Item #: SCP-PL-156
Object Class: Safe
Special Containment Procedures: SCP-PL-156 is currently held in Site 91. Inside the containment chamber of the anomaly, sheets of paper of any format and writing utensils are to be held inside SCP-PL-156's containment chamber, the materials are to be restocked when needed. Item's creations can be shared to on site personnel for recreational purposes, after a permission is gained.
Description: SCP-PL-156 is a green, 100 x 50 centimeters [cm] bath towel, made from cotton in 100%. Object has notable traces of being previously used multiple times. For most time, item does not show any anomalous properties.
Around 11:10 PM, every night, object becomes active. During such state, SCP-PL-156 acquires full autonomy; sentience and sapience have yet to be confirmed. While active, the anomaly will start searching for a writing tool and a surface on which it can write (usually paper sheets), after which it will begin writing a literary work. After finishing the writing process, the item will sign itself using the initials "B. █", and will reverse back into it's inactive state.
"Most of anomaly's literary works can be classified as "weird fiction" (subgenre of fantasy) genre. Art pieces made by the item have no anomalous properties.
Addendum PL-156.1: SCP-PL-156 was discovered on 01/22/2019 in house of PoI-PL-432 (Bartłomiej █████, male, age 19), which has been observed by Foundation, due to being a suspected member a couple of anartistic organisations, which has been later confirmed.
After the Field Agent has entered PoI-PL-432's house, He had surrendered and gave the anomaly away out of free will. After transportation of SCP-PL-156 to Site 91, Interrogation PL-156-1 has been held
Addendum PL-156.2:
Interrogation Log PL-156-1
Date: 01/20/2019
Interviewed: PoI-PL-432 (Bartłomiej █████) (B)
Interviewer: Dr. Bartosz Kos (D)
[BEGIN LOG]
D: Alright, let's begin. Do you know, Mr. █████, how did the anomaly found itself in your possession?
B: Do I look like I have a slightest idea? No. And I couldn't bloody care less. Ya can fucking take it away.
D: Please don't be infuriated. When was the first time you saw the item?
B: Yesterday. Almost immediately after you fucking waltzed your way into my house.
D: Why do you think, the object might have found itself in your possession?
B: This has to be some kind of sick joke, but on birthday? God fucking dammit!
D: Why are you so infuriated with the item?
B: For the last year, I have decided to pick up writing, a hobby of sorts. I think I can't do it for quids. And for my birthday some motherfucking towel comes to life and starts writing seriously good stuff, and signs itself with my initials. I want to achieve something myself, and not have some fucking towel do all the work for me. I'm seriously trying my best, I really am. I'm doing what I can to make my writing the best, but my mind keeps rejecting any thoughts that I am doing good enough. No matter how good the idea or execution is, for me there is always something fucking wrong!
D: Coming back to the subject, you said that it can be a joke. Any idea who might have done it?
B: No. I'm so fucking angry right now, do you really think I would think of who did it!?
D: Okay. We still have some suspicions to you. So if that's fine with you we'll begin a second audition soon.
[END LOG]
Note: The second interrogation has been completed, afterward a Class A amnestic has been given to PoI-PL-432 and he has been released, nonetheless he is still remaining under Foundation supervision.
Addendum PL-156.3: On 02/01/2019, SCP-PL-156 has written the work below, designated Document PL-156-12. Transcript of the document remains below.
He has ran through corridors, of what was most likely an infinite maze of his own thoughts, through it all which has kept him down, and at the same time allowed to wade further and further.
Behind him piles of paper and notes flew. He knew not what it was, but he still suspected what it might be. "Hopeless" he kept whispering under his nose. Even though he saw progress, to his goal and satisfaction there still was, how he would call it "very fucking" far.
He knew not, how long he sat here. He did not stop, not because he couldn't, but because he didn't want to. On his sides branches and doors leading to no one knows where, he prefered not to turn.
He reached the end, in front of him was a dark wall and doors. He couldn't turn back, he couldn't go back.
He has done the only thing, which he was worthy of at that moment.
He has opened the door, entered the room, and closed himself in as fast as he could.
On the floor of the room, was an open, colorful box, but inside it was but one, hardly visible letter:
Are We Cool Yet?
