nn5n Foundation
Branch of SCP Foundation
nn5n: scp-4077 City of Gold
EuclidSCP-4077 City of GoldRate: 28

Suspected SCP-4077 location circa 1599 CE.

Item #: SCP-4077

Object Class: Euclid Keter

Special Containment Procedures: All information related to SCP-4077 is to be maintained on redundant RAISA Onto/Temporal-Isolated Servers and encoded in the Solid Archive during the next write-accessible interval. Foundation historians are to monitor academic outlets specializing in history and literature for newly uncovered 4077-A narratives, which should be removed from circulation, archived, and replaced with approved forgeries.

Any individuals claiming to have encountered SCP-4077 are to be detained and fully debriefed, with their statements recorded as 4077-A narratives. Affected Foundation personnel may be placed on amnestics to improve account accuracy.

Foundation satellite reconnaissance and intelligence networks are to monitor for any locations matching the description of SCP-4077. The O5 Council is to be notified immediately if any locations significantly resembling SCP-4077 are located.

Effective 3/26/2009, no resources are to be allocated to locating SCP-4077.

Description: SCP-4077 is an undiscovered covert facility located in a variable but always remote location. According to compiled descriptions, SCP-4077 is at least 2 km2 in area and roughly follows standard Foundation construction practices circa 2███. Certain described features suggest that SCP-4077 contains advanced technology not currently available outside of the Foundation.

No physical evidence for SCP-4077 exists at any location. SCP-4077 is only known to the Foundation through 4077-A narratives.

4077-A narratives are a collection of pseudohistorical documents, written histories, and personal testimonies centering on a mythical or lost civilization, city, or location. The description of SCP-4077 is identical between 4077-A narratives, although some contain only partial features or use period vernacular. These narratives range from the classical period to the present, but even the oldest reports contain include sufficient detail concerning security practices and paratechnology to represent a Class IV information security breach.

Beyond a claim that SCP-4077 contains something of great value to the author or characters in the narrative (typically wealth in the form of gold), very few 4077-A narratives contain any information concerning the interior, inhabitants, or capabilities of SCP-4077. The only 4077-A narratives with any information concerning the interior are summarized below.

De gestis Britonum (On the Deeds of the Britons) - 1136 CE
Geoffrey of Monmouth's pseudohistorical record by the rulers of Britain, including the biography of King Arthur. In this record, SCP-4077 is located on the Isle of Avalon, where Arthur is taken after he is mortally wounded by Mordred. Although it is said that Arthur will recover from his wounds, this journey is the last event in the Arthur myth.

SCP-4077 is described as entirely self-sufficient, capable of producing unlimited amounts of agricultural and manufactured goods. Additionally, non-anomalous human inhabitants of SCP-4077 have a lifespan of centuries.

Letter of Prester John – 1150 CE
A letter to Western medieval leaders from the king of a mythical Christian nation in the "Three Indies." The modern security systems of SCP-4077 are described in detail, although using period vernacular and mythological metaphor. SCP-4077 is also claimed to contain a wealth of religious artifacts and an army to battle the forces of Gog and Magog.1

Kitab al Kanuz (The Book of Hidden Pearls) - 1254 CE
A suppressed Arabic treasure hunting manual. Describes SCP-4077 as an oasis city "as white as doves" located deep in the Saharan desert, protecting a sleeping king and queen. It can only be accessed by a delivering a secret key to a waiting bird.2

Confession of Juan Martinez – 1529 CE
The deathbed confession of a Spanish conquistador who deserted from an expedition seeking the legendary city of either la Ciudad Blanca or Manõa, depending on the version. This city (SCP-4077) is described as being ringed by a bastion-style fort3 topped with bronze idols.

Martinez fled the expedition and was discovered by natives, who blindfolded him and took him to into SCP-4077 after learning that he was a Christian. Inside, he witnessed the coronation ceremony of the Gilded King ("el Ray Dorado"), [DATA EXPUNGED]. Martinez was asked to stay and learn the ways of the natives, but decided instead to return to his home. No other record of this expedition exists.


SCP-4077 was first identified in a collection of 4077-A narratives from the archives of the Vatican Holy Office for Secrets and Prophecies (Secretorum Camerus Prophetias) in 1964. The Holy Office suppressed these narratives from the 3rd to 19th centuries by pressuring authors and circulating alternate rumors without references to SCP-4077. The Holy Office lacked sufficient context to identify the facility and viewed SCP-4077 as an infohazard related to Solomon's Temple.

After the Foundation assumed containment responsibilities, a search of Foundation archives produced several additional SCP-4077 instances in the form of personal statements and intelligence debriefings. These instances are attached below.

Additional Documents

Partial HMFSCP4 Field Report 1/25/1905

We crossed Namaqualand with a regiment of her majesty’s rifles, supported by a camel train, under the pretext of sweeping civilians and Boer guerillas from valleys between Calvinia and Springbok. From our fort at Springbok, we marched north through the Kalahari Desert and up into the desolate Namib. As we crossed the coastal sand seas, rocky outcrops, and sand dunes reaching 100 yards in height, the archaeologist waxed poetic on the timelessness of the place. This desert was endlessly ancient, with her sand dunes forming boundless, unreadable curves and sweeps eons before man first walked the Earth.

After months of grueling foot travel, we finally broke a high stony escarpment and found the structure originally reported by the Canadian explorer, Farini. Its many component structures were massive, slab-sided, and whitewashed, rivaling the largest factories of London for size. It was impossible to determine their defenses. Concrete blockhouses were spaced around the perimeter of the structure, but they were dotted with strange electrical equipment rather than the mouths of field pieces or the bristle of rifle barrels.

The archeologist, the linguist, and I drew straws, and I was selected to remain behind with a rearguard to observe. It was perhaps unfair that I, the antiquarian, should remain behind, but to be plain I was partially relieved. Atlantis, Ys, Kitezh, Avalon… no matter how closely this island in a desert sea matched those stories, the contents could not possibly live up to the legends. I watched through my field glasses and they slowly grew smaller in the face of the great behemoth, the khaki-clad platoons backing them quickly blurring from my sight into the sand.

Just as they began to approach an opening in the structure, a gust of wind kicked up, coating my field glasses with sand and stinging my eyes. By the time I had rubbed them clean, it was all gone. The forward party, the structure, even my rearguard and the camel train with my gear; I was alone in the desert. I ran down the escarpment, trying to find the advanced party, hoping against hope that it was all a mirage or a sudden shift of the sand, but there was nothing.

I do not know how many days I had to crawl through that desert before once more reaching the more-fertile Kalahari. It was only by the grace of God that I survived. I know it took weeks in the care of passing tribesmen before I regained even a semblance of my humanity.

After bartering my few remaining possessions, I traveled south to Springbok. There, I discovered that the war with the Boers had been resolved over two years ago, and our fateful regiment had never been called to service. When I traveled home for London, I discovered men I knew from the field happily ensconced in their labor as butchers or teamsters, having never worn the khaki. My family did not mark my extended absence as peculiar, but then, as a man of my vocation, they rarely did. The archeologist, I discovered dutifully pursuing his work for the Society in one of the many secluded country manors sheltering the possessions of HMFSCP. Of the linguist, I could find nothing at all.

Recovered GOC Debriefing 9/1/1953

A lot of people stepped out of the grey during WWII. I tendered my resignation as a field agent after the Night of Long Knives in 1934. At that point, the Foundation was still trying to keep people from leaving, but my tradecraft and connections gave me a lot of places to run. They had completely abandoned that policy by 1940; they simply couldn’t hope to hold back everyone who wanted to take part.

Of those of us who stepped out of the shadows, Bachmann was indisputably the worst. I first knew him as a particularly vehement Chaos Insurgency operative. Rumor had it that he had been a young zealot in the original uprising, but had been more enthusiastic about the purges than the message. In the years after that, he pursued the anomalous with a ruthless violence unmatched by any but Mssr. Dark himself.

It was no surprise when he ended up with the Nazis. It was never clear to me if he was the CI’s Quisling or if he completely switched sides, but by 1935 he was a pointman for the SS Ahnenerbe, Hitler’s personal occult bloodhounds. He spent most of the pre-war years murdering and torturing his way through the antiquarian and occult communities, tracking down anything anomalous that could be even remotely connected to the Aryans.

By late 1944, the Germans were getting desperate. Bombers were perpetually raining death on German cities, the allies were rolling up territory on either side, and she simply didn’t have the troops to keep the war going. It was at this point that a crooked officer in the Abwehr5 slipped us a communique from Bachmannn to his superiors. They had assumed it was in code because they weren’t aware of Foundation lingo.

My commander in the OSS6 knew to some extent what I had done before the war, and called me back from a field operation to advise on this assignment. What we had was an aerial reconnaissance photo of a covert facility somewhere in the Scandinavian Mountains. My superiors were convinced almost immediately that it was a Foundation Site. It had the hallmark triple-redundant security installations, but none of the activity of a military installation. It had clearly been complete for some time, as it lacked the ramshackle appearance of American or Soviet science cities or German labor camps. I couldn't wrap my head around it. I had had significant clearance back in the day, specializing in securing Keter-class objects, but I had never heard of a Site this size anywhere in the region.

Bachmann believed this to be one of the mythical dark Sites that had gone off the grid during the CI uprising. He had some kind of convoluted evidence about the site containing an XK-class apocalypse which he had filtered through Hitler's "positive Christianity," but I couldn't make heads or tails of it. Not my area of expertise. What mattered was, he was absolutely convinced that whatever was contained there could be appropriated and used to turn the tide for Germany. People on both sides were getting ragged at this point, but while the cracks were starting to show for the rest of us, Bachmann seemed to have shattered. He had spent the last decade propping up the myth of the Aryan Volk, and there was nothing left for him outside of that. That, or he was a damn convincing double agent.

What we had at that point wasn’t so much of a plan as the necessity to get involved. They dropped me and a dozen Norwegian resistance fighters out of a Handley Page Halifax onto a godforsaken wind-swept bluff. I wasn’t much on skis, but I was the only one handy who had held a Foundation clearance and had any knowledge of standard security protocols. We had arrived two days ahead of a hundred crack Gebirgsjäger mountain troops, led by a gaggle of SS officers and Bachmann himself. We were woefully outnumbered and outgunned, but we only had two objectives. First, we were to establish radio contact with the facility and warn them of an incoming hostile GOI. Second, my job was to identify Bachmann and anyone else with Foundation experience, and put them down. If capture seemed likely, this included me. We simply couldn’t afford to let the Nazis into this kind of facility.

One of our sharpshooters broke his leg in the jump, so we had to leave him. The SS found him at the drop site and brought him along. At night, we knew how close they were behind us by the sound of his screams. The mountains there are treacherous, and by twists of terrain and weather we only arrived a few hours before the Germans. We set up a defensive position in a copse of trees facing what appeared to be the main entrance to the facility. Radio was no luck; our equipment couldn’t transmit or receive. We knew the facility was surrounded by equipment, but I had assumed it was some kind of containment apparatus. If this was primarily a covert facility, it might have been some kind of jammer.

By the time the German ski troops arrived, Bachmann was completely enraptured. The jägers clearly wanted to establish a perimeter, but he and the SS officers would have none of it. We watched them try portable radio, fail, and then march right towards the entrance like kids in a candy store.

None of the SS toadies were anyone I knew, and their grunts and non-coms clearly weren’t doing any talking. At about 100 yards from the facility, I gave the signal. Four sharpshooters fired, and Bachmann danced as three shots took him. Blood spouted from a hit in the neck, while his upper body pivoted one direction from a shot in the ribs and his legs went another from a hit in the thigh.

The other sharpshooters rang shots in the brief moment before he fell, taking down a number of the SS officers. The Waffen SS were the ones responsible for anti-guerrilla death squads, so resistance fighters were never ones to let them out of their sights. Bachmann’s body hit the ground, and the remaining officers broke and ran for the cover of the facility.

Then, they were all gone. The jägers, the SS, Bachmann’s corpse, and any sign that the facility had ever been there; nothing. We searched the whole area for evidence - trash, blood, dropped weapons - before we thought to count our number, see if anyone had been lost in the brief chaos. We found we were one too many: The man who had been hurt in the jump was limping along with us as we frantically searched. Our team leader greeted him with jubilation, but I had to quietly talk a few of the men down from shooting him. My Foundation training speaking again: when something this anomalous happens, isolation and study are the first priorities, not superstition.

After we had satisfied ourselves that the facility was well and truly gone, we made our way down the mountain to our extraction point. Everything then on went to plan. Our mission was still on record and declared a rousing success, but the photo and coded messages were gone. I asked around the occult intelligence community. Bachmann had died with a whole gaggle of Thule Society fucks in 1929, while looking too closely into the Pleistoscene Afro-Asiatic Culture Group. Good riddance. His more prominent crimes had been spread into the biographies of the whole Obskurakorps clique, but some of his victims had survived instead. I suppose there are small mercies.

I could never trust the Foundation after that. The idea that they not only had that level of power, but were willing to use it, seemed to invalidate everything I had ever believed about them. It made everything I had done in their service entirely futile. I moved from the OSS to the GOC as soon as the option was available, and have been here ever since.

Archivists note: When reached through typical channels, the Global Occult Coalition refused to provide access to the author of this report. Interviews with Norwegian guerillas identified from this report and OSS records confirm the general events, but have provided no additional information.

Recovered Statement of Dr. Sylvia Ben-Yair 6/15/2008

If the words “Thaumiel-class anomaly” mean nothing to you, stop reading.

If my suspicions are correct, you are going to need context for this. I was in Foundation counter-intelligence for 15 years before SCP-1422. The O5s took this gap of knowledge about as well as a kicked beehive. They had us chasing intelligence and interrogating personnel without end. “Are you now or have you ever been aware of Yellowstone National Park?” We had no idea why this was so important, but knowing was not part of our job.

Six months later, I learned why. I was no longer a red right hand, I was a “Thaumiel-class containment specialist” backed by a team of agents and researchers. They gave me a PhD for appearance’s sake and Level 4 clearance with a list of access codewords and numbers four pages long. The research budget for my group was indefinite. The Council stated that I would need approval for something like a space launch or a new Site, but that it would almost certainly be granted. I was given one mission: to identify lost Foundation sites or technology, and return them to the fold.

The most basic function of the O5s is to know when something should stay buried, but the discovery of SCP-2000 had created a form of mania in them. You must understand, 2000 came completely out of the dark. There are no records of its construction. No hidden Level 5 archives, no unwritten institutional knowledge, nothing. The technology housed there was beyond a dream. We have had working Scranton devices for decades, but Xyank/Anastasakos Constant Temporal Sinks? The O5s would not even admit that Xyank is an employee. The capabilities of 2000 were revolutionary, and a majority of the Council were either excited or terrified that there could be another Thaumiel site out there. As I read more files, I came to understand. They now had the power to see the future, escape the planet, and roll back disaster. They could not accept that more powers could be outside of their grasp.

I could not go into this looking for the next SCP-2000 or SCP-1422. Things you cannot remember are a problem for someone else, and for a site with no connection to the current timeline? I am not a miracle worker. I did not need a budget, I needed data. I started with the hypothetical framework of a covert site built and erased using current Foundation technology. I approached this problem the same way I would rolling up a double agent. If you want to catch a mole, you give them an opportunity to expose themselves. If you want to understand a mole, you look for what they have hidden.

To that end, I looked for things the Foundation desperately needed and could not find. For example:

  • Materiel: Given the entangled web of front companies and contractors, tracking basic construction material was an impossibility. Specialty materials were more enlightening. The beryllium bronze alloys, superconductors, and modern ceramics used in the new paratechnology were based on easily available resources and well within the manufacturing capabilities of the present Foundation. Despite this, there was a perpetual critical shortage of these items, and a constant backlog of orders for them.
  • Personnel: The Foundation has always been more secular than the general population, statistically. This did not explain the number of rush hiring orders and approved conscription of non-employees for religious purposes. We were desperately short of members of minority ethnoreligious Gnostic and Abrahamic sects, experienced combat personnel of devout orthodox Abrahamic faiths, turncoat Semitic Mekhanites and proto-Sarkic Manicheans, and many others. Not only were these people under-represented in the Foundation, hiring initiatives specifically targeting these personnel were failing. Suitable candidates for these positions simply did not exist.
  • Expertise: Given the well-established potential for religious XK-class end of the world scenarios, eschatological research in the Foundation was anemic. The Department of Theology was underfunded, lacked qualified experts, and was spread thin between dozens of SCPs. The lack of dedicated personnel for retrocausal phenomena was also frankly inexcusable. For the dozen or so known retrocausal SCPs, drastic mishandling was the rule, not the exception.

Retrocausality has become the best model for my hypothetical lost site, but there were no real experts or protocols to assist me. At this point, a frivolous database search turned up a near-forgotten Euclid: SCP-4077. The Foundation had simply accepted the Vatican Holy Office’s version of this SCP as a literary oddity, and failed to identify 4077 as a Foundation site. This oversight was frustrating but understandable: Foundation construction practices were less advanced in the 1960’s, and nobody at the time would have known the appearance of a temporal sink. It was my team who identified the HMFSCP and GOC records and tied them to SCP-4077.

Given concrete dates for modern SCP-4077 encounters, I looked for evidence of altered history. My new clearance was invaluable. SCP-2000’s array of XACTS had been operating in an automated state for centuries in the current “iteration” of history, and had stored petabytes of performance data. These logs showed unique spikes in temporal sink power draw on the two known dates, with matching spikes in power on a variety of dates throughout history. These included 01/01/1000 (the “Millennium”), 01/01/1033, 21/03/1844 (the first Millerite prediction of the Rapture), 22/08/1844 (Miller’s last prediction and the “Great Disappointment”), 13/02/1925, 05/05/1955, 01/01/2000, 29/05/2007… the list continues. All the dates of religious or esoteric predictions of the apocalypse. All of them incorrect.

I felt I had enough of an operating theory to report to the O5s. We had identified a hypothetical Thaumiel site with a high probability of the following features:

  • Temporal-sink based historical alteration technology.
  • Expertise in religious XK-class end-of-the-world scenarios.
  • Active interference with historical events for at least a thousand years.
  • A tendency to alter history to remain hidden.

This left one question: Why were they still in hiding? Covert operation throughout history would be necessary to avoid anachronisms. Based on the narratives, however, the facility was well in line with current Foundation technology and policy. What reason could they have for staying out in the cold?

The O5s were not interested in allowing me to find out. It had been a year since SCP-2000, and their enthusiasm for Thaumiels had been blunted. I knew through back channels that my project was not the only "crash" search program. Several of the others had only managed to locate things the O5s wanted to stay hidden. Cancellations and strong amnestics were not far behind. I believe my project was overlooked because I had not been frivolous with resources, and because they did not take my work seriously. When I asked to take over SCP-4077 as lead researcher, their intermediary actually laughed.

There was no way they would condone pursuing my theory, but I do not care. I know SCP-4077 is out there. The world is shrinking, and there are not many places left that a large facility can hide. Poor weather and extreme temperatures are necessary to hide from aircraft and spy satellites the majority of the time. I am not a specialist in geolocation, but I know those who are. The O5s have not rescinded my authority and access to resources yet, and I do not intend to give them the chance. I am going to find SCP-4077.

If you find this note in the Solid Archive, maybe you can follow in my tracks.

Dr. Sylvia Ben-Yair
Lead Researcher, SCP-4077

RAISA MTF Debriefing 3/24/2009

I've been in Xi-9, the Black Eyes, for about four years now. We specialize in reconnaissance and covert observation. Sometimes they use us to stake out a potential anomalous location while they assess the feasibility of a containment operation. We might track POIs or GOIs as they go about their business. On rarer jobs, we're meant to provide some kind of… objective standpoint. They'll have us observe things from a distance in the hopes that we'll be far enough outside of whatever cognitohazard or reality-bending is going down that we'll be able to call in backup. Those jobs are the least predictable. It can be extremely dangerous, sure, but it's far from the worst MTF to be in.

This job was of the last variety. The briefings for these tend to be somewhat technical and obtuse, trying to give us enough information to recognize trouble but not enough to get caught up in it. It's the typical need-to-know dance, and I'd be hard-pressed to tell you if it's saved or cost more lives in the long run.

This briefing was incredibly restrictive. We knew that we would be operating in the Arctic Circle based on the equipment we were provided. We knew that a convoy of vehicles (operators unknown) would be approaching a covert, secure facility (inhabitants unknown). We had been given likely sensor profiles and ranges of detection for both entities, as well as some broad assessment of what countermeasures and defenses we might have to deal with if we were detected. The instructions were simple. Maintain a safe distance, passive detection only, and watch.

We in flew from Arctic Site-52 on Chinooks in US colors, buried the choppers under camo tarps and snow, and hiked to the observation point. We were stationed on a ridge about a kilometer outside the facility, dug in with every kind of surveillance equipment you could imagine. I was on optics, which meant that I would be observing events without coghaz blinders. I needed to be able to see past my hands to dial in my equipment, and apparently the raw image was worth the risk. To someone.

The facility was about what you would expect from a large covert site. The architecture screamed "nothing," and that screams "Foundation." If you've seen the outside of Site-19, you'll know what I mean. Poured concrete construction, big secure doors at the bottom of ramps, likely underground components. There were outbuildings every 20 meters or so, snowed over, but with some kind of hexagonal arrays in them. The place was dead: no patrols, no lights, no movement. Zip.

The main event started on our third day on-location. We intercepted signals that a dozen large aircraft were entering Russian airspace and dumping parachutes. Within an hour, the guys on seismic duty were reporting armored vehicles approaching the facility from the south.

When they entered visual range, I counted about twenty armored personnel carriers and nine heavy trucks converging on the facility, kicking up rooster-tails in the snow. They were American-made but sprayed up with bullshit German markings, and the trucks were hauling serious electrical equipment.7 About half a kilometer from the facility, the convoy fanned out and came to a halt, with the personnel carriers ahead of the trucks. Troops came swarming out to set up some kind apparatus around each vehicle, then kicked on the truck generators.

Two figures dismounted from the lead vehicle, and about half the troops followed on foot. As they approached, I caught rising thermal activity off the facility outbuildings. Our barometer crashed and the Kant counter started ticking. Winds were sweeping into the area, but no other changes. At about 100 meters from the facility, the two lead figures were a bit easier to make out. One was military, the one giving commands but not the one in charge. The real boss looked to be a civilian, elderly female, wearing plain arctic gear rather than a uniform. She was clearly unused to the cold. She had some kind of optical signaling device that she was pointing at all the cameras on the facility until it suddenly burned out.

They got about a quarter of the way there when what seemed like every spotlight on the facility cut on. They stopped, and roughly a dozen figures exited the facility. Most of them were wearing grey MTF gear. It was winter-rated with a few more metallic gizmos than usual, but nothing special. I caught a meme'd three-arrow insignia at full magnification, but not the unit ID. The guy in the center was wearing a labcoat and slacks. It was way too cold for that to be comfortable, but he didn’t seem to notice.

The boss, the convoy leader, and the labcoat started shouting over the wind. Our mics couldn't pick it up a conversation at that range, but based on Mr. convoy’s gestures and the civilian's stance it was getting heated. The labcoat moved towards the civilian, the convoy leader drew his sidearm, and then all hell broke loose. I don't know who fired first, but the facility goons were just dropping soldiers left and right. The hex arrays at the facility were pouring off heat, and two of the trucks overloaded and burned out.

Back at the main gate, the convoy leader lost his gun arm at the shoulder in a flash of light. I didn't see what happened to the civilian. Labcoat had his arms open and was rising in this intense golden aura. When he was at about twice the height of the facility, the light spread behind him into a pattern of wings that folded over him, covering every part of his body. He moved his arm like a blade and brought it down in an arc of light, vaporizing several vehicles. The other guards were rising on wings of their own at this point, and the fire from their weapons was getting more literal.

That was about all she wrote. They just wiped that convoy off the map; it was a slaughter. When the last generator truck was down, everything went quiet for a few seconds, and the one in the labcoat looked straight at me.

Then it was all gone. No sign of the convoy, no sign of human habitance. Me and the other guys broke out our cog-haz exposure packets, but we all tested clean. All of our surveillance equipment was fried, so we ditched it.

We tried to radio Arctic Site-52 from the choppers for return coordinates, since our maps for the expedition had been heavily redacted. When we finally managed to catch to a secure Foundation frequency and authenticate ourselves, we were kindly informed that we must be batty: there was no Arctic Site-52. Or Armed Polar Site-713. Or Containment Area-████. At least 1,200 personnel that I knew of, gone. There was literally no covert Foundation facility within 500 km of our position, and the weather was getting bad.

We ended up flying south until one of the pilots recognized the coast of Greenland, which we followed until we ran out of fuel and ditched. We used a civilian emergency transponder and surrendered to the Canadian Coast Guard, and that covers it right up until we were transferred… here.

That’s all I know. Now hurry up and amnesticize me. There’s no way in hell I was supposed to see that, and you assholes don’t even know about SCP-████ yet.

Archivist’s Note: Despite matching proposed contingency plans, no record of a second Foundation expedition exists.

Based on the contents of the Xi-9 report, the O5 Council voted to modify the containment procedures of SCP-4000 and upgrade the Object Class to Keter. This motion passed, 13-0.

page revision: 20, last edited: 27 Aug 2018 05:55
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