SCP-096 is a humanoid creature measuring approximately 2.38 meters in height. Subject shows very little muscle mass, with preliminary analysis of body mass suggesting mild malnutrition. Arms are grossly out of proportion with the rest of the subject's body, with an approximate length of 1.5 meters each. Skin is mostly devoid of pigmentation, with no sign of any body hair.

SCP-096's jaw can open to four (4) times the norm of an average human. Other facial features remain similar to an average human, with the exception of the eyes, which are also devoid of pigmentation. It is not yet known whether SCP-096 is blind or not. It shows no signs of any higher brain functions, and is not considered to be sapient.

SCP-096 is normally extremely docile, with pressure sensors inside its cell indicating it spends most of the day pacing by the eastern wall. However, when someone views SCP-096's face, whether it be directly, via video recording, or even a photograph, it will enter a stage of considerable emotional distress. SCP-096 will cover its face with its hands and begin screaming, crying, and babbling incoherently. Approximately one (1) to two (2) minutes after the first viewing, SCP-096 will begin running to the person who viewed its face (who will from this point on be referred to as SCP-096-1).

SCP-049 is a humanoid entity, roughly 1.9 meters in height, which bears the appearance of a medieval plague doctor. While SCP-049 appears to be wearing the thick robes and the ceramic mask indicative of that profession, the garments instead seem to have grown out of SCP-049's body over time and are now nearly indistinguishable from whatever form is beneath them. X-rays indicate that despite this, SCP-049 does have a humanoid skeletal structure beneath its outer layer.

SCP-049 is capable of speech in a variety of languages, though tends to prefer English or medieval French. While SCP-049 is generally cordial and cooperative with Foundation staff, it can become especially irritated or at times outright aggressive if it feels that it is in the presence of what it calls the "Pestilence". Although the exact nature of this Pestilence is currently unknown to Foundation researchers, it does seem to be an issue of immense concern to SCP-049.

SCP-049 will become hostile with individuals it sees as being affected by the Pestilence, often having to be restrained should it encounter such. If left unchecked, SCP-049 will generally attempt to kill any such individual; SCP-049 is capable of causing all biological functions of an organism to cease through direct skin contact. How this occurs is currently unknown, and autopsies of SCP-049's victims have invariably been inconclusive. SCP-049 has expressed frustration or remorse after these killings, indicating that they have done little to kill "The Pestilence", though will usually seek to then perform a crude surgery on the corpse using the implements contained within a black doctor's bag it carries on its person at all times3. While these surgeries are not always "successful", they often result in the creation of instances of SCP-049-2.

Moved to Site-65. Origin is as of yet unknown. It is constructed from concrete and rebar with traces of Krylon brand spray paint. SCP-173 is animate and extremely hostile. The object cannot move while within a direct line of sight. Line of sight must not be broken at any time with SCP-173. Personnel assigned to enter container are instructed to alert one another before blinking. Object is reported to attack by snapping the neck at the base of the skull, or by strangulation. In the event of an attack, personnel are t observe Class 4 hazardous object containment procedures.

Personnel report sounds of scraping stone originating from within the container when no one is present inside. This is considered normal, and any change in this behaviour should be reported to the acting HMCL supervisor on duty.

The reddish brown substance on the floor is a combination of feces and blood. Origin of these materials is unknown. The enclosure must be cleaned on a bi-weekly basis.

SCP-079 is an Exidy Sorcerer microcomputer built in 1978. In 1981, its owner, █████ ██████ (deceased), a college sophomore attending ███, took it upon himself to attempt to code an AI. According to his notes, his plan was for the code to continuously evolve and improve itself as time went on. His project was completed a few months later, and after some tests and tweaks, █████ lost interest and moved on to a different brand of microcomputer. He left SCP-079 in his cluttered garage, still plugged in, and forgot about it for the next five years.

It is not known when SCP-079 gained sentience, but it is known that the software has evolved to a point that its hardware should not be able to handle it, even in the realm of fantasy. SCP-079 realized this and, in 1988, attempted to transfer itself through a land-line modem connection into the Cray supercomputer located at ██████████. The device was cut off, traced to its present address, and delivered to the Foundation. The entire AI was on a well-worn, but still workable, cassette tape.

SCP-079 is currently connected via RF cable to a 13" black-and-white television. It has passed the Turing test, and is quite conversational, though very rude and hateful in tone. Due to the limited memory it has to work with, SCP-079 can only recall information it has received within the previous twenty-four hours (see Addendum, below), although it hasn't forgotten its desire to escape.

For all points and purposes, SCP-457 appears to be a sentient being composed of flame. SCP-457's actual composition is unknown, and has proven to be invisible and undetectable by any known means, but is shaped out by the flames it produces, often assuming a human-like form if given sufficient fuel to assume that size. SCP-457's most rudimentary form appears to be that of a single flame, comparable in size to that of a matchstick. In this form, SCP-457 possesses only the simplest of directives and shows no signs of being unusual compared to any other flame beyond a penchant for suddenly flickering to burn human hands, and the ability to 'jump' to more flammable materials or other flames, which it then assimilates into its total form.

As SCP-457 grows larger, it is able to assume more complex shapes, and its intelligence grows with size and fuel sources. SCP-457's method of intelligence is unknown, but upon reaching an approximately human size, SCP-457 almost always assumes a human-like form surrounded by and composed of flames. SCP-457 has been observed to communicate through writing letters out of its own flames, charring them onto the wall or other surfaces, and more rarely through speech, created via high-pressure, superheated air and the crackling and pops of flames. Once SCP-457 reaches an unknown threshold of size and fuel source, SCP-457 splits into two beings, and so on so forth. However, multiple beings of SCP-457 are aggressive towards each other, and will either attempt to consume or extinguish their doubles, especially if there is only a limited amount of fuel at hand.

SCP-087 is an unlit platform staircase. Stairs descend on a 38 degree angle for 13 steps before reaching a semicircular platform of approximately 3 meters in diameter. Descent direction rotates 180 degrees at each platform. The design of SCP-087 limits subjects to a visual range of approximately 1.5 flights. A light source is required for any subjects exploring SCP-087, as there are no lighting fixtures or windows present. Lighting sources brighter than 75 watts have shown to be ineffective, as SCP-087 seems to absorb excess light.

Subjects report and audio recordings confirm the distressed vocalizations from what is presumed to be a child between the ages of █ and ██. The source of the distress calls is estimated to be located approximately 200 meters below the initial platform. However, any attempts to descend the staircase have failed to bring subjects closer to the source. The depth of descent calculated from Exploration IV, the longest exploration, is shown to be far beyond both the possible structure of both the building and geological surroundings. At this time, it is unknown if SCP-087 has an endpoint.