the pain and the feeling of hot blood spilling down my neck and chest. Other me raced around the desk. I lurched up, trying to keep away from him.

But he tackled me to the floor and placed his hand over the wound, trying to stanch the blow of blood. I could already feel the life leaving me. I knew he couldn't stop it. You fucking idiot! He screamed. You don't know what you just did. But I did know.

Time slows down as I reflect on the journey that brought me here, telling myself this story as if to justify what I've done to make sure I'm in the right. With what I know now, I'm still not sure my death will change things for the better. How can I know? I haven't seen that future. But I'm certain I can't allow myself to become so hard and cold that I could be responsible for so many deaths. And what if my suicide only makes things worse for the rest of humanity? Well, at least I won't be there to see it. It's selfish, yes.

but I'm now realizing that I've always been selfish. Maybe Other Me was the only one preventing the destruction of the human race. Maybe I'll never know. Thank God I'll never know. And as I feel life slip away, I watch as cracks form another me. They snake up his skin and his clothes. The deepest, rightest black I've ever seen, shining through as they cover him like the lines of a jigsaw puzzle. Similar cracks form in the office around us.

They form in everything I can see from where I lie on the floor, dying. A deafening rush fills my ears as the world breaks apart, and then, with all the force of an explosion, reality shatters and the bright black envelops me. SCP 4989 refers to a series of anomalous events, which consist of the sudden manifestation of multiple humanoid entities in the vicinity of a particular individual or individuals. These entities will then attempt to make physical contact with their targets, and if they are successful, will de-manifest, taking their targets with them.

Entities are able to de-manifest at will, and appear to automatically de-manifest upon suffering serious or fatal injury. As a result, no detailed observations or interrogations have been made to date. Approximately 79% of SCP 4989 events over the past three decades have targeted foundation personnel, all of whom operated principally in combat-oriented roles. The remaining 21% have targeted individuals with links to national militaries or other clandestine organizations like the SCP Foundation. These events have been recorded as far back as 476 CE, a total of 909 events are known to have taken place, although the real figure is estimated to be much higher.

Sharp increases in the number of events can be seen after the advent of firearms and following the establishment of the foundation.