The following is a dramatization of the events leading up to, during, and after, the discovery of SCP-2399. The names of implicated individuals have been changed to ensure SCP staff protocols are met. We thank the SCP Foundation for the opportunity to show the world what they do for us, and hope that in opening the public's eyes to their courage, the world will both benefit and become humbled by their true place in the cosmos.

** The following document has been confiscated, pending review. No permission has been granted for any stories to be written about activities and protocols concerning any Level-5 items. The writers of this document will be detained, questioned, provided amnesiacs, and released, provided they cooperate.

A team has been tasked with the discovery and eradication of the leak. Level 5 Top Secret information must be contained, and this leak represents a dangerous lack of due diligence. Until further notice, Director Callorini and his team are suspended from duty.

*** Addendum SCP-2399-Leaked-Information

Mark Francis took a sip from his cold, stale coffee, and turned the page. The parchment was dry and crusted, and his rubber gloves were sweaty on the inside, terribly unpleasant to use. They were always a size too big or too small, never truly fitting properly, but the size of rubber gloves was so far down the list of the Foundation's priorities, that it was a problem Mark would be forced to endure the remainder of his career. Today, though, his gloves were not on his mind.

The document in particular was an old journal entry by the Italian Astronomer, Giovanni Cassini, written in the later half of the 17th century, which described his discovery of what the Foundation had classified as SCP 2399. It discussed the observation of an object falling into Jupiter, followed by the genesis of Jupiter's Great Red Spot. Normally, such a document would be calming, meditating, even for a seasoned historian like Mark, but not today.

The year was 1963, and Cassini's documents, written so long ago with such excitement and curiosity, had become something of a dark omen. That very week, a picture had been taken of Jupiter's Great Red Spot, a picture which now sat on Mark's desk. Any layman might have missed it, but at the center of the Great Red Spot, there sat a pixel-sized white dot, not much bigger than a dust particle on the camera's lens, but too in-focus to be such. The Foundation had kept track of the Red Spot since the confiscation of Cassini's journal, but only now had human technology caught up to confirm Cassini's observations. Mark looked down at the picture. What was that thing doing, just sitting out there? What could cause the appearance of a planet-sized storm in the atmosphere of such a powerful planet? What could withstand the gravity of Jupiter for so long?

The more questions filled Mark's mind, the more ominous that innocent little dot became. It could be anything, from aliens to asteroids. All he had to go on was this four-hundred-year-old parchment, written by an innocent Italian mathematician, whose old text was hopelessly-vague.

Just then, as he brought his cold coffee to his mouth once more, a knock boomed against his door, and he bid them to enter. In walked Mark's subordinate, Selma, an Icelandic astronomer, and the head astronomer for the 2399 Observation project. She was twenty-five, twenty-six, tall and normally very calm, collected and well-spoken, but since the picture was taken, she had been excited, nervous and very much up-in-the-clouds, quite literally.

"Professor." She said as she barged in, her Icelandic accent unusually-heavy that day. "Doctor Land is on Line 2."

Mark's eyes darted from the parchment to Selma's face, and without a moment's hesitation, picked up his phone and pressed his gloved finger against the "Line 2" button.

"Yes." Mark grunted. "No, I haven't heard anything about that, I was just now told to call you. No, you're going to have to spell it out for me, Doctor. I'm sorry, how many Gamma rays?"

Mark leaned forward in his seat and pulled out a piece of paper and a pen. "I'm sorry, repeat just...just how much energy? Isn't that- yeah, that's what I thought. Is that your educated opinion, Doctor, or have you had confirmation? I see. What? I'll have to see the data. Tomorrow then. Very good, doctor. Do what you must to make sure this remains secret. Yes, I don't care, just do...don't- don't- don't interrupt me. Just...do...what you must. Send me those pictures soonest."

Mark lowered the handset into its cradle and looked up at Selma. "Selma, in your educated opinion, what does fifty-giga-electron-volt gamma rays mean to you?"

"Very High Energy gamma rays like that are pretty common when looking at Quasars." Selma explained. "Why?"

"Because that's what they're picking up from the Red Spot on Jupiter right now. Gamma rays at fifty giga-electron-volts."

Selma's eyes furrowed, and her head cockied a bit to one side. "So, there's a quasar inside Jupiter, which is just impossible, or-"

"The data was confirmed by multiple observatories." Mark interrupted. "We're getting the data tomorrow for you to review. Whatever 2399 is, it's putting out higher energy gamma rays than the sun. There's, um...one more thing Land mentioned, and I hope you can explain this for me, but what would you think if you heard that the Gamma rays were travelling in pairs?"

Selma shook her head and did a double take. "In pairs?"

"Yes."

"It's only hypothetical-"

"This whole thing kicks the crap out of most hypotheses, doctor." Mark sighed. "What does your gut tell you?"

Selma frowned. "Matter-antimatter collisions create two gamma rays when they interact, at least, in theory."

"So, antimatter."

"In theory."

"Yes, yes, in theory. When you consolidate the data tomorrow, come see me. The Director needs to be informed. Goodnight, Doctor."

Selma nodded. Looking confused and concerned, she reluctantly left the room. Mark sat in silence for a good long moment, pondering over the information. What was that thing doing inside that planet for three-hundred years? Mark didn't sleep that night, his mind racing with curiosity and excitement for whatever came next. This could make his career.

1971. Mark pulled the thin stick of tobacco from its pack and daintily-placed the filter in his dried lips. The small flame of his lighter lit his face with an orange glow, and he winced as the smoke cut into his lungs. He always thought it so strange how such a thing as inhaling death was so relaxing, but it was, and he savoured every bit of it. The others in the room were Director Stein, Doctor Selma, Doctor Lujain and Colonel Richie.

Before him hung large detailed images of the object, taken by a few passing satellites. The images showed the object on different days, the first from a month ago, the next a week later, the next a few days ago. SCP-2399 itself, clouded by atmospheric winds and dust, moved very little between the images, but 2399 wasn't the concern; a hundred little objects had been seen hovering around it, eight-legged things many times smaller than 2399 itself.

"What does this even mean?" He asked, pointing his cigarette at the little objects. "What are those little ones doing?"

Director Stein sat in the darkened corner of the room, his sleeves rolled and his forehead sweaty. He was an older man, in his sixties, and had certainly seen worse than this thing in his career, and yet, there he was, silent and sweating, as if the Gods themselves had arrived to smite the world. Lujain was the specialist in engineering and mechanics, and had been called in on special demand for this project. He was a middle-eastern man, in his late forties, healthy and bearded, well groomed and confident in his demeanour.

"We think that 2399 is damaged." Doctor Lujain stated. "You can't see much using visual light images, but the X-ray imaging shows us just how damaged it actually is."

Lujain put up another image, white and black in quality, but showed 2399's shape in much more refined detail. It was certainly broken, that much was certain; giant chunks of metal, wiring, crystalline rocks and what looked like rebar floated in orbit about 2399's mains structure. Giant parts of the substructures, the offshoots and antennae, were torn to shreds as well.

"These...drones, or ships," Lujain continued. "We can be fairly certain they're moving off and collecting material for repairs."

"So, it's repairing itself." Mark sighed, filling the air around him with smoke. "How damaged is it?"

"About fifty percent." Lujain replied. "But that's based on our human understanding of engineering. This thing, it's nothing we could ever design, not in a thousand years. We can't even change the weather on Earth, this thing is able to create storms the size of planets. Without getting inside and seeing what makes it tick, we can only guess."

"If it's metal, we can destroy it." Colonel Richie said. "Tanks, cities, they can all burn, why not this thing?"

Colonel Richie was a stern man, very straightforward and harsh, as one would have to be after fighting the Nazis twenty years prior. He was bald and wore circular glasses, and his mustache was magnificently-voluminous. He had the appearance of someone who had seen too much, and Mark kept his distance, avoiding polite chit-chat with the man wherever possible.

"We don't even know what it's here to do!" Selma argued. "It could be here to introduce themselves! It could be simply passing through!"

"From what I've heard, that thing has antimatter weapons onboard!" The Colonel replied. "And from what else I've heard, those weapons are causing that planet-sized storm! Are we going to just sit here and let it build itself back up? Director, what do you think about all this?"

Director Stein was silent, his head bowed. "If it continues to repair itself, how long do we have until it's complete?"

"Assuming it doesn't speed up," Lujain replied, "At a rate of point-twelve percent annually, we have about 400 years."

"Plenty of time to figure this out." The Director said, wiping his forehead with his pocket square. "Lujain, Selma, continue to monitor this thing. If anything changes, no chain-of-command crap, you come straight to me, understood?"

"Yes, director." Selma replied.

"You got it, boss." Lujain said.

"Doctor Francis." Stein said. "A word. The rest of you, go home, get supper in you."

The three others dispersed out the door, leaving Stein and Mark alone. Stein himself pulled out a cigarette and lit it. Mark did the same, having just finished the previous one.

"I thought you were trying to quit, boss." Mark noticed.

Stein let out a nervous laugh. "Yeah, well, after what I'm about to tell you, you'll understand why I'm not. What I'm about to tell you cannot leave this room until the BARRIER project is underway."

"BARRIER project?" Mark asked.

Stein sighed and took a puff, letting the smoke curl about his face. "Something, or someone very far away is talking to the fucking thing, Mark. We intercepted a transmission from the Triangulum Galaxy. Do you know how far the Triangulum Galaxy is, Doctor?"

"I'm a historian, not an astronomer." Mark replied.

Stein nodded. "The Triangulum Galaxy is a spiral galaxy, like our own, about three-million light-years away, and a bit smaller than the Milky Way. Something there is talking to this thing, and we don't know who, or why, or what about. We need to find out, Mark."

"That's what I assume BARRIER is about?"

"It's a plan to put a bunch of armed satellites in orbit around jupiter, to jam up its communications and to make sure this thing, whatever it is, doesn't get nasty." Stein explained. "Before then, we need to decode the transmission and figure out what it wants, and why it's here. Only then can we make a good decision on how to proceed."

"How long is BARRIER supposed to take?"

"Estimates say construction and installation in orbit will be completed by 1985."

Mark whistled loudly. "Forteen years."

"Hey, that's forteen years of adding to your pension, my friend." Stein said with a nervous chuckle.

"I don't think I want that much pension. I'll be dead before I can use it."

"Well, like it or not, we're both stuck here until 2399 is sorted out. The Foundation owns our asses, Mark. We signed those contracts knowing full-well; if we find an SCP, we contain it or we die trying."

Mark sighed and pulled out another cigarette. "Fuck. Guess I'll get my decoding book off the shelf and refresh myself. My worst class in university, I might add."

1985. Mark tugged at his greying hair and pulled out another chunk. With a defeated sigh, he pulled out a cigarette and placed the filter where he had always put them. Years had gone by, and finally, finally, BARRIER was in place.

The transmission had taken almost a decade to decode, but eventually, the smartest minds in the world were able to come together and solve the alien messages. They determined that whoever or whatever was sending it, the message was clear:

"Unit is damaged: Repair."

Now, BARRIER was in place, and the transmissions could be much more easily intercepted, jammed and blockaded. Mark sighed with relief when the first images started coming back from the satellite array. They were some of the most high-quality images he had ever seen, and he could see 2399 in all its glory. The object had repaired itself up to 54%, and was increasing in rate. The more it repaired, the more drones it was able to send out. Now, it was beginning to retake some order of shape, looking less like a derelict wreck and more like a...Mark hated to use the term, but...a battlestation.

Stein was older, now, in his very late seventies, and still, he watched as those images came in, and he clapped along with everyone else, albeit much more slowly than the others. Mark had watched Selma grow up into a smart, charismatic astronomer, and were it not for hers and Lujain's expertise, BARRIER wouldn't have gotten off the ground.

Now, here they were, fourteen years older, hugging each other and popping champagne. Mark sighed, and he didn't clap, nor did he laugh as the cork popped right into Doctor Land's face; he was too preoccupied.

"Something on your mind?" The old Stein croaked.

"This isn't containment." Mark whispered. "It's just...better pictures."

"Uh…Guys?" Came the frail voice of one of the satellite operators. "Guys?"

Her voice was drowned out by the celebration around her, but she tried again, louder this time, and finally, she grabbed the attention of a passing scientist. The two looked at the screen, and they called out to others to come look. Eventually, this drew the attention of Mark and Stein, and the two shuffled over to the computer monitor.

"What is it?" Mark asked.

"Uh…" The operator stammered. "There's no transmission."

"What?" Stein asked.

"There's...there's just nothing." The operator explained. "No transmission at all. It's like-"

"-like it knows we're listening." Selma whispered. "And it shut up."

"It's shy." Lujain mumbled.

"Or," Mark replied. "It's waiting for new orders."

The entire room went quiet as the revelation fell upon them; apparently, they were far from done.

"Other directors get to deal with tomatoes that kill you for making bad jokes…" The dying Stein croaked. "Or a telekinetic slug that thinks they're a British explorer that fought in the Second Opium War."

1996. Stein had lung cancer, and refused treatment, saying he had done his time. The crew visited him from time to time; the man, having no family to come visit, gave them all a feeling of obligation to see him. Mark was there on one of the very last days, and the two laughed over the life they had shared.

"You mean I'm going to miss when they decode the new transmission?" Stein sighed. "Damn. Maybe I should have quit after all, eh?"

"Not too many chimneys like you make it to their nineties, old man." The balding Mark replied. "Count your blessings."

"I suppose." Stein said with a laugh and a cough. "Toss me a copy of the data at my gravestone. I'll need to review it for any of your clumsy typos."

"You got it, boss. First thing tomorrow."

"Wonderful." Was the last words Stein said before he fell unconscious, never to wake up again.

Mark attended the funeral, which was humble and small, filled with coworkers and fellow project mates, practically everyone involved with the research of 2399. After the service, it was back to work, and Mark sat in irritating impatience the whole rest of the day. A very distressed and wide-eyed Selma knocked on the door and offered Mark the data. Mark took the paper and pressed his glasses to his eyes.

"Unit is out of range of target." He read aloud. "Proceed to planet number 3 in system 1105022: Repair."

Mark looked up at Selma. "What does this mean?"

"Planet three." Selma stated. "Earth. I think the target is...us."

Mark dropped his glasses, dropping them into his cold coffee, and spilling black liquid over his desk. "Get Richie on the phone. Go! Go, go, go!"

"I told you we shouldda nuked it twenty fucking years ago!" The aging General Richie shouted with a raspy voice. "Thank fuck they listened to me when I told them BARRIER needed to be armed! Now we can send this thing back to hell, where it belongs!"

Mark turned to Director McAllen, Stein's replacement. He was a well-read man, very soft-spoken, but articulate. He stood at the desk of this massive office, with paintings of past directors lining one wall, and certificates of excellence lining the other.

"We can't deny the evidence suggesting we are this thing's target." McAllen stated. "The machine is at fifty-six percent completion, and it's only getting faster. Our four-hundred-year window has become an ninety-year window in dizzyingly-short order. General, I give you full command of BARRIER's defensive capabilities. Give my regards to this alien thing."

"With pleasure." Richie said with a sadistic smirk before moving to the telephone. "Major, this is Richie. Operation Smite is a go. Do not begin until I have reached the control center."

Richie put the phone down and turned to his audience. "Anyone wants to see a show, follow me."

Mark, Selma and McAllen all followed the General through the dark corridors to the control room, where the large screens and lines of workstations were ablaze with activity. Arming protocols were tapped into keyboards, and camera signals were activated. As the screens began to flicker red with warning signs and targeting reticles, the look on Richie's wrinkled face grew wider and wider with glee.

"Twenty years I've been waiting to do my fucking job." The General stated. "Now here we are, I've been holding a damn good bottle of champagne for this. Status?"

"BARRIER Units one, three, seventeen and fifty-nine are in range to target." An operator announced.

"Let it rain." Richie commanded.

"Roger, firing full salvo on sections two, three and four of 2399."

The cameras crackled with static as the rockets fired. The team watched as the tails of smoke blasted off into Jupiter's atmosphere. A few seconds passed, then a minute, and finally, the cameras went white with overexposure, after a few seconds, the cameras returned to normal, displaying a great flame within the Great Red Spot.

"Confirmed good hits." The operator announced.

"Gentlemen, ladies." Richie said cheekily. "That's how you dealt with SCPs back in my day. None of this science, touchy-feely-"

"Oh, wait," The operator interrupted. "Uh, the SCP-"

"What the fuck…" Richie muttered as the cameras zoomed in on 2399. It was fully intact, with only minor damage to small sections. "Fire again."

Once more, the cameras went white with the explosions, but the result was the same; 2399 was only minimally-damaged, and appeared to repair almost instantly. Richie was dumbfounded, his eyes darting from camera-to-camera.

"I-" He stammered. "What the fuck- fire again!"

"General." Director McAllen whispered, placing a hand on the General's shoulder. "The more we fail, the weaker we look. Stand down."

Richie huffed and ripped his shoulder from McAllen's grasp, storming out of the room. The rest were left with a deep felt dread as they watched the explosion's fallout recede, revealing the immaculate 2399 underneath. Mark sighed and pulled out a cigarette.

"Now what?" Selma asked.

"I've-" Lujain started. "There's no way, each of those could level Paris, that thing should be dust!"

"Like you said." Selma stated. "The thing is beyond us."

"We need to come up with something else quick." Lujain replied. "I'll have to do some simulations."

"I'll look at the data gathered by the barrage." Selma added. "Maybe we can find something useful in that mess."

1999. Mark sat alone in his office, staring at the very first picture taken of 2399. How innocent they were to think it was friendly. That morning, BARRIER Unit 53 noticed that 2399's drones were trying to reinstall a piece of the thing's comms array. Not knowing what might happen if 2399 contacts its masters, or peers, the command was given that Unit 45 open fire.

Not a single rocket touched the drones, all exploding kilometers before impact. Mark was there to watch as Unit 45's cameras were knocked out, one-by-one. Then, it began to suck our data from those satellites. By the time Unit 45 was destroyed by other BARRIER units, 2399 had gathered information on our tactical capabilities, population, space program, nations, borders and languages. It knew us better than we knew it, and that terrified every face in that control room. Thank god BARRIER was able to jam the outgoing transmission, at least.

Selma didn't knock anymore, nor did she need to. The two had been through too much to bother with such ceremony, and so she simply opened Mark's office door and walked in.

"You look like shit." Selma grunted.

"You know the saying, 'any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from God?" Mark asked, patting his finished cigarette into the tray. "What if it's actually God that's indistinguishable from advanced technology?"

"Are you telling me you think that's God out there?" Selma asked.

"A destroyer angel come to purge us of our sins." Mark replied. "What if we can't stop this thing?"

"I don't think God's angels get damaged by crash-landing into Jupiter's moons, Mark."

"No, maybe not. Still. I don't know what we should do. Do we pray to it? Beg it to spare us? What does it want? Can we even hope to understand its motives? What if, technology or God, it doesn't matter? What if this is the end?"

Selma sighed and sat down on Mark's desk. "We will find a way to stop it. The data is looking promising. EMPs seem to weaken it, even if it is just a tiny bit. Director McAllan is going to address the Council, see if we can't get some political push to destroy this thing."

"EMPs, huh?" Mark asked. "Even a little bit is better than nothing, I suppose."

"That's the spirit...I think…"

2005. Project Gigas. After the combined effort of 45 countries, enough weapons-grade warheads and EMP explosives to destroy Earth many times over were placed in orbit around Europa and fired, all against 2399's main structure.

Nothing.

Not even a scratch. It was like 2399 was learning how to stop us, or how to defend itself against Earth weapons. It seemed to laugh at those who looked upon it, standing ominous and closer to completion with every passing year. All they could do was watch as its drones went about, collecting gases from jupiter and metals from its moons. As its construction came nearer to competition, it had finally shown its true colours; truly, it was a battlestation, an eradicator of life. Its straight, square architecture and windowless exterior was terrifyingly faceless, emotionless, like the face of a sociopath above a hill of ants. There was no decoration, no embellishment, not even painted surfaces. This was not a ship of peace or of greetings, it was a machine of efficiency and speedy eradication.

Mark saw this thing and saw despair. He had been here since the beginning, he had watched it grow and repair, and he had watched humanity flounder against it. He had wept so many times in bed out of hopelessness, and he was getting old. His hair had fallen out long ago from stress, and his lungs ached from the dozens of cigarettes he sucked into his soul every day. He had stopped talking to his peers, preferring to simply sit and watch as the others worked away. What good was he now? He was a historian, and nothing in history could have prepared them for this.

No; he was finished, and yet, bound by contract to remain until he either died, or until 2399 was contained.

There was talk of something called Project LEGIONNAIRE, the name whispered in hushed tones about the water cooler. It had something to do with a big EMP blast, bigger than humanity can even possibly create now, but something they say they will have time to build.

"My ass." He grumbled to himself.

2399 was getting faster. Now, I was at 59%, and would be finished by 2055. Maybe 2037 if the rate of repair increased exponentially, like it had been. Four-hundred years, they once told us. Lujain...once told us. Now, where is he? Fucking dead, blew his own brains out with an old duckhunting shotgun. Left a note:

"I was wrong. I hope you can all forgive me. I just can't watch everyone's spirits die before their bodies do."

So it was down to him and Selma, watching it every year, learning to hate it better with every passing shift, every new picture.

2015. It finally came time for Mark's bad habits to catch up with him, and as he lay in that hospital bed, wheezing and breathing from tubes and machines, that was when Selma came and handed him a small note.

"What's-" Mark tried to speak.

"2399." Selma explained. "The Triangulum galaxy sent a new order today."

Mark took the paper in his trembling hand and read the note, squinting without his glasses:

Unit is out of range of target: Proceed to planet #3 in system 1105022: Priority is target: Cease repairs.

Mark looked up, the heart rate monitor speeding as he looked into Selma's eyes.

"We did the best we could, Mark." Selma stated.

"Wait, Project LEGIONNAIRE-"

"It's not ready." Selma replied. "It won't be for another couple decades, at best. BARRIER is keeping that transmission from reaching 2399, for now. It's alright, Mark."

"No, we have to find the answer!" Mark suddenly shouted, trying to pull his respirator from his nose. "We have to stop this fucking thing before-"

"Shh." Selma whispered, pushing Mark back into bed. "You did your time. We all have. Rest, now. Rest. It's time we all rest, I think."

Selma stood from Mark's bed and moved to the window. "We were once the pinnacle of the universe. Smart, grand, the top of the food chain. The universe won't even know we were here. This machine has seen life come and go, it's seen humanity grow up, and it will forget us just as easily. Crazy, how it all works, how perspective makes everything more...clear."

Mark watched as the old woman opened the window, letting the cool breeze blow through her hair.

"Selma," Mark stammered. "Don't."

"If that thing out there was sent by God," Selma continued, "Hopefully He can forgive me."

With that, the last thing Mark saw of Selma was her dress as it zipped out the window. There were screams from below, and Mark fell out of his bed after her, crying out to the heavens for an end to this madness. His heart monitor should have warned the nurses, but Mark had unplugged it, shut it off and ripped it from his finger, before scribbling a little note:

I will not watch the world die for my failures. My heart won't bear it. I hope you all find a way.

"Jesus, both of them?"

Director McAllan pressed his cellphone to his head and wandered back and forth across his office floor. "Alight, well, make sure no one knows, we can't handle the blowback for this right now. Morale is low enough as it is."

McAllen hung up and placed the phone in his pocket. Damn. There went the last of the old guard, it seemed. He wandered to his desk and picked up his old landline.

"This is Director Randall McAllen. I wish to speak to the Overseer Council. It's about 2399's Target. Request permission for all information and data regarding SCP-001."