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Sexual References: Features sexual themes or language, without the depiction of sexual acts.
Sexually Explicit: Description of sexual acts.
Sexual Assault: Features non-consensual sexual acts.
Gore: Depiction of blood, gore or mutilation of body parts.
Child Abuse: Features severe mistreatment of children.
Self-Harm: Description of self-harm.
Suicide: Description of suicide.
Torture: Description of torture.
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NOTICE FROM THE FOUNDATION RECORDS AND INFORMATION SECURITY ADMINISTRATION
Following the discovery of Incident 9640-092117, documentation containing essential elements of SCP-9640 has been made inaccessible to all personnel below Level-05 Clearance.
Access to information regarding the aforementioned incident and its subsequent investigation will be granted on a need-to-know basis only.
— Barbara "Barbie" Eisenstein, Director, RAISA
Memo dated 11-15-2025
Item #: SCP-9640
Clearance Level: 03 - Confidential
Object Class: Keter
Special Containment Procedures: As SCP-9640 is a set of actions that can only be performed while engaging in an act of homicide, the promotion of societal and policy-based measures intended to curb rates of violent crime is the most effective method of containment.
All released material containing descriptions or depictions of the steps necessary to perform SCP-9640 is to be suppressed and hidden from public view.
Description: SCP-9640 is a form of ritual execution that was performed within the ancient Daevite Empire during times of conquest. The ritual, unlike many others of Daevite origin, does not rely on the use of glyphs, ritual objects, or innate thaumaturgical ability. Instead, the ritual's success is entirely dependent on non-anomalous factors. It is of note that no anomalous compulsion to perform SCP-9640 is known to exist.
The following is a relevant passage from SCP-140.
Update: Specific details of SCP-9640 that are present within this passage have been obscured.
A leader who is defeated is a leader who fails all subjects expected to obey. Such a leader must not be remembered. No totems nor sigils are needed, as this is a matter of mortal honor — not one where assistance from the Gods is needed.
When their blood is spilled, it must be in a place that draws contrast from the actions being performed upon them — one of prior ███████████████. They must be forcibly separated from the results of their decision-making in life and left unable to view the consequences of their defeat. That with which they used to utter their faulty commands should be left intact, thus they shall not be gagged while the ritual is performed — after all, it is the right of those they presided over to hear their failed leader's agony. Still, they must not be permitted to know for certain whose cries they are listening to. Only once these first steps have been taken, will a Daeva draw their blade and silence the defeated by means of blood.
Before the ritual may meet its conclusion, the wretched remains of the conquered must be arranged in a position of defeat. Their █████ may not touch, while their █████ must be rendered inseparable. Then, they are presented to the world, while none but the practitioners may see. It is as if they were truly never there to be seen. Only then will the ritual be complete.
When the eyes of all who witness are turned away, all will be changed. When the Daeva conquerors step forth from the inner sanctum of the forgotten, they will be treated by the people as the rightful leaders they have become.
Addendum 9640.03.01: Discovery
On 10-12-2015, Foundation researchers noticed a pattern among what seemed to be spontaneous false confessions to homicide. Individuals who were either not suspected of a crime, being questioned in relation to a different crime, or already incarcerated would claim to have engaged in an act of homicide, often detailing the process by which they did so.
When these leads were investigated further by law enforcement, no discernible evidence of such crimes having been committed could be found. In addition, police were unable to locate evidence of the purported victim's existence, past nor present.
Addendum 9640.03.02: Other Cases of Interest
In addition to confessions by those who unintentionally completed SCP-9640, a number of known homicides were identified as "failed attempts". These cases are ones in which the perpetrator(s) made identifiable missteps preventing the completion of SCP-9640, despite meeting all other criteria. The following is a list of relevant examples, including the reason(s) for the resulting outcome. It is of note that none of these perpetrators were aware that they were performing SCP-9640.
ID Number
Location
Reason(s) for Failure
01-013090
Dayton, OH
Perpetrator likely failed to complete all steps due to a lack of physical strength.
04-121791
Oak Ridge, TN
Perpetrator committed the act at a location where the victim did not regularly spend a substantial amount of time.
05-032298
Lakeland, FL
Perpetrators engaged in an act of necrophilia, witnesses/perpetrators numbered in an amount above three.
11-021305
Juneau, AK
Perpetrator attempted to post photographs of the crime scene online, was caught on CCTV footage holding part of the corpse.
13-082913
Kansas City, MO
Perpetrators did not display the corpse properly.
Additional cases that fit the category of a failed SCP-9640 instance will be catalogued by researchers in the order in which they are discovered.
Addendum 9640.03.03: Restricted Access Information
The following information has been restricted to only those with proper clearance. All sensitive information contained within is to remain strictly confidential.
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Addendum 9640.05.01: Incident 9640-092117
Below is an audio transcript recorded approximately eight weeks prior to the incident.
Transcript of Recorded Audio
Date: 07-24-2017
Location: SEC. SITE-76 BLDG-02 LVL-03 RM-320C
Parties: Level-03 Conceptual Containment Researcher Harlan Weems, Level-02 Conceptual Containment Junior Researcher Steven Roman
[BEGIN LOG]
Weems: Sometimes, I wonder what's really wrong with someone doing it. Like, on a philosophical level.
Roman: [Snorts] The ritual? Well, for starters, you're killing someone in cold blood. Brutally.
Weems: Right, but— Okay, listen. Why is killing someone wrong? Just by the principles of morality and ethics.
Roman: Uh, you're ending someone's life, you're causing them to physically suffer, their families and friends will be hurt emotionally. Pretty obvious.
Weems: It is obvious. But the real question is, aren't those negated by SCP-9640?
Roman: What do you mean?
Weems: So, you are ending someone's life — but only from your perspective. For everyone else, including their friends and family, they literally never existed in the first place.
Roman: Yeah, but from your perspective, you still did it. You still remember the person.
Weems: Here's the thing, though: there are plenty of anomalies that implant false memories.
Roman: Sure, yeah…
Weems: So, what's the material difference between SCP-9640 and, for instance, if one of those anomalies planted a memory in your head of you stabbing some guy named Joe Blow, who was your best friend in the whole wide world?
Roman: I guess, but you're still causing someone to suffer while you're doing it. I think that point still stands.
Weems: Not really, because afterwards, the world will be one where they never existed, right?
Roman: Technically? I mean if they experienced suffering, but then reality shifts to one where they never existed to experience it… I don't know.
Weems: And after that, they're nothing but a concept in your mind.
Roman: I wouldn't say that…
Weems: It's kinda degrading, but it is true.
Roman: Yeah, but even if — there are still ethical and material problems. Like what if you erased everyone in the memetics department? Then bravo! Now, you and everyone else is dead because some kill agent was never contained.
Weems: First, that's assuming that in the new timeline, the Foundation wouldn't just recruit different people. Second, that's technically more of a problem with overusing the ritual, not the ritual by itself.
Roman: Okay, but, what if you kill someone who just invented some piece of technology that would literally save the world? Then without it, we're fucked.
Weems: Hm. I guess I'll grant you that it would be unethical to kill someone like that.
Roman: And people like me who never did jack shit beyond pencil pushing are fair game? [Roman chuckles] That's hardly fair.
Weems: [Weems speaks in a comedic, exaggerated fashion] My dear Stevie-boy… Life isn't fair, don't you know?
Roman: Very funny— Wait. Does that mean you think the Daevites were on the up-and-up too?
Weems: I don't know. I mean in their context, I guess it's the lesser of two evils — since they were using it to make conquered folks think they'd been under Daevite rule the whole time, fewer people probably died? There were fewer revolts and usually less bloodshed in those areas, historians think.
Roman: They were still in the wrong! They were conquering villages and killing people.
Weems: Yeah, but then you're holding them to a standard beyond their known baseline behavior. I said "in their context".
Roman: I love how you keep smuggling in these prerequisites.
Weems: There are prerequisites, though.
Roman: Any more I should know about, before I decide you're crazy?
Weems: Hm. How's about, it's only morally neutral if you know how the ritual works; if you don't, you're going into it with an acceptance of all the harms that come with regular murder.
Roman: I mean, yeah, the second part of that is true. In that case, it's weird. Usually being more ignorant of your behavior means less moral culpability.
Weems: Yeah, it's weird… That's why it's an anomaly.
Roman: Still, remind me to never invite you to my quarters. [Roman laughs]
[END LOG]
Audio of a second, similar debate Researcher Weems had with Junior Researcher Miriam Syed on 08-01-2017 was also recorded, though some excerpts are unintelligible, even when enhanced. Incident 9640-092117 occurred about six weeks later.
Two reports were made in October of 2017 — soon after the incident occurred, calling attention to his deteriorating mental health. These reports cite anxiety, distrust of others, and symptoms of depression, which Researcher Weems wrote off as stress. In November of 2017, due to a drop in productivity, he was mandated to see a counselor. Over the next several months, documentation states that Weems improved gradually, and eventually reached a new baseline.
At some point within the following year, his motivation and work output increased dramatically. During this time, he reportedly spent very little time on non-work activities. In January of 2020, he was promoted to Head Researcher. Afterwards, his productivity briefly waned, then returned to its previous rate. He became the Director of Conceptual Containment in November of 2024.
Recovered Journal Entries
On 11-08-2025, seven sheets of loose leaf paper were found between the box spring and mattress within the onsite quarters of Dr. Harlan Weems. These journal entries remain the only evidence of the incident's occurrence and of the prior existence of the victim. All text has been transcribed, while pencil drawings found within have been maintained in their original format.
[BEGIN PAGE 1]
8/26/17-
1. Figure out Stavros' schedule
➢ Has to be at his room - maybe at night?
➢ When is slowest sitesec response time?
➢ Look up floorplan…what part of his room is furthest from adjacent
➢ When are those in adjacent rooms gone?
2. Materials? Limited by ritual requirements
➢ Knife - can't bring any other weapons — is second knife okay if one breaks? Go over research to be sure research unclear, not risking it
➢ Cheat sheet - original text, research doc, condensed
➢ Jute rope - duct tape has worked in case studies but don't want to risk it
➢ Towel to block bottom of door - take from Stavros' bathroom
➢ Shit to barricade door - furniture from inside room
3. Technology
➢ Check room for cameras, recording devices, and phones before go time
➢ Don't bring phone
4. WORK FAST
9/12/17-
Meeting with Stavros at his quarters requested, approved, and scheduled for September 21st.
When I asked to meet, he looked at me like I'd just asked him to shovel shit. Accordingly, he rolled his eyes and asked me if I was "sure it was really necessary. After that, I could barely get a word out before he interrupted with some more bullshit like, "You're not going to convince me to let you back on the research team. I said you're on paperwork and that's it. Too bad."
I swear, I was so fucking close to losing it right then and there. It took me like ten times dodging his dismissals and bullshit attempts until I could finally get him to agree to it, but I did. Fuck him, I'm so sick of this shit.
[BEGIN PAGE 2]
9/22/17-
It was a weird feeling, standing there, right before I attacked him. I'd almost describe it as being like standing in front of a woman you want to ask on a date, but you're really not sure if she likes you all too much. It sounds crazy, but it was almost awkward. I kept waiting for him to finish a sentence, like I was trying to jump into a conversation without interrupting when, rationally, I could have done it at any time. Why did I have to be polite to someone who'd be gone forever within the next hour or two? Especially someone like him.
I replayed every stupid argument, every missed opportunity, and every shamelessly biased performance review in my head, trying to psych myself up to do something that was entirely foreign to me. No matter how much I tried to stoke the fire inside of me, my nerves snuffed it out.
At least Stavros was kind enough to lend me some fuel:
"Hey, space cadet — are you gonna fucking listen to me for once, or did you just come here to waste my time like you always do?"
And I lit up like the sun…
I shoved him to the floor, and jabbed my foot into his back until he lay prone. I was teeming with rage, but my stomach twisted into knots. Within a second, I was on top of him, my legs pinning his arms to his sides. It was a sickening, shameful form of satisfaction — feeling him struggle under me, yet knowing he couldn't do shit about it. I can't deny that for the first minute or two, it felt fucking good…
…Then, my momentum waned and reality came flooding back in to fill the gaps. All of the sudden, I couldn't stop my brain from screaming at me to get the fuck up. But, I didn't. I kept going until stopping was no longer an option. If I didn't complete the ritual, my career would be over, and Stavros would live knowing I'd tried to kill him. In the situation I'd put myself in, the path that caused the least harm was to continue. I had to continue.
I repeated the sentiment in my head like a mantra the entire time my fingers were digging into his eye sockets. It was the only thing that drowned out the sound of his pleas. They were slippery with fluid — mostly blood at that point — but I managed to pull them free. The feeling of them in my hand made my stomach flip; slick and sickeningly compressible. I took a deep breath and kept going: hold, squeeze, rip, repeat. Little makes me more nauseous than remembering the sound of his optical nerve tearing like sinew.
No separation between the leader and their fallen warriors is permitted to stand. Both lay defeated, with the spear of a Daeva through their bleeding heart. Both are made to die in agony.
He'd fallen unconscious by this point. It was a small mercy, not to have his thrashes and wails reminding me of the terror I was causing. Yet I kept bargaining with myself in my head that I could still stop. It didn't matter, my hand still reached for the knife, pulled his head up by his blood-stained hair, and slit his throat from ear to ear, just as the historical records prescribed. In the span of a second, the pleas in my mind were silenced.
Stavros wheezed and struggled for just another minute or two before going limp, but it felt like hours. Time seemed to dilate as I held him still, forced to stare blankly at the ceiling with my heart beating out of my chest, tear tracks forming on my cheeks, and bile in my throat. In fact, that was one of the only things I anticipated.
[BEGIN PAGE 3]
For a moment after he stilled, exhaustion washed over me. The heart wrenching part of it was over, and all that remained was physical labor I feared I'd be too weak to complete. My legs were sore, my bloodstained hands were shaking, and I couldn't get my frantic breathing to slow. The only thing that got me to spring to my feet was paranoia.
Since the first act of violence, everything had begun to sound muffled. For the worst of it, I was so in my own head, that it felt like his screams were a world away. Therefore, I had no idea how audible the act had been. My heart dropped to my stomach when I realized that had I entirely forgotten to account for the possibility of being caught. I tossed the knife and ran to the door. When I pressed my ear against it and heard no commotion, it was like a weight had been lifted from my chest. Still, I couldn't afford to conclude that no one was coming — I quickly barricaded the room.
In some ways, assuaging my fears only made things worse. With my adrenaline starting to lag, I turned around, took one look at him, and vomited a foot away from his head. The smell immediately made me gag again, but only mucus dripped from my open mouth — stringy and viscous. I wondered briefly if vomiting on his corpse would render my attempt unsuccessful, then immediately dragged him to the other side of the room, just to be safe.
I don't even remember when I flipped him over, but he was on his back after that.
Then, I continued — the exertion combined with the smell of blood made me dizzy as I severed his limbs. Above the hands, below the thighs. Above the hands, below the thighs. Above the hands, below the thighs. I probably repeated the phrase hundreds of times, whispering shakily under my breath. I convinced myself to stop thinking about what I was doing, reasoning that I'd have the rest of my life to ruminate in prison if the ritual didn't work. Instead, I solely focused on making sure it did.
My hands shook like leaves while I tied his calves together, severed from his body with his feet still attached. I thanked my previous self for choosing jute rope — If I'd gone with polyester, I don't know if the rope could've kept from slipping in my bloody hands long enough for me to tie it. I wiped sweat off my forehead and neck, replacing it with quickly drying blood. It was itchy when it crusted, but that never lasted long.
Hands stay with eyes, legs tied below. The rite cannot be completed until the disgraced can no longer hold a spear, spot enemies on the battlefield, nor flee in cowardice.
[BEGIN PAGE 4]
Compared to the grueling physical nature of the previous step, my knife cut through the skin and subcutaneous fat of his stomach far too easily. I briefly pondered how vulnerable humans truly were — that it only took one person to take matters into their own hands. The idea of being that person disgusted me, but I reminded myself that I would never harm someone who I knew would remain in the collective consciousness afterwards.
I kept going. My knife cut through his liver and his bowels and his stomach — tougher work for a knife like the one I used. Quickly, the room filled with a disgusting odor, so bad I couldn't bear it without gagging — it reeked of copper and meat, mixed with rot, shit, and bile. My stomach cramped like it was bound to turn inside out and come slithering from my mouth at any moment. Yet, I managed to stay by the source of the stench for just a little while longer. Fulfilling the last step of the horrific rite, I ensured that his innards were left fully on display from sternum to groin, loose skin draped over his sides.
Once the defeated has been fully incapacitated in life and in death, they must be flayed open — prepared as if to be viewed by the world, by their conquered people, and by the Gods themselves. Yet, a being of such disgrace does not deserve the honor of recognition, nor remembrance. Only their conquerors may see them in such a state.
I checked, and checked again. I read over all the documentation I'd brought until it was almost illegibly streaked with blood. I cried as I looked over his mutilated corpse, inspecting every nauseating detail until I made myself woozy. Only when I'd checked over and over for long enough, and only when the vertigo threatened to send me falling face first into the putrid open cavity beneath my gaze, did I strip every inch of clothing off my body and allow myself to walk to the bathroom.
I remember looking at myself in the mirror, terrified that the blood wouldn't ever wash off. I pictured myself stuck like that for the rest of my life — covered in coagulated blood and reeking of copper. Then, I scrubbed my skin raw under scalding water until I was just as red as I would have been if it were true.
When I walked back into the main room, it was empty. Nothing but standard gray furniture lined up against a blank wall.
[BEGIN PAGE 5]
9/30/17-
I just can't stop thinking of how he looked before I turned around. I shouldn't even remember it; I was lightheaded and nauseous, and my vision was already blurring from overexertion and sheer terror. Yet I see it every time I close my eyes. It feels like all knowledge of him in the world has been concentrated into me, and filtered through the image of the last time I saw him.
I drew what I saw in my head, just to see if it would help, yet it only feels worse. Like I have to stare at him on this page while I write about how he tortures me from beyond the…? Beyond the grave? Beyond I-don't-even-know-what — he's supposed to be fucking gone.
Pencil drawing found within Weems' recounting of events.
[BEGIN PAGE 6]
10/6/17-
I'm trying to learn how to accept that this is my new reality, but it feels like he's trapped inside me. It's like he's sitting behind my ribcage and in the back of my skull and trying to claw himself out. But this isn't some expression of regret, or sorrow, or guilt or anything. It's not like I'm sitting here writing this as a metaphor for how I just can't stop thinking about what I did because I suddenly feel bad for him. It's real, and it's fucking sickening.
Stavros always hated me, always told me I was unworthy of my place on his research team, and always managed to come up with a new way to get me to hate myself. Now, his existence — his sole presence left in our reality — lives within my brain, within my body, and I can feel it writhing. Honestly, it makes me hate him even fucking more.
I wonder how the Daevites felt afterward — did they also have to incubate the conceptual parasites of the leaders they dethroned? Or were they just so happy to be in charge, they didn't notice? Maybe, if whoever they conquered had given them a hard time in the past, they were proud of feeling the way that I do now? I imagine it was like a trophy to them.
All that is left of your enemy in the universe now exists inside of you, and the most potent memory that remains is one of their screams, their blood, and their flesh splitting under your blade. Every time you feel it in the back of your skull is a reminder of why you deserve power.
It seems like my only problem is that I feel none of that triumph. I haven't spent the last — however long — in battle, taking lives day to day, all culminating in this final bloody act to secure the fruits of my conquest. In my life, the issues I was having were solved with paperwork, and meetings, and being dismissed by admin again and again, until one day you aren't. There's no room for, and no honor in, scooping out a man's eyeballs with your own two hands.
[BEGIN PAGE 7]
10/8/17-
I don't know how I'll be able to keep coming to work every day. Two people have already suggested I see a therapist — they know something is wrong. I said I wouldn't resort to amnestics, but I can't risk getting found out because I couldn't keep my shit together. I'm beginning to feel like it might be the only option.
11/20/17-
The window for all self-administrated amnestic methods that would be even remotely effective closed three weeks ago, and I chose to let it lapse. If I let myself forget, how long would it take until I'd be foolish enough to try the same thing again?
The blood, and the anguish, and the vile stench of it all have stained me from the inside out. The remains of the man I tore from existence are trapped in my body, and I have no choice but to figure out how to live with it.
That was a choice I took from myself.
A major concern for the investigation is that the establishment of facts prior to the incident is entirely reliant on Weems' testimony, with no feasible means of corroboration. Ameliorating the inherent conflict of interest appears to be impossible.
A conference between O5-2, an Ethics Committee representative, and Site-76 Director Ja'Quan Church to determine a course of action is scheduled for December of 2025.
Until the situation is resolved, Department Director Weems has been placed on administrative leave.
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