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nn5n: scp-3311 All the Little Chairs
EuclidSCP-3311 All the Little ChairsRate: 64

SCP-3311-1 instances in their respective compartments.

Item #: SCP-3311

Object Class: Euclid

Special Containment Procedures: SCP-3311 is to be kept closed and locked at all times. No personnel are to enter SCP-3311 for any reason other than for testing purposes. The facility containing SCP-3311 should be monitored for any suspicious activity and patrolled by a Foundation agent posed as a security guard.

Description: SCP-3311 refers to a storage unit located in █████████, Florida. SCP-3311 appears nondescript and identical to adjacent units which are affixed in rows, making relocation impossible.

SCP-3311 contains a spatial anomaly, extending far past its physical constraints allow and appearing without limit. At this time, exploration has reached approximately 585 km into the anomaly, during which no apparent end was observed. SCP-3311's interior turns on a slight bend, making long range viewing difficult. Visual broadcasting deteriorates rapidly within the anomaly, prompting the usage of relays to help extend the range of reception. GPS positioning fails to trace individuals who pass beyond 5 meters of the entrance, approximately halfway into the unit were it possessing correct internal dimensions. Tracking signal is not lost; it remains at the halfway point until it passes out of range of reception or is disconnected via other means.

SCP-3311 is hypothesized to have a minor cognitohazardous effect on sentient life, the full scope of which is still under analysis.

The walls of SCP-3311's interior are lined with cubic compartments of varying size1, each bearing a glass panel with a magnetic lock on the top side. All compartments contain an instance of SCP-3311-1.

SCP-3311-1 is the designation for the anomalous collection of chairs found within the unit. Each chair is seemingly unique, with none of the approximately three million chairs observed repeating. SCP-3311-1 instances have been shown to match other chairs found outside of the anomaly, suggesting that SCP-3311 may contain a copy of every chair in physical existence. SCP-3311-1 instances will always be a chair in some form, although the concept of chair within SCP-3311 is found to be slightly looser and more adaptable than other places in reality2. Some notable instances of SCP-3311-1:

  • An Egyptian throne dated at approximately ████ years old
  • A custom, monogrammed office chair matching that of Site-88 Director A. Lewis
  • A replica of SCP-16093
  • An IKEA-brand bean bag chair
  • Perfectly uprooted wooden stumps/large rocks
  • A mahogany chair made of other, smaller mahogany chairs

SCP-3311 was brought to the Foundation's attention on ██/██/████ after it was repossessed due to nonpayment. A small media coverup was deployed and the owners and employees of the facility were amnesticised before editing their records to place the unit under Foundation ownership. The previous owner was traced to a retirement home in nearby ███ ██████ before being taken in for questioning4.

Addendum 3311.1 Exploration Logs:

Exploration Log 3311-A

Subject: D-9082

Notes: This was the first conducted exploration of SCP-3311. At this point in time, audiovisual surveillance degraded within ~3km of the entrance to the anomaly. One D-Class personnel was equipped with a shoulder-mounted camera and a pack containing three days' worth of provisions, a set of twenty-four 600-hour micro relays with a range of 10km, and a small medkit and was sent to observe the inside of SCP-3311.


Camera comes live, D-9082 ducking under the door before it is retracted and locked from the outside. The interior is moderately lit by unknown means.

D-9082: Did they just lock me in here?

Control: It's a safety precaution. They will be standing just outside, don't worry.

D-9082: If you say so. This place is- whoa, okay. Chairs.

Control: Observant. Please proceed.

D-9082 walks down the pathway, taking extra time to look around. The interior is quiet, the only noise being D-9082's footsteps on the concrete floor.

D-9082: They're all different, huh? Odd collector, maybe?

Subject continues in this manner for some time without much event.

Control: Do you notice anything out of the ordinary with any of the chairs themselves?

D-9082: Uh, let's see, let me try-

Subject is seen attempting to open one of the compartments, it appears locked. She tries another and it does not yield.

D-9028: Should I break the glass?

Control: No.

D-9082: Oh, there's something here on the leg of this chair. An inscription or something?

The words "FLOOR MODEL" can be seen etched into the leg.

D-9082: 'Floor model'. Was it stolen, perhaps? Oh, wait- look.

The next chair appears to have the same inscription, and the next.

D-9082: Huh. I don't get it. Should I keep going?

Control: Yes, continue. You are nearing on the three kilometer mark, please place and activate one of your relays.

Subject does not respond but retrieves one of the devices from her pack and presses a small button on its side.

D-9082: Like that?

Control: Just like that. You're linked up.

D-9082: Great.

Subject proceeds in silence for the next twenty minutes, briefly pausing to look at various chairs.

D-9082: I mean, is this it? Just one big loop of chairs? I guess that beats some of the other stuff you guys get into. [pause] Hey, I recognize that one.

Subject is seen approaching an average-looking kitchen chair, featuring a faded, gray cushion.

D-9082: My grandmother had those. It even has the coffee stains. And- yup, 'Floor model', right on the side.

D-9082: I don't know if I like this place, I don't like them.

Control: They are just chairs. Please, continue.

Subject takes a few breaths and continues forward. The next fifty kilometers pass without incident or change in layout, D-9082 activating new relays every ten. Subject rests for a bit and eats before continuing onward.

D-9082: God, I just can't stop thinking about chairs now. There has to be billions of chairs on this planet. They might outnumber humans. Good lord. We'd never win.

Control: Do I need to remind you that chairs are inanimate?

D-9082: No- no [chuckles] I mean, even if they were-

A loud scraping noise cuts off D-9082. She spins around but the tunnel is empty.

D-9082: What the fuck was that.

Control: We heard it too, stay on your guard.

D-9082: Yeah.

Subject continues for another forty kilometers over the next twelve hours without incident, although D-9082 is clearly nervous. A low hum is picked up, not dissimilar to magnetostriction.

D-9082: I just realized, there are no vents in here. The air isn't stale like I would think. It isn't fresh, either, more like, clean, maybe? Sterile. Yeah, that's a better word for it.

Control: Noted. Please let us know if you begin to feel lightheaded or unwell.

D-9082 continues for a short while longer before setting up camp. Subject removes camera and places it by her side, leaving it running. Nothing eventful happens for the next several hours, aside from one brief period an hour in where the same scraping noise can be heard in the distance. Subject wakes and consumes some rations before setting off.

D-9082: Slept poorly. Dreamt of chairs. I sat on one and it tried to eat me. Spent the rest of the dream doing my best not to sit down.

Control: It's understandable you would be experiencing this as a reaction to being in such a foreign environment. We'll have you back out here good as new in no time.

D-9082: Thanks.

Subject continues walking to the two hundred kilometer mark, passing a large chair made of solid jade and inspecting it but quickly avoiding it.

D-9082: This thing is making my head hurt, god, there's just way too much chair in one place here.

Control: Can you elaborate on that?

D-9082: It's like- you know how when you have a bunch of friends, and you've all been friends for so long, you start to borrow things about them, things that you admire? Traits. Like you might start using my catchphrase or something, and I might borrow that thing you do so well.

Control: I don't see how this has to do with-

D-9082: You rub off on people, you interact with them and leave a lasting impression that grows over time. And the more of them there are that behave in a certain way, the more likely they are to borrow those traits. A positive feedback loop of reaffirmations.

Control: Please try to be more specific about how exactly this relates to these chairs?

D-9082: Don't you see, it's more than just the object. It's the idea and the object and we are the idea-

Feed is lost abruptly as the relay at the 53km mark stops functioning. Contact with D-9082 is not reestablished for another two days, after which D-9082 appears within range of the 43km point and heading back.

Control: D-9082, we lost contact with you, please report your status.

D-9082: Oh, finally. The feed went dead, but I laid the rest out. Should be good to go. Just get me the hell out of here. Now.

Control: Alright. We can do that, you're almost back.

Egress from SCP-3311 was uneventful and has been redacted from this document for brevity. Subject appears healthy physically but suffers from mild PTSD and exhibits a strong aversion to chairs. Subject displays symptoms of kathisophobia5 and requires sedation before sleep.

Exploration Log 3311-B

Subject: D-7820

Notes: This is the second attempted exploration of SCP-3311. Relays were set up to the 254km point from the last test, but the malfunction at the 53km relay required replacement before that point could be reached. One D-Class personnel was equipped with an identical pack as previous, including two extra days' worth of rations, and was sent into SCP-3311.


Camera comes online, D-7820 already heading down the passage.

D-7820: [laughs] They said I was going to look at chairs today? Like, some bigger-on-the-inside art gallery bullshit, right? And I get here and, look at that! Just a bunch of chairs. Is that all there is to this place?

Control: Yes, something like that.

D-7820: Look, I'm not an artsy guy, I don't know what I should be looking for here. [pauses] 'Floor model'. Like, what, a showroom? I guess that makes sense, right? A catalog?

Control: Please continue until anything notable occurs.

D-7820 treads in silence for the next several hours, taking a break some time after.

D-7820: You know what I would really like right now? I'd like to sit down on a chair. Not this awful concrete. Isn't that some special little hell, being surrounded by chairs but not being able to take a seat?

Control: [indecipherable, off-mic] Uh, sure. Yeah. We say you try and get one of the chairs out of their compartments. Feel free to attempt to break the glass.

D-7820: Alright, then.

D-7820 attempts to open the compartment door to a cushioned chair, which does not yield. Subject kicks the glass, causing it to shatter. D-7820 retrieves the chair, but drops it in surprise when a loud alarm is heard blaring from an unknown location, falling silent a moment later.

D-7820: You guys totally screwed me on this one, didn't you?

Control: I'm sure you'll be fine.

Taking several moments to make sure nothing was coming, D-7820 sits on the chair, which appears to exhibit no detrimental effects.

D-7820: Just give me a few minutes. This is nice.

A few minutes later, subject continues.

D-7820: I wish I could take it with me, to be honest.

D-7820 travels unabated for the next eleven hours before setting up camp and resting at the 53km mark. Subject replaces the relay, which appears to have been crushed, reestablishing contact with the rest of the chain. Afterwards, they remove the camera and sleep for the next few hours. Progression to the 100km mark takes place all throughout the next day. Subject pauses at a compartment containing a toilet, then shakes his head and continues on.

D-7820: Now you tell me.

At around the 125km point, the same buzzing noise is picked up in the audio feedback. Subject does not seem aware of this.

D-7820: I can't believe how many chairs there are here. I'm kind of getting sick of them, to be honest.

Camera feedback picks up the sound of several large bangs in the distance.

D-7820: [quietly] Shit. Is someone else in here? I've been out here for two days, can't I come back now? I'm beginning to worry I might have pissed something off.

Control: Negative. You have been lagging behind the previous subject, who was nearing the two hundred kilometer mark by this point. They are currently fine; please keep walking.

Subject is heard muttering to himself and proceeds onward with moderate reluctance. Nothing of interest happens for the next forty minutes, after which D-7820 stops abruptly.

D-7820: I hear something.

Audio feedback picks up the sound of a rhythmic creaking noise. Subject approaches the source cautiously, rounding the bend to reveal a single rocking chair situated in the pathway. Chair is not moving, the noise having ceased abruptly.

D-7820: Oh, sure, that's not foreboding. Has that happened before?

Control: [indicipherable, off-mic] No. No, that's new. Proceed with caution.

D-7820: Don't have to tell me twice.

Subject takes a wide berth around the chair, which does not move again. D-7820 is seen moving quickly, reaching the 200km point and passing the previous record by the next day. Subject sets up camp, unpacking their backpack and setting several rations and the set of relays on top while presumably taking stock of remaining provisions. Turning away for an unknown reason, the buzzing noise is heard increasing in intensity.

D-7820: I wonder if chairs play musical chairs with other chairs. Or maybe they'd sit on people? [laughs] What a dumb thought to have, I- wait.

Camera swings back around to reveal the backpack missing, the contents now laying on a bare floor.

D-7820: What the fuck? Is someone screwing with me?

Silence, aside from the persistent buzzing noise.

D-7820: Who would steal an empty bag? I hate this place.

Control: Noted. You have a few days left, then you're home free.

D-7820: Easy for you to say.

Subject attempts to sleep for a few hours, which appears futile. They are seen rousing themselves and heading out a short while later. At the 270km point, the path turns into a section containing the same chair in two hundred different colors. Subject rests briefly.

D-7820: Fucking art, man. Fucking chairs.

Progressing further, control notes that the quality and exactness of SCP-3311-1 instances as "chairs" begins to fluctuate. Compartments are seen containing rocks, piles of various detritus and small desks. D-7820 continues but stops abruptly.

D-7820: You've gotta be kidding me.

Camera turns to look at a nearby compartment which contains an identical replica of the Foundation-issue backpack that D-7820 lost the previous day, sans rations. A small tag hanging off the bottom reads 'FLOOR MODEL'.

D-7820: I- I think I get it now.

Control: Yes?

D-7820: What if my backpack also became a chair?

Control: How so?

D-7820: Think about it. I put shit on top of my backpack and it becomes a chair for that stuff. Right? So then it becomes a chair and the chair shows up in the gallery because it's a chair and that's what chairs do. That's what they say, anyway.

Control: 'They'?

D-7820: The chairs. I mean, I know they can't talk, but I can feel their presence and it is palpable. Tangible. The air is thick with it.

Control: With chair?

D-7820: …Yes.

Subject walks in silence for the next six hours, pausing occasionally to look behind him. Setting up camp at the 300km point, D-7820 is seen attempting to rest again, using their coat as a makeshift blanket.

Some time during the next few hours, subject is awakened by the sound of large thuds and scrapes, growing in volume. Subject forgets to reattach camera to shoulder mount, which is facing slightly askew. The source of the noises are not identified, but appear to ram into D-7820, who is taken by surprise and seen hitting the concrete with significant force. They appear dazed and likely suffering from a concussion. They look up, past the view of the camera.

D-7820: Fucking do it, you four-legged-

The camera feed jostles and is lost due to unknown reasons and contact with D-7820 is not reestablished.

Exploration Log 3311-C

Notes: In order to test the far limits of SCP-3311 in a safe and efficient manner, Exploration 3311-C was conducted with a small battery-powered drone capable at travelling at speeds of up to 35 km/hr. Drone was equipped with a device that would automatically place relays every 10km past the current range of 313km.

Incursion into SCP-3311 was uneventful, the drone passing the point where D-7820 had removed a chair from its compartment. The instance of SCP-3311-1 was seen now back in its respective place, the glass still broken and missing from the door to its container.

Drone is directed into SCP-3311 for the next several hours until it reaches the 200km point. No foreign chairs or changes in layout are observed. Air samples are taken and proven to be identical to the quality just inside SCP-3311.

Continuing to the 300km point, the remains of D-7820's effects are found. The camera appears crushed by great force, the remainder of the objects strewn about. No sign of subject is seen.

Drone begins placing relays and drives without incident. At 380km, SCP-3311-1 instances appear to vary greatly in size and shape. The drone passes by a large throne etched into luminous, purple crystal and continues further inside.

Two hours later, the drone picks up the sound of tapping. Investigating, the drone is piloted to a compartment featuring a small, ambulatory chair less than 15cm high. It gallops around its container and raps on the glass with a tiny, birch leg.

After a few minutes, the drone is turned back on course. Further down, a compartment is seen with condensation growing on the interior. The drone records a mass of biological tissue in the rough shape of a bar stool, which pulsates intermittently but does not exhibit any other behavior. 'FLOOR MODEL' is seen carved into the base.

The drone is piloted for another hour, passing the 400km point. The feedback experiences interference, the buzzing noise returning. Sounds of scraping can be heard somewhere ahead.

Half an hour later, the drone stops at a compartment which is completely overgrown and obscured by moss. The container next to it contained a three-legged stool with only one leg, somehow supporting itself despite its condition.

Three hours pass without incident. Various thuds and scrapes can be heard, although no source is detected. At approximately 485km into the anomaly, the drone happens upon a compartment containing the remains of D-7820, which has been contorted into the shape of a chair. His spine is bent at a perfect 90° angle halfway down, forming a seat. Ankles and wrists appear to have been rotated 280° outward and seem locked in place. The phrase 'FLOOR MODEL' is carved into his ankle. D-7820's eyes are wide open, although he does not appear to be alive.

After a few minutes, the drone continues on. SCP-3311-1 instances begin to look abstract and impossible for human sitting at the 500km mark, returning to normal on occasion and without apparent order. A few possess parts of other chairs integrated seamlessly into their construction. The drone passes a love seat that appears two-dimensional and a container bearing a single, floating cushion. 0.53 USD is seen stuck to the underside of the cushion as the drone is piloted by.

The machine continues undeterred for another hour, after which it encounters a group of seven ordinary-looking dinner chairs, organized in a circle in the middle of the path. The drone is piloted carefully around the chairs. Turning back to focus its camera on the circle, the nearest chair slowly turns and faces the drone, which is piloted away.

Passing 500km from starting point, the drone records empty containers that have been broken from the inside. Glass litters the path, and scraping noises are heard almost constantly. The drone picks up movement which turns out to be a single chair scratching its leg into the ground. It scampers away as the drone approaches what appears to be a series of rudimentary pictographs depicting a number of stick figure chairs. The first drawing shows the chairs with a line over each, the second shows the lines coming together to form another chair.

Drone continues onward until the 525km mark, where it begins to pick up large amounts of movement. A large group of chairs is seen rushing down the corridor in a stampede, which knocks the drone onto its side and briefly severs the feed. Link is reestablished a minute later and the drone rights itself with minimal effort.

The next hour is without incident, although the buzzing feedback has increased in volume to the point where audio feed needs to be muted. The drone continues to record shattered containers and various notable instances of SCP-3311-1.

Coming to the 585km point, the drone passes an antique chaise lounge and attempts to pilot around it. The device is quickly hampered by an unknown means, likely from being "stepped on" by the object. Lounge is not heavy enough to cause significant damage but prevents further movement. The furnishing remains on the drone for several minutes before the feed inexplicably cuts for no apparent reason. Connection with drone is lost for several hours. When it is reestablished, the device is now on the interior of one of the compartments several dozen kilometers back. Unable to leave the container, the drone remains functioning for another twelve hours before the battery dies and is considered lost.

Incident Log 3311.1:

On ██/██/████, eight days after Exploration Log 3311-C, a copy of D-7820's remains was found in a prepackaged box originally belonging to a ████████-brand office chair. The remains were sealed and compressed between the Styrofoam molding. Attempts to trace the origins of the package have ended in failure. Remains did not possess a "Floor model" inscription but DNA testing has confirmed it to be a 99.8% match to D-7820.

Addendum 3311.2 Interview Logs:

Interview 3311-A

Interviewer: Dr. A. Hoffman

Notes: Records indicate that the storage unit had been in the ownership of one Raymond ████████, 67, for the past fifteen years, before which it had gone unused since the facility's inception. ████████, now referred to as POI-3311, was taken into Foundation custody before being amnesticised and returned to the general public.


POI-3311: So, you finally came for me.

Dr. Hoffman: You were expecting us?

POI-3311: Aye. Took you long enough.

Dr. Hoffman: I suppose we can skip the formalities if you know why we are here. Please, if you would, explain how the unit ended up in your possession?

POI-3311: The what?

Dr. Hoffman: The storage unit.

POI-3311: Pardon?

Dr. Hoffman: [Dr. Hoffman is heard leafing through some papers.] It says here you've owned this storage unit at the, uh, ██████████ Storage facility since 2003. You know? It's full of chairs?

POI-3311: Oh, oh, is that why you are here?

Dr. Hoffman: I'm sorry, but what did you think we were here about?

POI-3311: [shifts nervously in seat] Nothing, never mind.

Dr. Hoffman: Okay, then. [cough] Moving on. What can you tell us about the chairs?

POI-3311: [pauses] Uh, well, what is there to talk about, really? It's just doing its thing, I left it alone a long time ago.

Dr. Hoffman: So, you were aware of the condition of the unit?

POI-3311: Yeah, well, not at first. I was certain there was something off about the first guy, but I'm not about to stop one chair from fulfilling its dream of becoming God.

Dr. Hoffman: I'm sorry? The first chair?

POI-3311: I mean, it has to start somewhere, right? Anyway, all it really wanted was to create. This chair was bigger than other chairs. Metaphysically larger. It embodied the concept to its fullest extent. There was never a time where it could not be defined as a chair, and that certainty was so potent, it began to impart that quality on other things, just like other things had imparted the quality of life unto itself. Like conceptual osmosis.

Dr. Hoffman: Alright… I'm following you so far.

POI-3311: I got that unit so it would have some work space. Left it to its own devices because I'm sure that's what it would have wanted.

Dr. Hoffman: Then why did you stop paying for it?

POI-3311: Well, uh [quietly] to be honest, I don't have a lot of money right now. It isn't mad at me, is it?

Dr. Hoffman: The unit has been acquired by us and is safely partitioned from the public eye.

POI-3311: [sighs] Okay, good.

Dr. Hoffman: Were you aware that the entity was creating copies of chairs that already existed?

POI-3311: Copies? I don't know about you, but anything I've ever seen it make was one hundred percent original. It only made demo models. Concepts. Artsy bugger, always trying new things, always stretching what it means to be a chair. It all sounds silly, but, you take away the object and you see a force behind it, a true power. And a need.

Dr. Hoffman: What kind of need?

POI-3311: A need to propagate and survive. To weave itself into the framework of everything. There were times around it that I started to ask myself if I was a chair. It made so much sense in the middle of it, and it only grew with the number of creations it made.

Dr. Hoffman: What kept you from reporting this to the authorities?

POI-3311: [laughs] I barely believe you are taking me seriously, let alone the cops.

Dr. Hoffman: Fair enough.

POI-3311: It's so strange to see the lines that separate things blur. Your mind can't comprehend it. It accepts and rejects its reality simultaneously. After the shock of change fades, you grow used to it, and it becomes a part of you.

Dr. Hoffman: I see. Thank you, Mr. ████████, you have been very enlightening.

POI-3311: You're welcome. Oh, and, before you go. Can I ask you something?

Dr. Hoffman: Sure.

POI-3311: You've been inside the unit?

Dr. Hoffman: We have, yes.

POI-3311: When you were in there, you didn't by chance see any other chairs that happened to be… alive?

Dr. Hoffman: Alive in what sense?

POI-3311: It's probably nothing, but- I don't know. [pause] I've always felt like it wanted to create more than just chairs. It wanted to impart life. After all, that was its sole other property. If it can make things into chairs, I fear it could make things live. I don't know how I'd feel about something like that.

Subject is seen briefly checking the chair underneath them.

POI-3311: Can't trust anything these days.


page revision: 27, last edited: 19 Jan 2018 08:18
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