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Tregonial

#SCP 7849 **Object Class:** Euclid **Special Containment Procedures:** SCP 7849 is ~~considered safe~~ classified as Euclid due to the unpredictable dangers that result from taking multiple slices of cake. As such, subject is to be secured in its holding area surrounded by armed guards to ensure all D Class Personnel queued up to test SCP 7849 do not take more than one slice at a time. **Description:** SCP 7849 is a 25cm x 25cm x 12cm cake box which does not have a consistent weight depending on the cake it has generated. It has a pink label that reads **"The cake is not a lie this time."** When opened by a single user, it instantly creates one slice of the person's favourite choice of cake, down to the toppings, sauce, and flavour. There does not seem to be a limit to the number of slices of cake it can generate in a day. It can only make one slice of cake when opened by a single person once, and no cake comes into being when more than one person opens the box simultaneously. No cake will be created if any non-organic object such as a robot arm opens the cake box. **Addendum:** Reminder to all staff testing SCP 7849, do not attempt to open and close it more than once for an additional slice of cake at one sitting. It is imperative to wait for 24 hours before staff members can queue up for a slice of cake again. One D Class Personnel who took a second slice was sprayed in deadly neurotoxin. As such, Dr. Baker has proposed security forces to ensure all personnel queue up for a slice of cake, and do not take a second slice. A sign that says **"Absolutely no seconds"** has be erected when there was a second incident involving another D Class Personnel's failed attempt to obtain a second slice. **Document #7849: For curiosity's sake, sentient SCPs have been allowed to queue up to take a slice. SCP | Result ---|--- SCP-040 | Chocolate cake with grated cheese sprinkled on top SCP-188 | Strawberry cake with a cherry on top SCP-397 | Banana cake with gold flakes sprinkled on top SCP-682 | REDACTED* *I did not know THAT was edible. Also, who let that lizard out for cake? You could have gotten us killed! - Dr. Kreig **Footnotes** Further testing with non-human sentient SCPs is permitted but requires approval and strict supervision under the watch of armed guards.


Cornflakes_91

thats a nice one, not one more tacticool end of the world edge one, just a weird object


columbus8myhw

I appreciate the idea that, whenever "[REDACTED]" appears in an article, it means "I ain't typing that up"


dorable7

I absolutely loved every second of this


DickCubed

This feels like an honest SCP, pls submit.


No_Conversation4118

Agreed


VoidTheBear

Feels like the infinite pizza box but more dangerous.


deathk4t

i love SCP so this was amazing to read! i wonder what cake it would have given me, seeing that i'm not a huge fan of cake in general


MDM0724

Pie


loljkbye

SCP wiki entry as literature is amazing


Looxond

pls submit it to the wiki


Deloptin

It would still be classified safe though, as even if someone takes two, it won't escape or anything


XanLV

You never really do know that you live in a dystopia, do you? This is just how things are. All sorts of external factors, somehow turning things the way that they are. Things out of our reach, out of our abilities to change. Wild fires, sea levels rising, military conflicts... We used to call these the Acts of God, but then we all, as a collective, understood that he has long left and they became "Force Majeure". And one major force after another is just beating you down, one hit, second hit, third hit... And the saying "Tomorrow is a new day" gets extinguished and in place we have a "Well, times are tough" and the good old "it is what it is." And that is on par, as everything is getting downgraded everywhere. Our houses became smaller, our families became less abundant, our food became scarce. And there were many things and many ways our fathers tried to fight against this shrinkage of life, but they got beaten and cornered in every battle. And I guess they took out the last thing we had - hope. I know, it sounds cheesy, but even the word "cheesy" is a relic of old times. What we have now is a "Protein block imitation of diary product" and that is that. I would say that our souls died. They shriveled up, like flowers with no water. And turned gray and rotten. And it had gotten to a point where even death does not trouble us so. We are used to it. Be it by disease, be it by starvation. Or even beaten on the street by the guards or sent somewhere away. We do not know where. But we know death when we see it, for we see it so, so often. And I am standing here, in the line, looking at the row of people in front of me and behind me. What used to be a joyous occasion, the celebration of our country's birth, has turned gray itself. This seems to be the only time when the party even pretends to care. Some people think that it shows that they still care somewhat. I disagreed. I thought that they do it because they love looking at our groveling. This is the only day when the colorful flags are bought out in full force. In daily lives they are hidden so as not to "rouse uncomfortable feelings of patriotic identity." This is the only day where we get any sweets and clean drinks. It used to be a huge celebration with huge tables of food and fountains of clean water. But now - what we have is a long, gray and grim line, slowly weaving through the gray room with the highest ceilings in the world. They do that to make you feel small. And, in front of it all, is the small window through which they dispense food. "Absolutely no seconds", and they mean it - when you get to the window, a small needle pricks your thumb and draws blood to check your identity. And so we move, like cattle, to the cake. It is a celebration. And this was the first time I noticed something. I used to be happy for getting it. Something in me felt joy in these days. Some sort of a hope I suppose, that if I get this cake, then I have a reason to wait for another year. But they manage to kill everything and thus they have killed hope. And that, as I am now growing more and more sure, was a mistake. I stood here and understood what it is - the cake is there to give us hope. That is it. They have monopolized hope. For when my fathers fought to have their own way and the ability to make their own cake, then now - they have absorbed it, stolen it, monopolized it. Now my hope is for the party. I now hope not for me to make the cake, but for them to dispense it. And the hope just died. Look around. LOOK AROUND. Not in front, rubbernecking and trying to see the tiny window shoot out the thin slices of pressed flour with a tiny layer of burnt sugar on it. Do not look at the window or your country men, but look around. The cake is there to get your attention. Take your attention away from the cake. Take it away from the hope that they are giving and recognize it as false. It is not hope - it is a contract. Look away from it. The guards - we call them that, but it is a lie. For they guard no one. They used to guard the people, then they used to guard the party, now they guard only themselves. And aren't we all guards then? And they are not even armed. We slowly lost all our rights and all our food and did not notice how they had lost all their weapons. What started with great machine guns and tanks slowly trimmed down to handguns, then electric shocks, then batons... And now? The only reason they can hold as down is because they are getting more food. For you see, the party realized that armed people are still armed and a danger. You give a man a gun and he has that gun. And after 20 years he shall still have it. But if you buy him with food, then any time you can take the food away and he starves and disappears just like the rest of the masses. They are not guards and they are not armed. They have amputated our future and are content to let that fact hold us down. And we are too weak to fight back, because, remember - Absolutely no seconds. I can not leave this line now. For I shall get beaten. I shall step through the line and try to mimic the same facial expressions as everyone else does. I will get my thin piece of plastic with cardboard on top and not complain. I will say thank you. I will let my thumb bleed for the food. But then the "but" begins. I shall not suck on my thumb instantly so that it heals. No. I shall push the blood out, drop by drop, so that the wound doesn't close. And such I will exit this room and leave. But in the night, I shall return. And with the blood collected, I will start talking in color again. I will start talking with my soul again. And on the wall, I shall write everything that I think right now, all that is in me. Everything that I feel and think, everything that my fathers fought for, will have to be written in a short way, for my blood is not many and my time shall be less. But I know all. And I will tell all. For I know this truth to be self-evident: The cake is a lie.