SCP - 033 "The Missing Number"
Object Class - Euclid
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The Foundation's research chamber was cold, the only light coming from a single bulb above a long table. Dr. Maya Patel adjusted her glasses and eyed the hand-crafted vellum sheet in the center of the table, its edges jagged and uneven.
Beside her, Dr. Alan Hutchinson—SCP-033's chief researcher—checked his stopwatch. "Ready, Maya?"
She nodded, nerves prickling. "As ready as I'll ever be. D-145, please copy the formula onto the board."
D-145, a D-class in gloves, carefully traced the complex symbols onto the chalkboard, its surface cut into an irregular, lopsided shape.
Alan started the timer. "We have 2560 seconds. Let's begin."
As Maya stared at the formula, her mind spun with numbers and symbols that seemed to shift when she looked away. "It's… beautiful. But wrong. Alan, it's like a gap in reality."
Alan nodded, scribbling notes on a piece of rough papyrus. "That's Theta Prime. The number we never knew existed. It's not just between numbers—it's between everything."
D-145 stepped back, rubbing his eyes. "I feel weird, Doc. Like I suddenly forgot how to count."
Maya's hand shook as she wrote. "If this got into a computer—"
Alan's face darkened. "It would unravel everything. Our logic, our code, our world. Like a book with a missing page you never knew was gone."
Maya glanced at her laptop, sitting safely outside the 30-meter exclusion zone. "What if we could store it electronically? What could we learn?"
Alan's voice was sharp. "Or what could we lose? Remember Trial 033-Delta 5? It leapt from one sheet to another. If it finds a pattern, it spreads."
D-145 stared at the chalkboard, sweat beading on his brow. "I can't stop thinking about it. Like it's trying to fit into my head, but there's no room."
Maya looked at Alan. "What if it's not meant to be known?"
He sighed. "Some knowledge is a wedge in the mind. It splits things open."
The timer beeped. 2000 seconds.
Alan stood. "Time's up. D-145, erase the board. Maya, incinerate the vellum."
D-145 hesitated, then wiped the symbols away. The chalk smeared, but for a moment, Maya thought she saw the symbols reappear on the wall behind him—then fade.
Maya carried the vellum to the incinerator, watching it curl and blacken. "It's gone," she whispered.
Alan joined her, voice low. "For now. But numbers don't forget. They wait for someone to count them."
End of Log