Sage Owl

Tom Baer

ENGL 101-16

3/20/2019

Excerpts From the Journal of SCP-507

The following excerpts are directly from the journal of SCP-507. Subject has been permitted this journal due to several requests and pleading to foundation staff. Subject suggests it will "keep him from going over the edge". For initial entry of journal, see addendum 503-014.

Addendum 503-14: Whew. I'm not sure how to start this. I thought about writing out the overused and humdrum line "my life isn't very interesting" when starting this journal but in all fairness, it's anything but boring. The foundation keeping an eye on me told me to start taking journal notes. Not really a writing kind of guy but I'll take it. Anything to help sort out my thoughts on the bizarre shit I see. The foundation doesn't see me as a threat, thank god. If they did I'd be under much tighter containment, and wouldn't get all the pudding I could ask for. Anyways, if you aren't aware of who I am, I'm not even sure who I am either. So it's okay. One thing I know for sure is that I'm the possessor of a strange power that shifts me from our dimension to another for random intervals at a time. I can't control it, believe me I'd go anywhere but here if I could. I've tried, though. I don't have a name, so you can call me what you like. 507 is a common one. I like Tommy, Steve, Bruto, Guy, Houdini, and Grabnok the Destroyer. Take your pick, I like Houdini the most personally. I'm glad there's others who can confirm my ability for me. I thought I was just crazy, taking mental trips and forgetting where I am. Granted I've always loved paranormal things like ghosts and whatnot.

To get the obvious question out of the way, no. I have no damn clue where my powers came from. Been this way since birth. Given that I've encountered a few hostile or dangerous realities I'm truly shocked I made it this far. Foundation often gives me equipment necessary for survival but, I always seem to run into something bigger and badder just when I have it all figured out. Okay, seems like

Passage ends here. Subject had shifted out of our dimension in the middle of writing. For continuation of journal entries, see addendum 503-16.

Addendum 503-16: Alright, sorry about the weird cut off there. Duty strikes at the worst of times. Seems like my ability has no respect for the fine arts. Oh whatever. I'm sleeping on a bed provided by the people of this dimension. They seem nice enough. Don't speak a lick of my language, obviously. I landed in what I think was one of their own research facilities, and I almost got ripped apart by their guards when they saw the handgun I have on my person. The gun was provided to me by the foundation, for self defense reasons of course. Never know what could happen in these alternate realities. These people look humanoid for sure. Something's off, though. They have unique appendages and all, but I mean something mentally. Their brains seem like they function in a different way from ours. I kinda figured this because they never make direct eye contact with what they look at, and their facial expressions never change. Seriously, I thought one of the guards was just really upset with my arrival (which I totally meant to do, clearly) when I realized later on he just looked like that all the time. As for their appendages, they have two arms, two legs, just like us. No hair on the top of their heads, or at all as far as I can see. The "females" of these people don't seem like they have breasts like you'd expect, maybe they feed their young in a different way. One of the first people to try and actually speak to me, aside from the guards yelling in their language to surrender, was one of the female researchers. She put a hand on my head and I felt a strange surge through my body almost as if she was linking her brain with mine. I don't know how long it lasted for as I felt completely out of my head when it was happening. Afterwards, she looked at me calmly and said in a plain, american accented voice,

"What brings you to our world, outsider?" I almost reflexively backed off because this took me by extreme surprise. She stared with intimate curiosity, and I feared making the wrong response for the guards holding my arms still looked ready to utilize their weapons on me.
"I don't know. It just happens, and I can't control it." I tried speaking as slowly and clearly as I could, because I don't know how effectively her mind-reading ability worked.
"That sounds terrifying. Would you be willing to stay for a few days and answer some questions? We will provide you with a place to rest and food in plenty." She responded. I could tell the translation was still tough for her, because her English was off in subtle ways. I got the important parts, however. Thankfully they didn't want to cut me up and look at my insides. At least not yet. A guard mumbled something in their alien tongue and strangely, I understood it. Guess the researchers mind-info-transport power works both ways. He called me the equivalent of "outsider scum" in their language. Oh well, can't please them all of course. Later on the guards roughly guided me to a room with a bed and what I think is a computer. Things in the alien language and I can't for the life of me find out how to make it work. I tried to be as hospitable of a guest as possible because you have no idea how scary the guards' weapons were. They resembled our universe's guns but with the addition of some moving parts. They almost looked alive if I didn't know better. A few tendrils poking out from under the barrel writhed and twitched like an octopus's limbs. I hope for my sake that their idea of research doesn't mean prodding me with a million of their tools. I walked past a room where they had an even more foreign looking creature strapped to an operating bed and being drilled into. Yikes. I can't say I'm particularly fond of my dad physique, but I also can't admit to wanting to feel it being drilled. It gives me shivers just thinking about it.

It's day 3. I don't know how much longer I have before I warp back home. The guards seem even more on guard and watch me with a devilish intent in their eyes. By watch, I of course mean their heads seem to lock onto my person. Like I mentioned, their eyes always seem to be doing something else, with their own free will. Still, I know an angry look when I see one. They must think I'm up to something.

Okay, four days in this fucking place and I'm starting to become more and more worried for my safety. I'm overhearing some of the workers talk about a prophecy mixed in with the word "outsider" and I can only imagine they mean me. Trust me, it's not excited kind of talk. It's not like they think I'm the equivalent of their Jesus here for the second coming. No. It's scared kind of talk. They must think I'm dangerous, or I've got something hiding up my sleeve. My interviewer started asking me more and more about my people, and where I come from, rather than the usual traits about myself. Whatever the hell is happening it's coming soon, and I think they believe I'm responsible for it. The interviewer had a weird phrase, too. Asked me about what my thoughts on servitude and slavery were. It took me by surprise because it was absolutely out of nowhere. I sat back and said,

"I don't think it's right to own another conscious thing like that. They have lives to live too, and they deserve to live it how they want." The typical response you'd get from my species, especially from America. I never was in school but even I know what went down in the 1800s and earlier. The researcher didn't take well to this. I'd say he looked angrier but like the rest of his kind his face was stagnant. He leaned in, twisted his lips into a scowl and asked me what I was planning. I didn't respond because obviously I had no clue what the fuck he meant. I was silent for only a few moments before he roared out of his seat and began yelling at me. I instinctively backed up into the corner of the room as he pushed past the table to physically grab me, still yelling in his native tongue. Two guards burst into the room and grabbed him from me. I couldn't quite make out what he was yelling about. Their native language is still very new to me, and when they don't speak slowly and carefully I can easily get lost like learning any other new language. I caught "prophecy" and their word for "annihilation" however. The only two words I needed to hear to know something big was coming to this world. Something that turned a collected and respectable scientist of their kind to a raving, shrieking lunatic. He was terrified of whatever the hell's going on. I can only imagine he's talking about some kind of myth or folklore that speaks the destruction of their species, an extinction level event.

Retrieval: SCP-503 was found shifting into a cornfield in [REDACTED] and retrieved by foundation personnel. Several punctures and lacerations were found across his skin. He was immediately taken into custody and his wounds were inspected by a foundation medical team. Subject refused to speak about what had happened in the time in his shift.

Request: Class-B anesthetics. Granted due to severity of mental and physical abuse.