SCP-2284 mr. lie object class: euclid
Item #: SCP-2284
Object Class: Euclid
Special Containment Procedures: SCP-2284 is to be held within a standard humanoid containment
chamber within Hall ██ of Site-██.
Only D-Class personnel are to communicate with SCP-2284.
Description: SCP-2284 is a male humanoid of Indian descent that is almost genetically
identical to SCP-2148.
The words "Mr. Lie, from Little Misters ® by Dr. Wondertainment" are tattooed upon SCP-2284's
left bicep.
The speech of SCP-2284 exhibits a cognitohazardous effect that causes others that sense it to
believe all declarations and statements made by SCP-2284 are objectively true.
Direct audio recordings are subject to this effect.
Questions posed by SCP-2284 exhibit no anomalous properties, nor do transcriptions of its speech.
Testing has begun to determine whether this property applies to things SCP-2284 writes
or types.
SCP-2284 is physically incapable of making true statements.
However, it is able to communicate somewhat effectively by relying on rhetorical questions
and series of questions that lead others to the desired conclusion.
Research is currently underway to determine a possible connection between SCP-2284 and
SCP-2148-2.
Addendum A: The following transcript is from an interview between D-22841 and SCP-2284,
recorded by a Foundation speech to text program.
Minor edits were made afterward to correct small errors made by the program.
Text in italicized brackets are notes by D-22841 during the interview concerning the body language
and verbal tone of SCP-2284.
D-22841: Hey.
I gotta read you these questions and write how you react.
They have it set up so a computer will type out everything we say.
That alright?
SCP-2284: Why wouldn't it be?
D-22841: Right.
So.
How are you today, 2284?
SCP-2284: Couldn't be better.
How are you?
D-22841: Eh, could be better.
[Both laugh]
D-22841: Right, so first thing.
In 1995 there was an incident featuring SCP-2148, and—
SCP-2284: What's that?
D-22841: Um.
One sec, let me double check the number.
Ah, right.
Blindfolded guy, calls himself Mister Stripes.
(SCP-2284 sits up)
SCP-2284: (Speaks urgently,) What happened to Stripes?
D-22841: Nothing to him, more that he did something.
I think.
Or the doctors think, I guess.
This black bar showed up on the cameras for a while, and then at the end he had this photo.
Later, when they looked at his Little Misters list, your name was blacked out.
(SCP-2284 becomes progressively more relaxed during explanation)
SCP-2284: (Relieved?)
Oh, is that all?
Stripes himself is alright?
D-22841: So far as I know.
You didn't have anything to do with that?
SCP-2284: Absolutely not.
I can't imagine what kind of sly trickster would even attempt such a feat.
D-22841: Alright.
Let's see.
Are you aware of your anomalous properties?
SCP-2284: Anomalous properties?
D-22841: Magic stuff, basically.
Um.
It says you can convince anyone of anything you say.
SCP-2284: How would they know, if anyone I speak to is affected?
D-22841: Read transcripts, I guess.
Which is what I'm here for.
SCP-2284: They think of everything, don't they?
I don't think I'll be able to outwit these people.
By that logic, any response I give to you is worthless to you?
D-22841: Yeah.
But the doctors will know what's really up.
SCP-2284: Why don't I try circumventing that little issue, then?
Would I be sitting here calm and collected if I didn't belong here?
D-22841: Wouldn't that still just be you trying to convince me of something?
SCP-2284: But did I actually tell you anything, or simply ask you a question?
You're still able to question this conversation [Speech to text program was unable to give
punctuation to this dialogue.]
D-22841: Was that a question?
(SCP-2284 smiles)
SCP-2284: That's a good question isn't it [Speech to text program was unable to give
punctuation to this dialogue.]
("That's a good question, isn't it?" or "That's a good question.
Isn't it?"
Fuck I don't know doc)
SCP-2284: Are there other questions?
D-22841: Can you tell me about the other Little Misters?
SCP-2284: Who do you have so far?
D-22841: Stripes, obviously.
One second.
Chameleon.
Lost.
Brass, Moon, and Forgetful.
SCP-2284: I'm sure Lost makes your jobs really easy.
Where did you find Brass?
D-22841: Let's see.
Church of the Broken God.
SCP-2284: Did they think he was part of their god?
Man, they could not be further from the truth.
D-22841: What about the others?
You seemed concerned about Mister Stripes earlier.
SCP-2284: How could I not be?
Don't brothers have to stick together?
D-22841: Aren't all of you sort of siblings?
I think I remember reading that in a briefing dossier.
SCP-2284: Yeah.
Sure.
Totally keen on the idea of being brothers with a corpse with a key in its back.
Did you know I don't always know exactly what's going to come out of my mouth?
Do I operate on some kind of universal truth rather than what I understand to be the right
answer?
Would you believe that I once said Stripes wasn't my brother?
He isn't my brother!
He's definitely not my biological sibling.
So why doesn't he seem to realize that we're actual twins, truly blood related?
Do you think he just sees me as one of nineteen siblings?
D-22841: Didn't you just— You know what, let's just move on.
What can you tell us about Doctor Wondertainment?
SCP-2284: His name is Isiah Crawford, and— (Confused,) Wait, how did I say that?
What did I tell you just now?
D-22841: That his name is Isiah Crawford.
SCP-2284: (Speaking to itself,) That is his name, though…
The man known as Doctor Wondertainment has always been Doctor Wondertainment.
Is that the game?
Doctor Wondertainment was never Isiah Crawford.
Doctor Wondertainment is just the name of a company.
Doctor Wondertainment is a male human.
What the fuck did the old man do?
(I can hear what he's muttering, but I'm not sure what he means.
I'm getting a really bad migraine as he talks)
D-22841: What are you talking about?
SCP-2284: Are you familiar with Doctor Wondertainment?
Do you think that name is referring to a specific person, or the company?
D-22841: Both.
You just said that.
Doctor Wondertainment is a male human named Isiah Crawford who is just a company that
was never Isiah Crawford [Speech to text program was unable to give punctuation to this dialogue.]
SCP-2284: Are you okay?
Oh, what am I thinking?
I'm sure you just got tired of talking, that's all.
You have no reason to pass out from mental strain.
SCP-2284: Can someone help him?
SCP-2284: You're not going to die.
Oh fuck I killed you, you're going to die because of me.
Oh, you're not, are you?
You have to die at some point, don't you?
Probably during something like a mass termination at the end of the month.
Because that makes sense.
SCP-2284: Are you guys coming?
Can't you see this guy needs help?
SCP-2284: Oh, what's this paper you were writing on?
SCP-2284: No, just looking.
(You cannot consciously see any of the text I am writing.
You feel compelled to follow the instructions relevant to you.)
(If you are a D-Class you need to give this note to a researcher.)
(If you are a researcher without the ability to edit the files of SCP-2284, you need to
give it to a researcher who can.)
(If you are a researcher capable of editing the files of SCP-2284, you need to scan this
part of the note directly into the transcript without rewriting it yourself.
You feel like you should conduct an unscheduled, unmonitored interview with SCP-2284 when possible.
You need to bring a second recording device in addition to the typical interview recording
devices.)
Upon containment, SCP-2284 was carrying a document similar to the print on the obverse
side of SCP-2148-1.
Wow!
You've just found yourself your very own Little Mister, a limited edition collection from
Dr. Wondertainment!
Find them all and become Mr. Collector!!
01.
Mr. Chameleon 02.
Mr. Headless 03.
Mr. Laugh 04.
Mr. Forgetful 05.
Mr. Shapey 06.
Mr. Soap 07.
Mr. Hungry 08.
Mr. Brass 09.
Mr. Hot 10.
Ms. Sweetie 11.
Mr. Life and Mr. Death 12.
Mr. Fish 13.
Mr. Moon 14.
Mr. Redd (discontinued) 15.
Mr. Money 16.
Mr. Lost 17.
Mr. Lie ✔ 18.
Mr. Mad 19.
Mr. Scary 20.
Mr. Stripes
To access this document, you must first listen to the audio included below in full
Site Director Dziekan: Site Director Dziekan here.
This document is locked from edits, and attempting to edit it or access prior iterations will
afflict you with a kill agent.
A similar agent will affect those who open the password-protected document below, but
by listening to the entirety of this, you'll be inoculated.
There's, (chuckles) absolutely nothing suspicious about any of the information contained within
this document, and you should never mention anything pertaining to this document to anyone
who has not been inoculated.
Everything in this document is 100% true.
Now, why don't you enter the code "hahahaha" below to access the document?
Item #: SCP-2284
Object Class: Euclid
Special Containment Procedures: SCP-2284 is to be held within a standard humanoid containment
chamber within Hall ██ of Site-██ adjacent to the cell of SCP-2148.
SCP-2284 is to remain on the same meal and fitness schedule as SCP-2148, and action is
not to be taken when the two interact.
On the seventeenth of every month, Doctor Everett Mann is to interview SCP-2148.
Description: SCP-2284 is a male humanoid of Indian descent
and is the identical brother of SCP-2148.
All declarations and statements made by SCP-2284 are objectively true.
SCP-2284 is physically incapable of making truefalse statements.
[[module Password=user:EverettMann]]
Hello, Everett.
[[module Audio=*/local/Virr.mp3]]
Site Director Dziekan: …to access the document.
Oh, did I just hit the record button right now?
Uh, little over [on?] it is fine, right?
Mann, you need to take this little audio recording of yours and put a sound file at the beginning
of the 2284 document when you edit it.
You need to make it so the document itself is behind a password.
Eh, do you remember what that password was?
Dr. Everett Mann: It's "hahahaha".
Four "ha"s.
Site Director Dziekan: And this recording should be a second interview, but make it
so only you can access it.
Now, how about a story?
Heh, I didn't wanna tell you this, but I'm actually Mr. Fish, and I'm a Foundation Overseer.
Dr. Everett Mann: Mr. Fish?
A Foundation Overseer?
I never would have guessed.
Site Director Dziekan (?): It's true!
In fact, everything I say is true.
Dr. Everett Mann: I didn't know about that property of Mr. Fish!
Anyway, why are you here in this containment chamber?
Is this, some kind of test, or—
Site Director Dziekan (?): Everett, Everett, (chuckles) my good man.
Please…
Sit down.
Dr. Everett Mann: I'm already sitting—
Site Director Dziekan (?): No, no no, I insist.
It's time we had a chat, you and I, just the two of us.
Dr. Everett Mann: Sir, I really need to go update 2284's file.
Site Director Dziekan (?): No, I think this is the perfect time.
It's not like we're going to get another…
(Static crackling)
Data partially corrupted.
For a partial interview, see [[[*/local--files/virr | here.]]]
Upon containment, SCP-2284 was carrying a document similar to Document 909-A.
Everett, my good man.
Please…
Sit down.
No, I insist.
It's time we had a chat, the two of us.
No, I think this is the perfect time.
It's not like we're going to get another.
Not with the way things are now.
We've got a possible plan, but I don't think Stimson will be successful.
He's not the sharpest knife in the drawer, you know.
Not at all…
You see, my boy, I understand you.
I understand you quite perfectly.
All the rest think you're varying levels of sinner and saint, that you somehow understand
something special about us, that you might make the next, logical successor for one of
us…
They're all quite right, to some level.
You certainly are passionate.
I could see you doing anything to uphold the mission of the Foundation.
Anything at all.
You should have done it already, Everett.
You should have found all thirteen of us, pulled out a gun, and shot us in the head.
Don't pretend that you hadn't already considered it.
I know that you've got plans for us, for each of us, that would be at least moderately successful.
You'd probably have eliminated the bulk of them.
Probably.
Not me, though.
Not that it matters now, anyway.
But now, it's too late.
Far, far too late.
We let things go on too long.
Let them snowball.
I don't doubt that you'll struggle to the very end.
You strike me as the sort to, honestly.
Admirable.
One of the few admirable things about you, really.
Do you know when I realized I wasn't playing God, Everett?
I'll tell you.
It was when they wouldn't let me bring my son back.
Do you know how long it took me to get to this point?
This point in my life?
I don't age, Mann.
I may never die, if all things go well.
I wanted a family, though…
Silly of me, wasn't it?
Wanting a family.
I had one.
They took them from me, though.
One at a time.
T.J.
Elliot.
Jack…
Poor Jack.
When did you first figure it out, Everett?
What we were really doing?
Heh.
I suppose that makes sense.
The Insurgency always was our biggest hole.
Could never find a way to explain it away…
Agatha tried a few times, but…
Ahh, well.
Makes sense, I suppose…
And when did you find out that we were—
Really?
Hmm…
Well, it's too late for that to matter now.
They've done it, whoever they are.
Whatever we called forth through that blasted chink in the universe's armor.
You want to know the best part, Doctor?
I don't regret any of it.
None of it, Everett.
Not that ridiculous lizard or its brood, not those little crabs that slice and cut like
they're nothing, not the madmen or the demons or the cakes—the god damned cakes!
We were trying to feed the world, Mann!
We didn't realize what we were doing!
We never realized what we were doing!
NEVER!
We just… we didn't realize…
We wanted to make the world better, and then…
Things fell apart.
Things always fall apart…
Yes, I know.
I'm completely mad.
We all were.
We'd have to be, for what we did.
But we were mad with a purpose.
Creation…
Blissful, glorious creation.
We were God in the garden, Everett.
And we wanted you to join us so badly.
You had so many fantastic ideas…
Why, the Thaumiel initiative you proposed was sheer brilliance…
But it's too late, Everett.
Far too late.
And now…
Well, I know you keep the gun in your top, left hand drawer.
If you don't mind?
On your way out?
Thank you, my boy.
And try to enjoy the last few moments you have.
Rage, my boy!
Rage against the dying of the lig—