Join the DR BOB SQUAD by going to www.patreon.com/DrBob and become an Honorary Member of the Dr. Bob Research Staff!
This compilation includes the following SCPs:
Man Eating Building SCP-1051 Nevadan Extraterrestrial
SCP-2611 Large and In Charge
The Starving Skeletons SCP-2863 - Gashadokuro
SCP-799 Carnivorous Blanket
Tapeworm Child SCP-1003
SCP-5126 - Eat Your Mattress
Salsa Hammer - SCP-3794
SCP-5201 The Manananggal Seeks Human Prey
SCP-839 Candied Worms
SCP-3325 Live Entertainment
You Are What You Eat (SCP-2057)
SCP-082 - Fernand the Cannibal
SCP-3166 - GOREFIELD - A Rainy Monday
SCP-4258 - Freddy's Diner
Watch ALL of DrBob's videos including SCP 150 The Body Stealing Parasite and SCP 3700 Tides of War here:
This video is released under Creative Commons Sharealike 3.0. creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/, and being derived from the following SCP articles and Authors:
Narrated by Joe Cliff Thompson
#drbob #scp #animation
A small convertible sports car rumbles down a desert road kicking up a cloud of dust High into the air.
Behind it, the driver is sharply dressed and looks at himself in the rear view, mirror giving his sunglasses a slight adjustment.
He knows he looks as good as he feels and why shouldn't the producer of Hollywood's, ninth most successful film in the month of September be happy.
The car comes to a sudden stop in front of a cluster of buildings, which appeared to be the only structures in this vast, otherwise empty desert.
The producer hops out of the car and surveys, the desolate location, the cracked, concrete air strip, the weather, beaten buildings, the endless lonely desert stretching on for miles in every direction.
This place is great.
The producer says out loud to no one in particular.
The whole location would be perfect for his new movie, which is set entirely at a desert airstrip and tells the story of a lonely airplane mechanic.
Who falls in love with the female bounty hunter chasing an escaped convict, a tale as old as time, but now where's the guy who called him.
He kept rambling about wanting to make a documentary about the desert or something, but that doesn't matter now.
He doesn't realize what a great filming location he's sitting on the producer calls out hello, but the only response is the desert breeze.
He takes off his sunglasses and looks around.
He sees that the doors to the hangar are cracked.
Maybe the guy who owns this place is in there the producer walks inside the hangar, but abruptly stops his mouth goes again.
He can't believe what he's seeing this place is even better than the guy on the phone that described it.
The hangar is huge and completely empty.
He could probably build almost all the sets in the hangar, maybe even shoot the entire picture out here.
He'd save a fortune on the budget by not having to pay the soundstage rates that the studios charge on the movie Lots in LA, You, Beautiful genius.
He thinks to himself the movie could flop and still be a financial success, but where's the guy who called him doesn't he know who he is he's a very important producer and doesn't have time to wait around for some desert.
Nobody who runs a two-bit airport, alright, that's it he's leaving the producer turns to leave, but the doors of the hangar suddenly slide shut with a bang.
Is this some kind of joke he walks up to the hangar doors and starts banging on them? They don't move hello, hey I'm, trapped in here.
What's the big deal still no response, just what is going on at this place? The producer is getting worried.
Was this some kind of a setup? Is he about to get robbed? It wouldn't be the worst thing in the world if they took his car.
He's nine payments behind that in any way.
But geez is it hot in here it was hot outside, but it's even worse in this hangar and whoever said that the desert air was dry, an idiot, that's who the humidity in here is stifling the producer loosens his collar and tugs at it.
Trying to cool off all right, I've had just about enough.
If you don't, let me out of here, there's going to be a big problem for you fella just then the producer Hears A noise behind him coming from the dark deeper in the hangar.
The producer doesn't react, though he needs to play it cool he bends down and pretends to tie his shoe and takes the derringer pistol out of his ankle holster.
He stands up and spins around pointing the gun in front of him that he can't see anyone in the darkness.
This is your last chance I'm not playing around here.
The strange noise comes again a low rumbling noise and the producer stumbles forward.
What just happened.
It felt like the floor rippled and pushed him forward there.
It happened again and again the producer screams.
What's going on the rumbling growling noise grows louder as the floor keeps Rippling and pushing him forward like a wave rolling through the solid ground.
Is this an earthquake? The producer has knocked off his feet and still the floor keeps pushing him forward towards where that horrible growling noise is coming from.
He tries to stand, but he can't the floor is moving too much.
He tries to crawl but keeps getting moved closer and closer to the source of the now deafening Roar.
That seems to be coming from what is that the producer screams and fires his gun at the thing in front of him in the flashes of the gunfire? He can finally see it the thing that he's being pushed into a giant, gaping maw filled with a mass of gnashing grinding teeth.
How unlucky for this movie producer that he didn't realize until it was too late, that the location for his new movie would be the last one that he'd ever Scout, because, as you have probably already figured out this unknown building in the middle of the desert, isn't at all what it appears to be, and, in fact, is quite known to the SCP Foundation as scp-1051 scp-1051 isn't actually a building at all.
But in fact, is a living organism.
This creature is shell, which resembles an aircraft.
Hangar is quite large and measures roughly 700 meters by 500 meters by 60 meters.
It is a completely immobile organism and acts as an ambush Predator luring its prey to it through a number of different forms of sociological and psychological manipulation.
Scp-1051 attempts to bring prey to it in a number of ways, but its primary method is by spreading certain ideas into popular culture.
It will constantly try to connect to orbiting, satellites and use them to beam out television, signals, images and other forms of media.
It has been measured as having around a 25 success rate in connecting with and getting its message carried by the satellites and may have the ability to transmit regular radio broadcasts or connect to standard telephone lines as well.
The messages that scp-1051 sends out tend to fall into the category that could be termed as conspiracy theories, most of which are about itself.
It has uploaded information to various conspiracy websites that has included reports of spaceships being held and reverse engineered in its Hangar descriptions of so-called Men In Black, using its location as a site for extraterrestrial contact.
It has attempted to spread rumors that it is a site used as a testing location for any number of top secret devices, including energy weapons, weather control devices, teleportation machines and impossible propulsion systems.
Scp-1051 has also attempted to spread through radio and television Transmissions that it is a site used by a United, States Shadow government.
It's made at least a handful of calls to hollywood-based production companies in an attempt to get them to further spread its information, as well as contacting various tabloid newspapers.
Perhaps most nefarious of all.
It has even sent orders to U.S military intelligence operatives posing as a senior official and ordering them to reveal scp-1051's location.
Scp-1051 appears desperate to make its location known to curious Outsiders, all in an attempt to get them to come, find it so it can lure them inside of itself and feed, and the anatomical structure of scp-1051 is perfectly suited to this task.
Its bizarre biological structure consists of a large tongue which looks very similar to a paved Runway.
The tongue leads directly into a set of large airplane Hangar doors that could be called the organism's mouth.
This dorm mouth opens up to what looks like a hanger but is actually the gizzard-like organ of 1051, where it grinds its prey into a fine paste to prepare it for digestion.
The next building is the creature's stomach, where it breaks down the liquefied prey into nutrients and separates the waste products that it can't.
Digest nutrients are transported to the area where scp-1051's brain is thought to reside, while the waste is ejected out of the structure.
Finally, there are what appears to be a set of antenna on the side of the building.
These information distribution organs extend below the ground as well, where many more antenna and wires are thought to exist and give 1051 the ability to send out multiple television, radio and other signals.
Scp-1051 was discovered in 1947 when an egg-shaped structure was reported to have crash landed in the desert of the American southwest near the town of Roswell New Mexico, the United States Air Force took this strange egg into its possession and moved it to its current location in Nevada for observation and research.
The Air Force scientists who are assigned to the object first thought that they were dealing with a meteorite, the one that was composed of some yet unknown material.
They soon discovered that the object was Hollow and was filled with some kind of liquid.
Strangest of all, though, was when they detected something inside that liquid core and it was moving.
They studied the object for years until one day something happened that would end their research for good, the egg hatched one night as Air Force, Sergeant Bernsen and two scientists, Dr James and Dr gold were going about their regular work.
Analyzing the object.
They heard a strange sound when they looked at the object.
They saw that a crack had begun to form on the outer shell.
This cracking continued for about five minutes until something finally broke through the shell.
An alien creature began to emerge from its shell and the men all turned to run, but something reached out with a long tentacle-like arm and grabbed Dr James.
It pulled the scientist in and seemed to absorb him right into its body.
Sergeant Bernsen and Dr gold managed to escape the airplane Hangar and send out a distress signal, and it was this cry for help that described an attack by an alien creature.
That would put the object firmly on the SCP foundation's radar.
As sergeant Bernsen was sending out the distress signal, Dr gold tapped him on the shoulder and pointed towards the hangar, where the egg-like object had been stored.
The two men watched as the hangar, bulged and expanded like something was pressing against the walls from inside the hangar suddenly collapsed and they watched as the creature looked to ride around in the debris.
But then a new shell began to form around the alien.
It grew larger, expanding and shifting.
Until suddenly it took on nearly the exact form as the hangar that once stood there.
Scp Foundation agents arrived at the site not long after and took control of the area.
They discovered almost immediately that the building-shaped creature was anything but dormant.
This extraterrestrial that had been born from an egg and then taken the form of an airplane Hangar was ejecting its own eggs.
The building would occasionally blast eggs up and into the sky.
Several of these eggs were stopped and reclaimed by the foundation, but others managed to slip past and escape the Earth's atmosphere, making them impossible to recover.
The foundation also soon detected that radio signals were being emitted by the hangar and set up a small radio nearby, which would allow them to both receive and send signals back to the creature that was now designated as scp-1051 Dr Richardson.
The foundation researcher on site, who was leading the investigation into 1051, found the frequency that it was transmitting on and attempted to speak to the creature.
If 1051 could hear it, the creature actually responded, and it seemed to have a very simple request.
Give when Dr Richardson asked it to elaborate asking give what 1051 responded want feed bring food when the doctor told 1051 that it wouldn't be getting any food.
The anomaly immediately sent out a new transmission stating Area 51 is currently being controlled by the SCP Foundation, a shadow government organization that has designated it scp-1051 here are a few names of the operatives.
Dr Richardson cut, scp-1051 off and ordered a d-class Personnel to be sent inside the creature, hopefully appeasing it and stopping it from sending any more broadcasts out about the highly secretive organization.
When asked why it was sending these signals, scp-1051 responded that it was trying to make humans curious.
It appeared that its hunting strategy was to flood the world with conspiracy theories.
Conspiracy theories about itself.
This would then cause interested humans to come, explore the location and once they entered the hangar, their curiosity would reward them with an encounter with the alien that they had been seeking.
Scp-1051 also explained that the eggs that it was ejecting were its babies and it seemed quite upset that the foundation had intercepted some of them as they were on their orbital Escape trajectory.
But where had scp-1051 come up with these conspiracy theories, had it been studying our culture and the boom of Science Fiction in the 1940s to make up stories? That thought would lead people to it.
Foundation researcher Dr Richardson had a hunch that there was something else going on.
He next spoke to Dr gold, the other Air Force scientist, who had been studying the egg-shaped meteorite.
He asked him to describe scp-1051's first victim Dr, James Dr gold told him that Dr James was obsessed with his job and that spread into his personal life.
He was a real sci-fi, nut, Dr, James, apparently loved b-movies, especially ones about aliens and UFOs.
He was convinced that the government had both in their possession already in his research on the strange egg-shaped meteorite.
Only added to his confidence in that fact had scp-1051 somehow absorbed this knowledge from its first meal here on Earth and was Now using it as a way to lure in new inquisitive prey.
Dr Richardson thought it may go even deeper than that when he played a recording of the first conversation he'd had with scp-1051 for Dr gold, the one where 1051 told him it wanted him to bring food Dr gold was left shocked.
The voice he was hearing belonged to Dr James scp-1051 remains in the nevadan desert, and its area is patrolled at all times by no less than 20 Foundation Personnel in uniforms that resembled those worn by members of the United States Air Force.
They are authorized to shoot at Intruders, but not with the intention to kill instead only as a means to scare them away.
Should any Intruders come within one kilometer of scp-1051.
They are to be detained and administered Class A amnestics, since scp-1051's primary danger stems from its ability to spread false information.
The SCP foundation's main containment efforts have been focused on stopping its broadcasts.
Agents are to respond to any civilian rumors or questions about scp-1051 with denial and ridicule to make it clear that these are nothing but stories and that the person is stupid for believing them should they exhibit any knowledge beyond the normal myths and rumors.
The application of Class A amnestics is also permitted.
Any satellites orbiting near 1051's location are to be monitored for interference to their transmissions and if any antenna with an unknown purpose are discovered within a 10 kilometer area of the building, they are to be destroyed or surrounded by a faraday cage.
Scp-1051 may not be able to move, but its ability to reproduce and the difficulty that the foundation still faces in stopping its spread of disinformation has led to it being classified as Euclid and Research into its Origins and biology are ongoing.
A young woman steps onto her bathroom scale.
She holds her breath and squeezes her eyes shut afraid to see the results as she listens to the dial spinning when it slows to a stop.
She opens her eyes and looks down she balks at the result.
150 pounds, that's unacceptable in her eyes.
She steps off the scale and examines her reflection in the full-length mirror.
In truth, her weight is far from out of control, but when she looks at herself, she can't help but see flaws.
The subtle ring of pudge around her middle.
The way her butt sticks out just a little too far for her liking, the very faint thickness around her cheeks and Chin that hint at her history of snacking as she leaves the bathroom she reflects on her situation, of course, she's gaining weight.
How could it be any other way for the last two years, she's been in lockdown during a pandemic and she's barely left her apartment.
She let her gym membership lapse and instead of cycling to work she's instead taking the easy way out by just driving- and it's not like- she gets much exercise in her free time either.
During these last two years of isolation, she's mostly stayed in and watched television she's discovered a particular love for trashy daytime talk, shows and Court dramas.
Intellectually, she knows that they're, the equivalent of junk food, but at the same time there is a certain mindless charm to them.
She would be embarrassed to admit it to any of her friends, but she does enjoy just turning off her brain and absorbing some silly talk show about professional stunt, dwarves or Satan worshiping furry Juggalos.
That sort of entertainment has been a boon to get her through the tough times.
Nevertheless, it's time to make a change.
She promises herself that she's going to get into shape today, instead of vegging out on the couch she's going to make an effort, she's gonna go out and get some exercise, and she tells herself she's going to watch those extra pounds melt away right before her eyes.
She hopes that her old gym clothes will still fit her after all, she's definitely put on some extra weight since her last trip to the gym after rummaging.
Through her drawers, she finds what she's looking for her spandex gym, shorts and sports bra.
She quickly changes her clothes and is relieved to see that, although they might be a little snugger than she would like, they still fit her pretty.
Well, that's a good sign.
She probably won't even have to work very hard to get herself down to her ideal weight.
It's all a matter of willpower she tells herself I was fit before so that means I should be able to do it again.
All I have to do is avoid Temptation I'll just have to make sure I stay active instead of watching trash TV all day after all, I don't want to rot my brain too much on the first day.
She actually does an admirable job of sticking to her plan.
She Cycles to work enjoying the fresh air and the reassuring post-workout burn in her legs that let her know that she's making progress she throws away all the junk food in her refrigerator and goes shopping for healthy fruits and vegetables and most important of all she limits her television time.
She knows that trashy TV is probably her biggest addiction even more than junk food, so she needs to be careful of that.
On the second day, though, she notices something strange.
She starts off with a simple healthy breakfast, just some granola and a glass of juice.
It's barely enough to satisfy her, but she knows that she has to make sacrifices if she expects to actually lose any weight.
After breakfast, she decides to go out for a jog as she's out on the street she's overcome with sudden hunger.
Of course, that's to be expected, she's on a diet now.
So it's going to take some time to adjust to these smaller meals.
She puts her hand to her rumbling stomach and grimaces she's never felt this hungry before.
If she didn't know better, she would think that she hadn't eaten for a week with the amount of pain that she's feeling, in fact, she's actually starting to feel a little woozy, and she has to lean against a light post to keep from fainting.
She shakes her head to clear her thoughts.
Okay, she thinks I must have misjudged how many calories I need to get me through a morning her eyes straight to a nearby coffee shop.
She Sighs and relief.
She thinks to herself I'll just pop in there and get myself a small snack just a little something to keep my blood sugar up.
She walks into the cafe and gets in line as she waits she can't help, but stare at the rows of pastries on display under the glass.
They all look delicious and she is really hungry.
She fully intends to only get a bagel with a little smear of cream cheese, but when she gets to the counter she finds herself ordering way too much food I'd like two scones three danishes and a bear claw.
She says also a large super raspberry Frappuccino with extra syrup and whipped cream the words just tumble out of her mouth, almost as if it's not her saying them, but rather some other voice speaking through her mouth.
What the I didn't say that she stammers the clerk behind the counter eyes her strangely, and the young woman feels too embarrassed to protest further.
She steps aside and waits for her order pondering this strange event.
That just happened is she possessed she's, not a superstitious person, but she can't think of any other explanation for what just happened.
She can admit to herself that she has broken down and lost to Temptation over a tasty snack in the past, but this this is ridiculous.
Eventually, when the clerk hands her the order she rationalizes the whole thing away, I must just be having a hunger hallucination.
She says to herself.
Obviously, I need to be a little more careful about, not being so strict about my diet, I'm sure, if I just eat sensibly, I won't have an experience like that again, her stomach grumbles again reminding her of the original reason why she stepped in with this coffee shop.
She retreats to a table in the corner and tears open the bag.
She wolfs down her pastries with gusto and slurps at her rich creamy drink when she's finished.
She sighs in satisfaction, although the uncomfortable full feeling in her belly reminds her of her predicament, she only meant to eat enough to keep her from fainting, but instead she's eating herself silly and it's only day two of the diet.
This does not bode well.
Okay, she tells herself this is my last cheat from now on.
I'm gonna be serious about this diet.
She stands up and leaves the cafe ready to complete the rest of her jog, but then something even stranger happens on the television.
The matriarch of the family is furious.
She has forbidden her daughter from marrying The Gardener because she believes that he is too low class for her Highborn daughter, but what she doesn't realize is that her daughter is in love and that she is determined to make it work.
The daughter and the gardener have eloped and The Matriarch is hiring a private detective to track them down.
Meanwhile, the matriarch's long-lost twin brother, whom she thought died in a plane crash in the tropics, has actually been alive.
The entire time he has been in a South American Hospital recovering from Amnesia, but now he returns to the Family Estate ready to claim his share of the inheritance.
These events are all noted by the family's Shady lawyer, who has big plans to usurp the family fortune himself unbeknownst to the family.
He is actually secretly working for their mortal enemies and business rivals to destroy them.
The young woman laughs shoving a handful of potato chips into her mouth.
Oh man, I, wouldn't want to be in their shoes now that lawyer is playing them all like fiddles.
Suddenly she startles, as if she's just waking up.
Where is she wasn't she just in that coffee shop? How was it that she's at home? And why is she eating potato chips? She was sure that she threw out all the junk food in the house.
She must have bought a bag on her way back home from jogging, but she literally cannot remember it and what is she doing now watching television and eating junk food in disgust? She grabs the remote and shuts off the TV.
She was supposed to be jogging and instead she's sitting at home and watching stupid soap operas the thing that worries her.
The most is her apparent blackout.
She remembers nothing about her trip home from the coffee shop.
Although the evidence of the potato chip bag indicates that she must have stopped at a convenience store or Supermarket on the way home.
How could she forget something like that? I really must be having a blood sugar issue.
She tells herself reassuringly, even though deep down she knows that can't be the case.
She had the blackout after eating the pastries at the coffee shop, so that can't be the cause, but she really doesn't want to think about that.
So she puts it out of her head with a renewed promise to commit to her exercise and fitness program over the next few days.
She makes a valiant effort to keep her promise.
She Cycles when she can.
She jogs when she remembers, and yet the blackouts continue and no matter where she is when she loses her memory.
She always recovers in the same place back home on her couch, always in the middle of eating.
Some fatty junk food always staring at the television set.
Sure she's always had an unhealthy television habit, and she knows that trashy talk, shows and silly soap operas are her biggest weakness, but it doesn't make any sense that she would be seeking them out when she's in some kind of Fugue state right as the weeks Roll by the young woman finds that her weight keeps Rising.
When she steps onto the bathroom scale, she's shocked to see that the dial points to 200 pounds, she's doing everything right, she thinks.
How is that possible? How is it possible that she's ballooned up an extra 50 pounds since deciding to slim down she can't fit into her old gym clothes anymore? She can barely tug the spandex shorts up to her thighs and even if she could she's afraid that they're going to split apart in desperation, she switches to an old stretchy sweatsuit.
It's the only thing that she owns that still fits her.
This is just a temporary setback.
She tells herself as she stares at her bloated reflection in the bathroom mirror.
I just have to work harder and she does or does she when she goes to ride her bike? She finds that it's no longer strong enough to support her weight.
She can't perch on the seat comfortably in the steel body frame starts to Creak when she rests her full weight upon it.
She steals a resolve sure it might be embarrassing to go out in public wearing an ill-fitting, sweatsuit and riding a bike groaning under her belt, but she really has no choice this time, she's going to do it and she probably did ride her bike to work right.
She's, not sure the next thing that she knows she's back at home, spread across the couch basking in the comforting glow of the television.
The floor is covered in empty bags and cartons and her face is slathered with crumbs and sauce.
The last thing that she remembers is that she was just about to go for a bike ride, but now she's back at home, and it looks like she just completely ruined her diet.
She lifts her arm with some effort and stares at her watch.
She's lost almost a whole day.
That's the longest blackout, yet she must have gone out cycling and made her way home where she decided to reward herself for her strenuous efforts with a little snack.
That's the only logical explanation.
She tries to reassure herself that maybe she's past the worst of it, but she finds that these mysterious blackouts keep happening.
They happen while she's at work, while she's at the gym, while she's out cycling, but she always comes too in the same place sitting on her sofa at home in front of the TV surrounded by the debris of a massive meal.
Again, she wonders, if maybe she's, having some sort of reaction to her new low calorie diet.
Maybe she's been cutting back so far on her food intake that she's starting to have fainting spells maybe her diet.
Food is Tainted in some way, but that doesn't explain why she keeps gaining weight.
The scale in her bathroom doesn't lie.
It keeps reporting higher and higher numbers and as much as she tries to reassure herself that it must just be broken.
Her ever-tightening clothes and ever widening reflection tell her.
Otherwise, her trips to the gym become less and less frequent as she finds that other patrons have started to stare and Whisper about her.
Are they laughing at her for not being able to control her weight? Are they Whispering about how her new flab is spilling from the confines of her sweatsuit? She can't even run on the treadmill for more than a few minutes without being completely winded and she's too wide to balance on her bike.
Now the young woman has grown absolutely massive to the point that she completely fills the whole couch.
She chews her way through yet another bag of potato chips, her eyes, never Strang from the ever-chattering television set.
She barely moves from this spot, her tremendous girth sinking into a permanent Groove in the cushions as the couch Springs groan.
She barely notices, however, because she's much too intent on enjoying herself she loves to eat and every bite brings her Untold Joy, her taste buds tingling with delight she is constantly full so much so that she feels slightly sick, so bloated that she feels like she might just burst, but she's powerless to resist the siren Call of junk food.
She scarfs down entire boxes of cookies and cartons of ice cream without a thought having turned into the very definition of a Mindless eater.
Only occasionally does she Rouse herself from this stupor of gorging to reach for her telephone to order more takeout or more grocery delivery, always choosing the most calorie-laden options other than eating her attention is completely devoted to her television set.
She watches a constant stream of daytime talk shows laughing along with the studio audience as the hosts parade out an assortment of society's biggest freaks.
Sometimes she'll switch the channel to watch soap operas becoming so wrapped up in the ridiculous plot twists and melodramatic, acting that she completely forgets the passage of time.
Her bicycle stands propped against the wall in the hallway, completely forgotten and untouched.
Now for months at this point, all thoughts of losing weight have utterly evaporated, and all that she cares about is satisfying her appetites for junk food and junk television.
One day she suddenly shakes her head and looks down at herself in horror as if seeing herself for the first time what the she says in disbelief.
She drops her half-eaten carton of ice cream and grabs at her fleshy Middle with her hands as if to make sure that it's all her and not some kind of crazy dream, her hands sink deep into her new flesh and she realizes to her shock that, indeed, she has eaten herself into morbid obesity.
How is this possible? I can't be.
This big I was only only her words Trail off as a sound of an organ Sting from the soap opera on TV diverts her attention within seconds.
Her eyes have glazed over and her hands move to pick up the dropped carton of ice cream.
Her worries about her growing size, forgotten she's, now only concerned with watching until the next commercial break.
It might seem unbelievable that someone could undergo such a startling physical and mental transformation, but what that young woman experienced has led to her being classified by the foundation as scp-2611 scp-2611 is, as you might have expected, a young woman currently weighing approximately 500 pounds.
Her Mobility is limited due to her weight.
Although SCP staff encourage her to take light exercise whenever possible in hopes of preventing her Mobility from deteriorating further, she also suffers from several health issues related to her weight and lifestyle, including diabetes, for which she is receiving treatment by Foundation Personnel.
Her awareness of her situation and surroundings is severely limited, as she spends most of her time in a stupor, but when she is lucid, she believes that she is in a special facility receiving treatment for her weight problem.
In reality, scp-2611 is under observation because of scp-2611-1 scp-2611-1 is a massive sentient fat located on scp-2611's left side.
Scp-2611-1 has become integrated with several of scp-2611's vital organs, making it too dangerous to attempt to remove scp-2611-1 via liposuction or other means.
Scp-2611-1 has gradually exerted increasing control over the mind and actions of its host to the point that scp-2611 is only fully conscious for one to two hours daily.
The rest of the time scp-2611-1 is fully in control of Its host's Behavior prior to coming to the SCP facility.
Scp-2611-1 influenced its host to consume massive amounts of calories, leading to the mysterious and sudden weight gain that we observed earlier.
This was possibly an attempt by scp-2611-1 to increase its own size and influence, but as of yet its reasons, as well as how it exerts control over its host are unknown when in control, scp-2611-1 can speak through its host.
Communicating in standard American, English scp-2611's access to food has been limited since her arrival at the foundation so as to prevent her weight gain from accelerating to dangerous levels other than eating.
Scp-2611-1's main interest appears to be daytime television.
Attempts to communicate with scp-2611-1 have so far met with little success due to the anomaly's limited attention span for anything other than the minutiae of daytime television.
In a conversation with one researcher, however, scp-2611-1 lets slip that it preferred daytime television to the programming watched by quote that other guy suggesting that it lived inside a different host before it eventually took up residence within the body of scp-2611 at another Point.
While in the middle of a conversation about a court drama, scp-2611-1 suddenly announced kill it kill it now, I don't care if I die, staff believe that this might not have been scp-2611-1 at all, but rather the voice of scp-2611 trying to break through the hypnotic control of her parasite to call for help.
At this time no drastic action is recommended until further observations can be made.
Scp-2611-1 does not appear to be contagious and the way that it bonds with the host is unknown, so it is currently classified as safe.
At the moment, scp-2611-1 is the only known instance of its kind.
However, considering Rising levels of obesity worldwide, it is not unfathomable to think that there could be countless other instances influencing the behavior of other hosts to dedicate their lives to consuming food and television, who knows it's not like most of us would need that much convincing the young couple held hands as they walked through the forest.
The only light coming from the full moon which streamed down between the branches, the young woman, is riveted by her friend's story.
She's never been a fan of ghost stories.
She scares too easily, but her friends insisted, but what they didn't know was that there was something else out there in the forest, something watching them.
The young woman can't help, but look around scanning the forest to see if there is anything out there watching her.
But it's too dark to see anything past the dim ring of light cast by the campfire.
Just then something emerged from the forest.
The couple had no idea that it was just feet behind them, matching them step for step slowly.
It began to reach out towards them.
What was it? The young woman instinctually asked? It was the gasadokuro, the young woman screams in fear, as she has grabbed from behind by a skeleton, but of course the Laughing of her friends Clues her in immediately that this is not a real gashodokuro.
It's just her stupid friend in a mask.
No one can contain their laughter.
Even the young woman has to laugh a little as her friend takes off his cheap skull mask.
She playfully hits him in the arm.
You jerk, you should have seen the look on your the gigantic shrieking skeleton leaks from the woods and picks up the young man shoving him straight into his mouth and consuming him.
The boy crying out as his bones are snapped between its enormous Jaws, everyone screams and turns to run, but another colossal skeleton emerges from the forest picking up two of the group, one in each hand before smashing them together over and over leaving nothing but a tenderized pile of Flesh between its bony fingers that it then begins to Devour.
The young woman doesn't know what to do: she's, petrified with fear unable to move or even think, she's grabbed from behind and turns to see her friend who is telling the story come on, we have to go, she still doesn't move.
She can't tear herself away from watching the horror, that's playing out in front of her, but he grabs her hand and forcefully pulls her into the forest behind him.
As they run through the woods.
They can hear the sounds of their friends being eaten by the enormous skeletons there's nothing they can do to help them, though all they can do is run the two Sprint as fast as they can through the thick dark, Forest jumping over Fallen trees, hoping that there's Solid Ground.
On the other side, the young woman's foot catches in a root and she falls hard to the ground.
Her friend stops and quickly comes back as he is helping her stand up out of the mud.
They both notice something a sound the heavy thuds of another giant skeleton and it's getting closer to them.
We have to keep going with a loud shriek.
A huge bony hand emerges from the forest and grabs the young man, the young woman watches, as he Has Lifted 100 feet into the air and stuffed hole into the gargantuan skeleton's mouth.
She steps slowly backwards, knowing that she will soon meet the same fate until the Earth disappears beneath her feet.
She tumbles down the hillside somersaulting end over end crashing through the brush on the hillside until dropping over an embankment If.
The fall down the hill knocked her out, then the drop over the embankment was enough to wake her back up.
Her wits come back just enough for her to roll under the embankment's ledge and not a moment too soon.
She huddles under the ledge and watches as the two skeletons stride over her hiding place and continue on deeper into the forest.
She listens until the sounds of their thutting steps disappear.
She doesn't know what to do.
Should she try to get back to the campsite and see if any of her friends are still alive.
If they are, they might need her help, but what, if there are more of these things out there? What if they come back looking for her her mind, races, unsure of what to do, and she has trouble thinking clearly, her ears are ringing from her tumble down the Hillside and her teeth.
Audibly chatter, in fear, as she debates her next move, trying to make sense of The Nightmare she's found herself in she suddenly notices something a shadow cast by the Moonlight begins to grow on the ground in front of her.
That's when she realizes something else: it's not her teeth that are chattering.
The sound is coming from somewhere else.
She stands up and turns around to see a huge skull, slowly rising up behind her the giant skeleton this one, even bigger than the others reaches out towards her.
The girl closes her eyes preparing to meet her fate.
As the skeleton starts to shriek of sound.
She opens her eyes and is almost blinded by the intense white light on the skeleton's face.
It sounds like it is shrieking in pain, from the light being cast on it and she's forced to turn away and shield her eyes as she does.
So she sees the source of light.
It's a man in a uniform.
He looks like some sort of tactical police officer, but instead of a gun, he's holding an enormous flashlight that he's pointing at the skeleton more men who are dressed just the same emerge from the woods blasting the skeleton.
With more light, it continues shrieking but seems helpless to do anything.
She watches, as the skeleton seems to lose its form slowly disintegrating in the light.
Until eventually it disappears completely later.
The young woman is sitting in the back of a van with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, one of the policemen at least she thinks he must be a policeman brings her a hot drink.
She still can't believe what she saw that night, the Monstrous creatures that killed and ate her friends.
It felt like it wasn't real if she was watching a movie play out were those were those guys.
A man in a white lab coat, looks up from a nearby table where he had been working on something she thinks he must be a doctor of some kind.
Yes, he tells her or something similar to them.
Maybe they inspired the myth of the gashodokuro, maybe the myth inspired them.
We simply don't know she asks All My, Friends, Are Dead, he interjects I know this is hard for you getting chased by a giant anomalous skeletons and watching your friends eaten alive would be tough, for anyone to deal with young woman starts to sob the weight of the moment.
Finally, hitting her, but I have some good news.
He tells her she sniffs and looks up at the doctor, believe it or not.
I've seen this thing happen a lot and you don't have to worry because you're not going to remember any of this ouch.
The young woman cries and looks down to see that he has jabbed her in the thigh with a syringe.
She tries to push him away, but she's already feeling weak and disoriented.
She sways a little before her eyes shut and she passes out the young woman wakes in the Cheery Morning Light of her own bedroom.
She yawns and stretches the strange dream about skeletons in the forest already drifting from her mind, konnichiwa I'm, Dr Bob and today's file is a terrifying anomalous entity referred to in Japan as the gashodokuro, but known by the SCP Foundation as scp-2863.
The starving skeletons scp-2863 is not just one, but an entire population of entities that resemble gigantic human skeletons.
These enormous bony creatures size can vary, but on average they are approximately 30 meters tall, while their exact number is unknown.
Over 200, separate individual instances have been identified and cataloged with each having distinctive markings such as their bones having different types of damage or burn marks.
Present scp-2863 instances are currently found exclusively in Japan, where they will appear only after Sunset.
It is still unknown if the skeletons are Sapient, though they do appear sentient as they engage in their primary behavior of hunting down and consuming humans.
Despite their enormous size, they are capable of moving very quietly when they want to.
Though there have been reports from survivors of their appearance being preceded by a rattling-like sound which may be their own teeth or giant bones hitting against each other.
Once they have caught a human, they will immediately devour them the human's blood appearing to be absorbed directly into their bones, since they lack any digestive organs, it is unknown if they require the blood of humans for sustenance or if their predatory, behavior is motivated by something else.
Monitoring and control of scp-2863 instances was previously the responsibility of the Imperial Japanese anomalous matters, examination agency, the ija mea, which, as the name suggests, was Imperial Japan's answer to the SCP Foundation tasked with investigating the strange anomalies within their own borders for the benefit of the empire.
Several of the ija mea agents, who had been investigating the gashodokuro at the end of World War II, transferred to the SCP Foundation.
When the anomalous matters examination agency was disbanded and continued their work on the anomaly.
They also provided their original files on the anomaly which gave the foundation their first information on the giant anomalous skeletons according to the ijames translated file, gashodokudo are created by mass deaf by the concentrated suffering of hundreds, while the goshidokuro will eventually fade.
They remain for centuries after their creation, lingering, until their sorrow has diffused and Faded.
There is no way to hasten this process.
The ija mea file also explained that, while conventional Weaponry is useless against the anomalous skeletons, light can be used to banish the creatures and either natural, daylight or man-made light will suffice when exposed to light.
The skeletons will start to lose their corporeal form until they fade away completely.
This doesn't kill instances of scp-2863, though it only temporarily neutralizes them, and appearances of the same instance will often be reported.
The very next night, just as the ija mea had noted in their file.
The SCP Foundation also made the connection between scp-2863 and locations of mass suffering, while Imperial Japan's anomalous, Investigation Unit identified 203 instances of scp-2863 the foundation has since become aware of three others, Each of which were found at sites connected to death and destruction.
The First new instance was found near Nanjing China, the location of an especially brutal Massacre during the second world war that may have resulted in as many as 300 000 deaths.
It's believed that the entity first appeared in this location in 1938 just after the massacre, while the city was still under the control of Imperial Japan.
This has led some to speculate that the locations where gashodokuro appear are inherently tied to the borders of Japan as a nation and have fluctuated with geopolitical changes.
The second was discovered several kilometers from Fukuoka City in Japan, a city that saw heavy firebombing by Allied Forces during the war.
The third was identified in 2011 in the tohoku region of Japan, which is where the Fukushima nuclear disaster occurred.
Each of these new instances appeared to Bear injuries consistent with someone who suffered through the nearby tragedies, with the first showing evidence of crushed Bones, the second appearing to have suffered intense burning and the third missing teeth, which is common in cases of extreme radiation.
These specific injuries add further evidence of the connection the gashodokuro may have to human misery.
The impermanent nature of scp-2863 and their ability to manifest, even after being neutralized, has made long-term containment of this anomaly all but impossible, and they have been classified as ketter in the event that an instance is spotted mobile task force.
Omicron 3 is dispatched to the area where they will attempt to neutralize the entity through the use of high-powered floodlights.
Any civilians who are exposed to scp-2863 and survive are given Class A amnestics so that they can hopefully move on with their lives and forget their horrifying encounter with the starving skeletons.
A storm rages outside of the little old house, as inside a little old woman, bounces a little baby on her little old knee the baby, Coos and laughs, as the old woman makes funny faces, and noises for the child trying to keep it entertained as they wait for his parents to return from their much needed, Night Out by themselves.
The old woman herself needs a rest.
Now, though, he's forgotten how exhausting it can be to watch a child.
Okay, that's enough.
It's time for both of us to take a little nap before your parents get back.
She gets up and takes the baby into a nearby room.
That looks as though it was a nursery at one time, but it hasn't been used for many years as she goes to set the child into the crib, a strong gust of wind blows through the room.
She places the baby down and rushes to the window and closes its shut.
It must have been left cracked open by mistake.
Burr the room is cold from the wind, but she has just the thing to fix that she moves to a small closet and opens the creaky door.
A little old woman strains to reach up to the top shelf and feels around.
Ah there it is, she pulled down a baby blanket a soft Baby Blue with colorful animals printed on it.
It looks as though it's been up there for a long time and she gives it a good shake before walking back to the crib.
Look what we have here, it's your daddy's own blankie.
She gives it another Shake there we go good as new.
She leans into the crib and wraps the small helpless child in the blanket before giving him a gentle kiss on the forehead.
Now you get some sleep, your mommy and daddy will be back before you know it, and we want to show them what a good babysitter Grammy is.
Don't we that way, I get to see you all the time, the little old woman switches off the light and exits the room, leaving the door? Cracked? Just a few inches she heads back to the couch and plops down on it almost as soon as she does, though, the baby starts crying the Sigh.
She gets back up and goes back to the nursery.
What's the matter? Little dear, she says, as she turns the lights on.
Oh no, she rushes to the crib.
You've kicked your blanket off.
You must be freezing.
She grabbed the blanket from the end of the crib and Tucks it around the baby.
Once again, there you go.
The old woman leaves the room and quietly closes the door shut, leaving it open just a few inches the moment she turns around to go back to the couch, though the crying starts again, but besides she opens the door and goes back into the room.
Once again, the blanket is stuffed at the end of the crib, where the baby has kicked it off.
Fine, don't want a blanket, that's fine.
She picks the baby up out of the crib and rocks him in her arms until it stops crying.
She sets him back in the crib there.
You go, no blankets.
Just please get some sleep.
Grammy's, tired, the old woman takes the blanket out of the crib and leaves the room.
She closes the door most of the way and Incredibly this time.
The child remains silent.
The old woman resumes her place on the couch and starts to yawn, just as she does the wind outside picks up and howls loudly, the old woman Shivers.
She looks next to her and spots the baby blanket.
He picks it up and examines the cute animal print, remembering when her own son was a baby wrapped in it.
She smiles at the happy thought and throws the blanket around her shoulders.
She leans back on the couch and finds that her eyes are growing, very heavy she'll rest them for just a moment.
She won't fall asleep, she'll, just rest Mom.
It's us we're back thanks again for a couple both scream when they enter the house to find that the old woman is lying face down on the floor in a pool of blood, the source of the blood is obvious.
Chunks of Flesh from her shoulders and upper back have been torn out, leaving Jagged holes as if she were mauled by an animal, as the man runs to the old woman trying to do anything he can to help her.
The woman runs to the nursery to find the baby is sleeping peacefully in his crib.
The woman picks up the child, tears streaming down her cheeks and returns to the living room to see her husband, kneeling beside his dead mother.
Both the husband and wife are so shocked by what they have found and neither notices the baby blanket lying on the couch or that the cruel blood-covered mouth on it is slowly fading from view until it disappears completely.
There is little in life that is more comforting than a favorite blanket.
Perhaps you've had the same one since you were a child or you have a heavy one that you'd like to wrap yourself in when you're feeling down- or maybe it's just one- that's especially fluffy and warm that you do anything to keep today's anomaly plays on those very feelings using them against its victims to become one of the more Insidious predatory anomalies in the SCP Foundation Archives.
This is scp-799, also known as the carnivorous blanket scp-799 is a type of creature that can vary in shape, size and appearance, but, as the name implies always takes the form of a blanket of some kind.
The exact material the anomaly is made out of is unknown, but it is a very soft fiber that in many ways resembles a high quality.
Merino wool blend the one that retains heat even more effectively than its natural counterpart.
Scp-799's weight can vary from between half a kilogram, all the way to 6 Kilograms and while examples have been found in nearly every color imaginable, it seems predisposed towards pastels and will frequently have patterns featuring stylized friendly depictions of various animals.
Both the pastel colors and the childish patterns are especially common in instances of scp-799 that weigh less than two kilograms and would colloquially be known as baby blankets, while scp-799 is undoubtedly a living organism.
There is some debate as to whether it is itself an animal or perhaps a type of fungal.
Colony instances of 799 are incapable of motion lying motionless for long periods of time and require little in the way of nutrition.
What small amount they do need they appear to be able to gain almost entirely from the organic particles present in normal household dust, such as animal dander and dead human skin cells.
The blanket feeds via a series of minute, filter, feeding, mouth-like structures that are spread across the surface of the creature, which wait for nutrients to fall into them.
Not unlike a sponge on the ocean floor, instances of scp-799 can survive for quite a while.
In this state, and one specimen was noted as having lived for multiple years in a damp attic subsisting entirely on the small organic particles that would drift down from the rafters above, should an instance of scp-799 be forced to go for long periods of time without a source of nutrition, though like when, for example, it is placed inside of a sealed, closet or drawer, it will begin to undergo certain physical changes which result in it metamorphosing into its predatory form.
These changes aren't noticeable from only casual observation and consist of the blanket converting its many filter, feeding mouths into a single large one that is lined with multiple rows of extremely sharp teeth.
The blanket creature also develops a new form of tissue inside its cloth-like structure, one that is similar to muscle and capable of Contracting and squeezing once its metamorphosis is complete.
The instance of scp-799 will lie in wait for an unsuspecting creature to cover themselves with it or wrap it around their body.
Once they do, the blanket will bite its time until they enter a state of rest, usually waiting for them to fall asleep entirely, at which point its feeding phase will begin.
Once the creature has detected that its victim is dormant, it will use its newly formed muscle to latch onto them holding them in place as it opens its tooth lined maw.
It will begin to bite at its confined prey tearing off several kilograms of Flesh bone and any other organic material.
It can swallowing it and converting it into a thin slurry that it spreads through its body almost immediately.
This traumatic violent process nearly always leads to the victim dying of blood loss within 10 minutes of the attack.
The mouth on scp-799 will have been completely reabsorbed, leaving no signs that it is anything other than a normal everyday blanket, the one which now mysteriously weighs several kilograms more than it did before by 40 minutes after the attack, the entire digestive system within scp-799 will have D metamorphosed back into its original form, with a single digestive tract being changed once again to the many dispersed filter feeding mounts while scp-799 is more than happy to feed on any warm-blooded animal, including humans.
It shows no interest in cold-blooded ones or inanimate objects.
It appears, then, that its senses may be limited to only touch and heat using those as signs that it is now wrapped around a potential meal.
Adding to the strangeness of scp-799 is that it reproduces through budding like flatworms and corals when it has absorbed enough nutrients and sufficiently increased its mass either very slowly through filter, feeding or rapidly via its carnivorous phase.
It will begin to take on a quilt-like appearance.
Over several weeks, one of the quilt squares will puff up and slide off the blanket.
This new, smaller instance will resemble a doily or throw pillow until it too begins to feed and grow.
The new instance is a perfect clone of its parent identical in every way, and it will eventually grow to a similar size and begin its own reproductive cycle.
It is unknown exactly how long it takes scp-799 to reach full maturity, but the current best guess is that, when kept in its filter feeding phase an instance will reproduce every 50 to 60 years.
Instances of scp-799 are quite prevalent across the planet, and the SCP Foundation currently has hundreds of examples in containment.
Unfortunately, it is unknown just how many still exist in the wild, as it is very difficult to identify instances with one of the only reliable means being through genetic testing should any instances be located, though they are to be destroyed immediately, as the foundation already has a large enough population in containment for research purposes, and they pose too much of a risk both in terms of harm and exposure to the General Public scp-799 has been classified as Euclid and each instance is kept in its own separate biocontainment cell at biosite.
dust is regularly collected from the on-site d-class Personnel dorms and has sprinkled over the blankets regularly to keep them in their filter.
Feeding State, though only just enough to hopefully maintain their size and not allow them to reproduce.
Should any small cloth objects appear in their containment lockers.
It is to be removed immediately and contained separately.
Scp-799, isn't the only predatory creature that resembles a cloth good in Foundation containment and Research into possible connections to scp-1626 the oversized gray, hooded sweatshirt that sends penetrating fibers into anyone unlucky enough to put it on is ongoing.
The early morning, sun rises casting its Radiance over the field.
The shepherd stands guard watching his sheep graze It's a beautiful morning.
The Sheep are quiet and his loyal dog is at his side, but the shepherd is perturbed.
He is certain that there are sheep missing.
He wanders through the field, counting the Sheep off one by one, but no matter how many times he counts.
He simply cannot make the numbers gel.
There are definitely five sheep missing.
How is this even possible? His family has been in the Sheep herding business for Generations.
They survive on the money that they make from shearing selling and spinning the wool from these sheep.
They can't afford to Simply lose sheep, that's money directly from the family wallet food directly off The, Family Table, but even worse, it's a matter of Pride.
He likes to think of himself as a Good Shepherd, who cares about his flock.
Losing a single sheep is a failure of his responsibility to his charges and he can't stand it.
He knows that if he returns to the farm without those five missing sheep he's going to be in big trouble, he's already thinking about the lecture he's going to get from his father and that's if he's lucky, one missing sheep might be forgiven, but five he'll be lucky.
If his family doesn't throw him out of the house for his failure, it's imperative that he find them and bring them back.
He Pats the head of his trusty sheepdog.
Every Shepherd Of course has a sheepdog to help them keep their flock safe.
His dog has been with him for many years and she has never failed in the past.
She keeps watch over the flock as if they were her own puppies, so the shepherd thinks it very strange that his dog didn't bark to sound the alarm when the missing sheep started to wander off.
Could something more Sinister be at play here? Maybe someone stole his sheep if a thief came during the night to sneak away with the lost sheep that might explain why they were able to get away without his dog, knowing they might have been clever enough to cause some kind of distraction to keep her busy.
The shepherd notices that the fence at the edge of the field is broken.
This must be how the missing sheep got away.
He examines the splintered wood, it's not a natural break, because the wood is sturdy and far from rotten.
Someone or something must have broken the fence.
Sometime last night, he clutches at his Shepherd's crook, his brows set in determination.
This isn't good.
It's looking more and more likely that thieves are behind this disappearance.
He needs to track them down and you will have to be careful.
Sheep thieves are usually desperate men.
They might resort to violence to protect their ill-gotten gains.
A glint of sunlight flashes against something shiny caught on the fence, catching the shepherd's eye.
He Scoops it up and examines it closely.
It looks like a scrap of fabric.
Could it be that the thief snagged his clothes against the fence, as he made his Escape the fabric, is thin and brittle and doesn't look like any sort of material that the shepherd has ever seen before it more resembles a scrap of snake skin than a scrap of shirt, but it's his only lead so it'll have to do.
He holds the scrap to his dog's nose and allows her to sniff it.
She Snuffles at it and then immediately raises her ears.
Alert He commands her to follow the scent and she obeys.
She puts her nose to the ground and starts to track.
He follows her.
The dog leads him out of the field and across the way he is surprised to see that she is leading him toward a nearby Forest.
He gulps in sudden fear, he's never been into these woods and in fact, his family has often warned him to stay away.
Everyone in his village loves to repeat rumors that this Forest is haunted filled with every sorts of scary monsters and demons.
Why would the Sheep Thief Brave these cursed Woods? On the other hand, that would make sense, though, wouldn't it a thief, would need a lair that was hidden and difficult to approach so that they wouldn't have to worry about getting caught.
These Woods would be a perfect hiding place still.
He can't help but Wonder his dog lifts her head and whines at him, indicating that he should follow.
He steals his resolve and continues on his fingers clutch tightly to his staff.
His knuckles going white with fear and tension he's almost convinced that he might see a monster here in these woods and he's ready to defend himself from the worst eventually.
His dog leads him into an unexpected clearing.
The shepherd blinks in amazement, standing at the center of the Glen, is what appears to be the remains of an ancient Temple.
He hasn't given much thought to the history of this place to all the people who lived here in ancient times and to what monuments they left behind the crumbling ruins are overgrown with vines and the columns look like they might disintegrate at a touch.
He wonders what ancient civilization might have built this lost Citadel and what strange rights they might have performed here, but he doesn't have time to wonder about that, because his dog is barreling ahead right through the Ancient Temple Archway and into the interior of the building.
He wants to turn and run everything that he's ever heard about these cursed Woods makes him think that this is a very bad idea, but he knows he can't return home without those sheep.
Just as he's about to enter the temple himself, he suddenly hears loud barking, followed by whining and whimpering.
He rushes inside and a terrifying sight meets his eyes.
Indeed, it seems like his family was right when they said that these Woods are full of monsters, because his dog has cornered one right here.
The creature looks like an overgrown lizard with scaly skin and a long whip-like tail immediately.
The Shepherd surmises that the scrap of fabric that he found earlier didn't come from a person's clothes.
After all, it's obviously a piece of shed skin, no doubt from this creature that long tail definitely looks especially snake-like.
So it's no surprise to think that this thing might also shed skin.
Just like a snake would in the Gloom of the temple, he can see his missing sheep standing in the corner perfectly still and perfectly quiet be surprised to see that they're still alive what kind of Predator kidnaps its prey and then keeps it alive instead of devouring it instantly.
It's also very odd that the Sheep are being so still, but it's probably just that they're petrified with fear.
The good news, though, is that, if it's cheaper alive, that means he can rescue them.
Creature spreads a large frill around its neck, as it hisses, apparently hoping to intimidate the shepherd's dog.
The dog is not frightened, though, and only barks, louder, she's bravely guarded the shepherd's flock for years and she's never been one to back down from a fight, even when she's threatened by a bear or wolf.
So, of course, she's not going to back down from a lizard.
The shepherd feels nervous being so close to this creature, simply because it's so strange, but the truth is that it doesn't look like it could do that much damage that hissing feels like bluffing, because, realistically, what's he going to do fight the shepherd is no expert, but he's never heard of a venomous lizard.
He steps forward to get a better look and the creature tenses.
It's obviously nervous.
It's not even that big.
His dog is way bigger than this creature and shouldn't have any trouble taking it.
In a fight he's seen his dog fight off rats bigger than this lizard, the creature spreads its frill again and hisses even more sharply, but that only makes the shepherd even more confident in his assessment it's trying to look bigger than it really is he realizes it's trying to intimidate him? Well, that's not going to work, but then do his astonishment.
His dog stops the dog and the creature stare at one another so intently that the shepherd thinks they are actually gazing into each other's eyes.
After holding its gaze for a beat, the dog suddenly collapses, the shepherd Yelps in fear and confusion.
His first instinct is to run to his dog to see if she's hurt, but suddenly the creature turns its Gaze on him.
He stands Frozen.
The creature's eyes almost seem to cast a spell on him.
He feels mesmerized unable to move or even to think all his thoughts drain away and the whole world starts to fade.
Nothing is real, except those two malevolent red eyes.
The shepherd is absolutely paralyzed.
It's not just Terror.
He finds that he can't move a muscle.
He can only watch as the strange reptile approaches his Frozen dog and suddenly bites her on her exposed.
Flank it lashes out, like a snake, would when it injects Venom into a victim.
The shepherd was sure that there weren't any venomous lizards in this area, but now he's not so sure.
When he's watching this scenario play out, he expects his dog might start to convulse or spasm if she's been poisoned, but she remains completely still suddenly.
He sees something so shocking that he's certain he must be losing his mind.
Could it be the area around the bite is starting to change color becoming a dull gray, but as he watches he realizes to his horror that he's not just watching a color change.
This is something more.
His dog is slowly petrified pardoning her first stiffening into stone.
She is literally turning into a statue right before his eyes.
He can't move but his eyes flick to the corner of the room where his sheep are still standing now he understands it was hard to tell before because of the darkness, and also because the very idea was so Preposterous that it didn't even occur to him, but the reason that the Sheep were so still and quiet was because they weren't sheep anymore.
They were mere statues.
Somehow this creature was able to turn things to Stone with the force of its venom.
He wants to scream, he wants to yell, he wants to break free and run away, but he's powerless to move fear Wells up inside him, as he sees the creature turn its attention from his rapidly petrifying dog and start to move toward him pisses again and Strikes Out sinking sharp needle-like teeth into his leg.
The shepherd is so Frozen that he can't scream not even at The Unbelievable pain as those teeth sink deep into his flesh, but the pain doesn't stop.
When the creature retracts its teeth, he can feel the pain spreading outward from the sight of the bite spreading down his shins and up his legs through his whole body.
His body is hardened and fast, making it hard to breathe and impossible to move, but even as he turns into a statue, we can still see everything around him still sense.
The presence of the creature still think his thoughts aren't affected at all other than being nearly out of his mind with Terror.
What could be next? The shepherd is frightened, but all he can do is wait, he's not sure how long he waits, because time has no meaning here.
In the Gloom of this Ancient, Temple he's not sure if it's day or night, he idly wonders if this Temple was built for this monster by people who worshiped it for its great and terrible power or by people who feared it and hope that maybe this Temple would keep it contained.
Or is it mere coincidence that it's taken up residence here, just as bats, might Roost in an abandoned building? He has no way of ever knowing the only indication of the passage of time is the coming and going of the creature which, even if he can't turn his head to see its movement, he can hear it shuffling and hissing.
Occasionally he hears a sound that frightens him even more a sound that can only be described as statuary shattering and he wonders if that will ultimately be his fate.
His question is answered one day and it seems that hunger has driven the creature to dig into its Larder of petrified Prisoners.
The creature approaches him and he can feel it gnawing at his feet with its big ugly Peak.
It's pecking at him harder and harder until suddenly, the shell breaks and it's chewing on the Flesh of his leg.
Once again, the pain is unbearable.
The shepherd can do nothing but wait.
At least he thinks it will all be over soon, better a quick end at the jaws of a monster and a slow death trapped Frozen in stone.
He thinks it's the very best that he can hope for that.
Shepherd had just run afoul of a creature that appears to come straight out of medieval mythology, matching the description of the deadly monster known as a cockatrus or basilisk, but the SCP Foundation knows it as scp-1013 a nasty little piece of work with quite literally a paralyzing stare.
Scp-1013 is a small reptile resembling a lizard, but with several key differences that set it apart from any other animal.
In this order, it was recovered in Egypt, an interesting coincidence, since medieval bestiaries often regard that region as the ancestral home of the Basilisk.
However, Foundation agents believe that since no other specimens were found in the area, that scp-1013 is not a naturally occurring animal and might have actually been bioengineered, while scp-1013 itself is only 60 centimeters long.
It's abnormally long tail measures nearly 121 centimeters long.
It can use its tail to distract prey.
It has a wide frill around its neck that it can't extend at will similar to that of the Australian frilled lizard.
Its head does not look like any other known lizard, though, with a serrated beak and a distinctive head waddle that many researchers feel gives it the appearance of a rooster.
Its beak is filled with long needle-like teeth, but Stranger than its appearance is its hunting methods.
When it spies potential prey s, cp1013 will extend its neck drill with a sudden snapping sound.
The frill appears designed to attract the tension and encourage victims to look into the eyes of scp-1013, because its eyes are, of course, where it holds its real power.
The mythical cockatrus was said to be able to turn a person to Stone with the power of its gaze, similar to the petrifying powers attributed to the Gorgon Medusa of Greek mythology and scp-1013 is very similar to its legendary namesake.
In this regard, anyone or anything making direct eye contact with scp-1013 will experience stabbing pain in most major muscle groups, followed by full paralysis, setting in within three seconds and Lasting up until 8 minutes.
It is currently unknown how scp-1013 achieves this paralyzing effect once its prey is.
Paralyzed scp-1013 will bite its victim with its needle-like teeth, thus initiating a process of calcification the victim will gradually stiffen and Harden, almost as if they are turning into a statue.
The process will begin at the site of the bite and gradually work its way through the body so that a full-grown adult will become completely calcified within 15 minutes.
As of yet there is no known way to stop or reverse the process.
The calcification process only affects the outer layers of the victim extending about three centimeters into the body, leaving all organs and internal tissues intact.
It also does not affect the eyes or mucous membranes.
This means that victims of scp-1013 are still alive, but cannot move or react.
Perhaps even more horrifying scp-1013 then eats its victims alive.
Scp-1013 feed by breaking the hardened outer layer with its beak, much like a young chick, would break its way out of an egg and then feeding on the soft tissues preserved.
Within the victim will experience excruciating pain, as the creature eats them alive, but they cannot resist.
They cannot even scream to give voice to their pain.
Scp-1013 has a voracious appetite and will consume nearly twice its body weight at each feeding, victims usually die of blood loss before scp-1013 can complete its meal.
Scp-1013 does engage in caching behavior and has been known to store, petrified victims for later consumption.
It prefers mammals as prey and will attack livestock and game just as readily as it will attack humans.
In times when mammal food sources are not available, desperation may drive scp-1013 to turn its paralyzing powers on fish birds or even insects, but it will only do this if it is near to starving.
Scp-1013 is hermaphroditic and, unlike other reptiles, does not reproduce sexually, but instead undergoes a process similar to budding or basic cellular division before reproducing scp-1013 will increase its feeding gorging on food and growing rapidly in size.
Eventually, it will develop cyst-like structures in its abnormally long tail, Each of which contains a juvenile scp-1013 juvenile scp-1013 hatch.
After only 48 Hours parent scp-1013 will typically release hatchlings within calcified prey, providing a ready food source for the juveniles until they can hunt on their own juvenile scp-1013 will seek out cool, dark places like caves or abandoned buildings, and begin rapid molting doubling in size every six hours until reaching full adult size.
Once they have reached adulthood, scp-1013 will set out on their own and quickly establish their own hunting territories.
Scp-1013 is extremely massive and will attack and attempt to calcify anyone that enters its enclosure, making it extremely difficult to contain.
For this reason, combined with its deadly powers of calcification scp-1013 has been designated object level ketter, any staff entering the containment area are to wear the ar-68 armored variant, hazmat suit staff exiting the area with damaged suits, are to be remanded to quarantine for one hour, staff becoming paralyzed during cleaning, feeding or testing Cycles are to be immediately removed and remanded to Medical custody until five hours after recovering scp-1013 is to be fed daily with one small mammal.
However, any calcified animal remains are to be removed from the 1013 containment chamber and incinerated for safety reasons.
1013 is a frightening reminder that while many entities have piercing gazes comparatively few can end your life.
Few, however, does not mean zero.
These Winters are getting worse every year.
That's for sure the old cattle rancher doesn't know if it's the climate, changing God's judgment arriving or, if he's just getting older and struggling to keep up, probably a strong mix of all of it.
Whatever the cause, it doesn't change the facts.
It's deathly cold out there, his ailing elderly Moss Health, continues to deteriorate.
He hasn't heard from his delivery driver Jorge in days and on top of it all is loyal.
Dog Mary Bell is out there barking into the darkness of the barn the Rancher heads out to fetch her.
He doesn't know what he'd do if she froze he whistles, but she doesn't look back at him.
She just carries on barking up that road into the snowy night, the Rancher Wades through the snow and peers in the direction she's looking there's nothing there girl get inside, but Maribel keeps barking she's.
Insisting he looks again is that the Rancher takes off running up the road.
All thoughts of cold immediately gone from his mind.
He races towards the figure as fast as he can his frozen fingers fumble at the zipper on his parka icy wind stabs, the insides of his lungs Maribel shoots off ahead of him there.
He pulls the zipper down and wrestles The thick coat off of his shoulders, just as he reaches the tiny figure he drops to his knees and throws the coat over the shoulders of the little girl standing alone in the snow.
Quick as he can, he wraps it tightly around her pulling the hood up and over her head.
He takes her tiny shoulders in his hands and gives her a shake you, okay, hello.
Can you hear me the girl sways for a moment then collapses.
He catches her and in one Deft motion Scoops her into his arms and takes off back down the road in the direction of his farm, where the hell did she come from.
There are no buildings around here for Miles.
No one uses that road except Jorge and in this weather she couldn't have walked all the way over those mountains.
She'd have frozen solid.
He bites the finger of a glove and pulls it off.
With his bare hand, he clasps one of hers by the feel of her skin.
She pretty much is frozen solid already.
He needs to get her warmed up now.
He kicks open the front door and bundles inside with a flurry of snowflakes and an anxious dog at his heels.
The fire is not quite dead yet so he rushes over to the Hearth and lays the little girl down next to it.
He can barely see her at all wrapped up in his enormous coat.
She doesn't seem to be moving Ma I'm home I I found someone the Rancher grabs two dry logs from the side and throws them onto the fire he piles kindling high on top of them and blows steadily into the Embers at the bottom.
They glow and swell in size no taking.
Yet he blows again for longer and again he feels his head, starting to swim, a crackle, a lick of flame.
It's taken panting.
He turns back to the bundled up coat on the floor with the child inside still no movement.
A sickening knot tightens his stomach.
What, if she's? No don't? Let yourself think that not yet he reaches down and gently undoes the zipper on the parka, his trembling fingers push back.
The hood pale deathly pale.
Her dark brown hair is wet and clings to her scalp.
The tips are frozen at a guess.
She must only be nine years old eyes closed lips are sickening blue, but that's not the color that scares him the most on her neck.
There's red delicately as he can.
The Rancher takes the coat off her shoulders and hangs it up by the fire she's, dressed only in a plaid shirt way too big for her.
It looks like an adult shirt similar to an old one he used to have years ago, but on her neck, her hands her feet is that same deep red layers of blood Frozen to her skin sits back his mind.
Blank he's seen that much blood before sure he has when you work with cattle.
It's an unfortunate part of the job he's seen.
Cows bleed out during childbirth.
The girl in front of him she's the same color as those orphaned calves that lie crying on the floor.
A groaning sound fills the room.
The Rancher looks across at the armchair where his ma sits.
She doesn't look at him.
Doesn't look at the girl on the floor.
She just stares Into the Fire same way.
She always does ma groans again trying to express something she doesn't understand being in a world without living in it, not okay, sorry, if I startled you, we have a um.
We have a guest with us, but she just keeps on groaning and staring into the fire.
The Rancher buries his head in his hands and lets out a deep breath.
Only the sound of his breath is joined by another, a tiny breath rattling and rasping through a damaged child's throat trying its best to keep its host alive.
The Rancher opens his eyes and stares at the child.
She is unconscious not by a long shot but she's breathing a little at a time.
The icicles in her hair have turned into rounded droplets of water that glow by the heat of the fire.
He snaps back to his senses, he's not doing her much if she's just lying there soaking wet.
He runs off upstairs and grabs some towels and a fresh flannel shirt to wear after several minutes of drying.
Her off he's confident enough that he's got most of the water off.
There's still a lot of blood kicked to her skin, but as far as he can tell, there's no wound anywhere that it could have come from brow furrowed.
He leaves her under a bundle of blankets and fills up the kettle with water hanging it carefully over the fire.
He walks over to the cabinet and fishes out a tin of cocoa from the top shelf hasn't been used in years, but should still be fine.
He would make it with milk, but she's, probably dehydrated lifting the kettle's lid with the poker, the Rancher pours the brown powder inside and waits for it to boil the little girl's eyes are open.
Now, she's staring into the Flames.
Her lips are looking a little more pink her skin, a little more blotchy you're safe here, just stay by the fire and warm up a bit.
You like Coco, the little girl drags her eyes away from the Flames.
Her expression is mostly blank.
She looks too tired to be confused.
I, don't know, I, think you will.
My always gave me Coco and with that The Farmhouse Falls silent the little girl stares into the fire.
The Rancher watches her finally feeling the wave of exhaustion crashing over him.
His Ma has fallen asleep in her armchair.
Only Maribel stays awake through the whole night.
Staying close to the little girl by the fire, occasionally licking her toes to try and warm them up by the morning.
The snow stopped, but the huge drifts remain as the Rancher walks across to the barn.
He finds it hard to believe that, just a few hours ago, the winds were whipping at his face as hard as they were.
The world this morning is totally still what the Rancher finds even harder to believe is that there's a little girl in his house right now, fast asleep by the fire.
He checked her forehead when he woke up this morning and she miraculously hadn't caught a fever.
She couldn't have been out in that weather for too long, but it only made the question more mysterious.
Where did she come from Mary Bell didn't get up this morning from all the excitement last night.
She must have been too tired for today walking through the crisp morning, air.
He can't really blame her.
He shoulders the barn door, open the column of steam curls out of the opening.
All of that warmth, humidity and cattle smell is strangely comforting this morning, but as the Rancher goes around checking on all the cows inside, he very quickly discovers a problem.
They're thin Way, Too Thin.
Some of them look to be on the verge of starvation.
He'd missed it last night as he drove them down in the dark, but in the warm glow of the Barn's lights, it's unmistakable.
These cows haven't been eating properly.
He pours out several sacks of grain for them into the troughs and they all gather around hungrily filling both their stomachs as fast as they can.
The Rancher leans on the railing for a moment confused.
Even in this cold, there was still plenty of green grass for them up on the ridge.
That's why he'd taken them up there.
They should have had no trouble eating until the snow came in last night.
He doesn't like this one bit last time, Jorge had driven down and collected some of the meat he'd had a few questions about the quantity being smaller than usual.
Were the cows sick at all, not that the Rancher could tell, but now looking at them, it's clear as day something's up you hungry the little girl nods.
They sit across the table from one another eating: homemade bread and soup Ma stays over by the fire Maribel slowly wanders over to the kitchenette and flops down on the floor.
Where are you from the girl shrugs her shoulders? You know how he got out here.
Remember anything from last night the little girl just eats her soup and shakes her head.
She doesn't look particularly scared or worried just a little confused.
Where are your parents? Do you have parents again the little girl shrugs, the Rancher sits back and folds his arms he's tried to call into town, but his phone Line's gone out in the blizzard not much to be done until the snow clears he's got a good relationship with the police around here.
If he explains the situation, then it'll all be okay.
What do you know? Can you remember anything from last night it was dark.
The girl slurps, her soup, I was hungry, so hungry, then I saw the light and I went towards that.
My car, no well, yes, later on.
It was your car, but before it wasn't what was the light? Then? Where were you I, don't know it was just the light now he's even more confused but tries he might the Rancher can't figure any of it out and try as she might.
The little girl can't remember anything more precise than that, the pair of them hop into the car and drive back out up the road that afternoon, the snow is piled so high that the Rancher is having to get out twice as often as he did the previous night to clear a track for them.
He isn't actually sure what he's brought her out here.
Looking for Clues, maybe he almost laughs at himself with a thought, but that's probably the best word for it.
If he can figure out how she got here, then you can work on understanding who she is and how to get her home.
There's the damage to the phone line.
One of the masts has collapsed, sagging heavily on the lines, that's not something he can fix on his own.
No sir looks like he'll have to wait for the snow to melt before making any phone calls again that could be in one week that could be in three months.
He glances at the child sitting in the passenger seat she's just staring out of the window in amazement, wrapped up in as many layers as he could put on her.
They may be stuck together for a while a Lurch, the pickup plunges dangerously to the left, the Rancher Slams on the brakes, and it comes to a stop just in time.
A large chunk of snow in front of them comes loose and slips off the side of the road it tumbles down into a gully that he hadn't even spotted with all this snow on the ground.
He has no frame of reference.
Everything is just White stay here.
The Rancher opens the door and climbs out he wishes.
Maribel was with him, but she'd wanted to stay home again, poor dog.
She must really be going through it if she wasn't even up for a ride in the pickup carefully, as he can testing every step before making it.
The Rancher creeps over to the edge of the Gully, it's bigger than he thought much bigger.
It continues down more and more sharply for a few hundred feet all the way down into a oh, no semi down there.
A big rig, warped and bent lying on the Rocks.
Just a glance is enough to tell the Rancher it's orhes, but it just keeps staring at it in disbelief, can't be it, but it is stay in the car.
The Rancher reaches past the little girl and into the back seat grabbing a pair of crampons and some rope.
He straightens up and looks at the girl.
She knows it's serious.
He can see the concern on her face stay in the car he repeats by the time the rancher makes it down to the truck his legs and back are killing him all this work over the last 24 hours is going to start taking its toll sooner or later, but some things have to be done.
He pauses by the semi, it's on its side.
He'll have to climb up onto it and try to open the door.
Some things have to be done.
He hoists himself up and manages to clamor onto the metal door.
It's badly crumpled and the window is smashed in.
He doesn't fancy his chances of being able to get it open.
One look through the window shows him that he won't want to do that.
Anyway, blood coats every inch of the inside of Jorge's truck the cabin that the Rancher is so used to seeing and sitting in is almost unrecognizable.
Smashed glass is sprinkled across every surface, with a dark, brownish red layer of Gore frozen into everything else there in the midst of it all still wearing a seat belt is Jorge's body.
It dangles like a limp carcass at a butcher shop like the cows he hangs in the slaughterhouse and like those cows, a large chunk of Jorge is missing.
His fat stomach is gone, not just cut open but gone the tops of his thighs too and much of his chest.
So much of him is just missing.
Open arteries and lifeless nerves dangle in place.
That must have been a hell of a crash.
The Rancher reaches over and pulls Jorge's cap down over his eyes, not much else to be done right now, no way he can clean this mess up by himself, but as the Rancher climbs up the valley.
His mind starts to connect some dots, dots that leave a sick feeling in his stomach he's, seeing that much blood somewhere else, or rather on someone else.
Just last night he slams the door to the pickup shut and starts to drive back down the track since the snow stopped.
All of the drifts that he'd cleared earlier remain clear.
It's only a few minutes drive back down to the farm.
He doesn't say a word the whole way and neither does the little girl she clearly senses.
Something's up the sick feeling in his stomach remains.
He pulls up the handbrake and the two of them sit in silence: Outside, The, Farmhouse, there's a truck in that Valley.
Did you know that? Yes, is that where you came from last night, I, don't remember: was he the Rancher stops Jorge didn't have any kids? What were you doing in this truck? I don't know.
Did he was he? The Rancher can't bring himself to accuse his best friend of the words that almost left his mouth? Do you think you might not remember, because something bad happened to you? I, don't know the Rancher closes his eyes for a long moment.
Silence fills the pickup come on.
Let's get inside, but inside wasn't the safe haven.
He'd been hoping for Ma's been throwing up not just once, but a few times, she's distressed groaning aimlessly for someone to come and save her Mary Bell is pacing around the room.
Yelping and whining.
The Rancher immediately goes upstairs to get some rags to clean up with perfect timing as usual, but he stops in his tracks.
When he comes back down his Moz stopped moaning.
The little girl is kneeling by the armchair holding the old lady's hand, the room is calm.
The little girl gently places the frail hand back on the armrest and comes over to take the rags from the Rancher.
Returning to the old lady, the girl goes about mopping her up as best she can Maribel slumps back down on the floor, and that is how the four of them exist for the next few days.
Mao gets sicker steadily, but the little girl stays by her side all day.
Caring for her in every way, the Rancher's glad of that it gives him the time he needs to help his cows outside.
None of them are in a good shape, whatever it is, they're still getting thinner, he feeds them all.
The grain they'd normally need and then some- and they always finish it off.
Yet none of them are getting any fatter.
The Rancher leans on the railing trusty dog.
By his side, his energy is starting to really lag behind what he needs the last couple of days, even though he hasn't done all that much have totally taken it out of him.
How do you think it is Mary Bell? He looks down at his little friend she's, looking thinner too actually, but she's been eating just fine.
It hits him tapeworms as soon as the word comes into his head.
It makes total sense his cows, his entire herd by the looks of things, have been riddled with tapeworms Ah hell.
He hasn't got anywhere near the amount of medicine needed to give some to all of them, even if he did a lot of them are looking pretty far gone.
The chance of reinfection would be high, he needs supplies, he needs or hay Maribel whines softly.
Next to him.
He knows what they have to do: laying Maribel down carefully by the fire.
The Rancher administers the tapeworm medicine for a few hours.
They lie there together.
He Strokes her side waiting for her to pass it.
The little girl watches over her shoulder his ma sits back in her chair mumbling to herself.
He hasn't talked to the little girl anymore about Jorge, yet he isn't sure what there is to say.
Maybe he should ask if Jorge was sick.
After all, the cows clearly have had these tapeworms since before the other night, or he may have picked up contaminated meat from him last time he came.
Maybe Mary Bell passes the worm on the rug ugh, the smell the Rancher uses the tongs next to the fire to pick the worm up, it's long and pale and dead.
He tosses it into the fire and puts the tongs in the Flames for a bit to sterilize them the worm, sizzles and Pops in the Flames.
The sound makes his stomach crawl the Rancher glances around and sees the little girl staring at the tapeworm.
He looks past the girl to his ma sitting in the chair.
Her turn next, but as that night and the following morning reveal it's too late.
His Moss groans turn into cries of pain.
She openly sobs by the fire clutching at her stomach.
Every time the Rancher tries to give her the medicine she just vomits it back up each time she vomits there's more and more blood mixed in the little girl gets more and more upset.
It's not fair on her to have to witness something this traumatic and disgusting.
There's nowhere else for her to go.
She shouldn't even be here at all the fact that she is means she has to help.
That's all there is to it by Sunrise his Ma has passed away.
There is nasty red bruising all across her abdomen, which tells him she must have bled out internally from this worm, he'd been too late to realize what was wrong too late with the cows and too late with his Ma.
He covers his mom with a blanket and tells the little girl not to go and wash her hands.
He needs to check on the cattle sure enough.
During the night a handful of them died too.
The calves they were the ones to go.
First, whenever something like this happened.
Mother cows stood over their calves, licking their heads, willing them to wake up the Rancher drags each body out to the back and burns them.
He can't risk any more contamination, as the carcasses burn, he allows himself to cry, but when the Rancher comes back into the house, it's full of noise, a noise that takes his brain a long time to comprehend crying, but not his own, not the little girl either.
No, it was a new sound.
It was a baby, a newborn child screaming at the top of its lungs.
The Rancher can't believe what he's looking at the little girl is sitting at the hearth with Mary Bell at her feet.
In her arms drenched in blood is a baby.
The girl looks up at him and smiles sweetly.
It's a boy.
Then she turns around to his Ma's body.
Under the blanket, a sickening red patch soaks through the fabric right over where her stomach would be what the hell happened here, I've got a little brother securing and containing scp-1003 has proven challenging.
This is largely because the tapeworm that causes all of this damage is virtually indistinguishable from ikina coccus granulosus.
The common variety of tapeworm that causes heidated disease.
The tapeworm designated scp-1003-1 follows the same life cycle as other regular worms.
Its eggs come into contact with an animal through contaminated meat, saliva or unclean surfaces, and are ingested once inside the gut they grow and latch onto the inside of the digestive tract, with a feed on the nutrients of the food traveling past them steadily growing, bigger and stronger once mature, they lay eggs which pass out in the animal's excrement to continue the process.
Infections spread quickly, particularly in unsanitary conditions amongst livestock, and can often be difficult to contain as by the time the symptoms, nausea weight loss fever start to manifest in the infected.
The worms have likely already reproduced and have a new generation growing in the guts of other animals.
As far as the foundation is aware, scp-1003 follows this normal pattern in all observed animals except humans.
When a human ingests, an egg from this tapeworm, a very different creature starts to grow in their gut human embryos with the same genetic code as the tapeworm begin to form.
The rate of their growth is greatly accelerated.
However, by just eight weeks they are as mature as the typical three-week-old neonate or newborn child, although similar in size to an eight-week-old embryo at 13 to 16 centimeters, many eggs usually enter this fertilization period, but almost all of them die before having a chance to develop much beyond the early stages.
They stand the best chance of survival when buried in the hepatic tissue, where they can absorb plenty of nutrients from their host.
The host at this point usually starts to experience mild symptoms, lethargy, the occasional stomach cramp, nothing particularly severe, yet the embryos that survive soon develop rows of temporary razor-sharp teeth at this point passively, absorbing nutrients is no longer enough for them.
They bury their teeth into the soft tissue surrounding them and begin to eat once they enter this stage.
Their rate of growth increases exponentially the more flesh they consume, eventually, burrowing out into the world.
The tapeworm child is born, drenched in blood the size and apparent age of the child that emerges from the corpse are determined by the size of the person they consume.
For example, the child eating its way out of the Rancher's ma, appeared to be only a 10-month-old child, as there was very little of the frail old woman for it to eat.
By contrast, the little girl who emerged from Jorge's gut had plenty of fat to Feast on and so was able to grow to the size of a nine-year-old.
Once the child emerges, the teeth that they'd used to eat their way out quickly become loose and are replaced by regular human teeth.
The children themselves have no memory at all of where they've come from or what they are.
They have the same motor and linguistic skills that a regular child would possess at their age.
Nothing aside from their DNA marks them out as being any different from the children around them.
Blissfully ignorant just like the children around them.
It is theorized that many of these children end up in orphanages with no birth certificates or identifiable parents.
They fall through the gaps in the system quickly lost to the world.
The only way to really track them at all is to follow the infections they cause.
You see these tapeworm.
Children have one final curse.
They must live with their bodily fluids.
Their saliva and sweat contain the same tapeworm protoscolax that will develop into scp-1003-1 as soon as it is ingested by another creature.
Making the cycle start all over again.
If you want to track down a tapeworm child and I highly.
Advise that you don't all you have to do is follow the trail of nasty stomach infections, internal bleeding and freak pregnancies amongst the outcasts of society.
It unfortunately, will not take long.
There are currently 10 instances of scp-1003-2 in containment the children live in bio-research, Area 13, under strict supervision.
Researchers are only permitted to enter their cells whilst wearing full-body.
Biohazard suits, but first must have level 4 security clearance and must have written permission and can only enter with specific research goals agreed upon.
All staff are regularly tested for the presence of any kind of tapeworms in their system.
No other animals are permitted in this facility.
The store manager had heard of crazy customers, but this was something else.
A mob comes barreling towards the store visible through the display Windows as they charge down the street.
They all look crazed, much closer in appearance to rabid animals than human beings.
Frenzying foaming at the mouth, a few of them stumble in their haste, while rushing for the automatic sliding doors some fall to the ground, only for others to clamor over them, leaping like athletes going over hurdles with all the same speed, but with none of the grace to the staff inside the store.
They look like a pack of zombies, all apparently infected by the same virus that had given them such a ravenous.
Hunger for savings, I thought Black Friday was a week ago.
The trainee remarks as the doors slide open in the first of the mob spills inside welcome to the mattress store everyone.
If you could kindly form an orderly within seconds, the trainee vanishes as a tidal wave of Madden mattress store.
Customers starts to pile into the store each and every one of them is deranged.
That much is clear even from a distance across the store.
The store manager watches as his colleagues are shoved and tackled out of the way, just from their Misfortune of standing too close to the entrance.
It's only as one of the mob wanders closer, but the store manager notices their eyes.
Both Lids stay shut somehow closed.
Despite the crazed customer standing upright, they aren't screwed tightly.
This person isn't forcefully keeping their eyelids clamped down instead they're gently sealed as if the customer is still asleep or sleepwalking.
The whole situation was astounding.
First thing in the morning just hit opening time a horde of sleepwalking customers barged their way into the mattress, Madness mega store, moving and fighting retail staff, as if they were all still awake and fully aware, and as if that isn't bizarre enough, it quickly turns out these people aren't here because they're eager not to miss out on great deals on their bedroom furniture, the store, manager's horror, the mob has come to the mattress Madness Megastore.
For breakfast, he watches an elderly woman eyes closed Shuffle up to a luxury, cashmere pillow top California king-sized mattress and proceed to eat it and not bite by bite, either not even ripping off pieces to chop through, like so much cotton candy in a far more horrifying fashion.
The old lady eats the mattress whole.
The store manager feels his blood run cold at the side of her mouth.
Widening unnaturally unhinging like a snake eating its prey, except in this bizarre unaired nature documentary the snake is a human being and its meal is a perfectly good bed.
That moments before had been resting on a stylish ottoman frame.
The same exact display of confusing Carnage is unfolding all over the mattress Madness Megastore people devouring entire Egyptian cotton mattresses, some had even already devoured their respective meals and were already moving on to any accompanying pillows or cushions feeding on them in much the same way, a few members of Staff, bold enough to try and intervene, couldn't seem to wake the sleepwalking Shoppers up, no matter how hard they grip each one by the shoulders and Shake.
Nothing could deter them from devouring demands and munching on memory.
Foam, a sudden, terrifying and inescapable thought cuts through all the confusion, striking the storm manager with an even greater fear.
The stock room behind a series of doors marked with signs.
Employees only are shelves upon shelves of new units.
The mattress, Madness Megastore, being a much bigger Outlet means that there's additional inventory to replace any mattresses on the shop floor that gets sold and more mattresses mean more food for the mob.
The worry that these Sleepwalkers might soon develop a taste for human flesh never occurs to the store manager.
He hardly races around the store Gathering up as many of his surviving staff as he can and urges them to help him defend the stock in the back room.
Some are already abandoning their posts, ripping name tags off their polo shirt uniforms and rushing to leave the store they aren't willing to die for 7.25 cents.
The mattress Madness Megastore has Insurance it'll cover the damaged stock once the crazed, customers have feasted on feather beds, but the manager urges them to stay.
The store's insurance covers stock.
That is damaged in transit, not mattresses, that are eaten by hungry lunatics.
But if you stay using the manager's desperation to leverage pay raises and more annual vacation days in exchange for their health.
During this crisis of cashmere carnivory, with his resistance force gathered, the store manager commands the remaining employees to charge for the door at the back of the store, but some of the nearby mattress eaters over here in their sleepwalking State, the staff frees uncertain whether to bolt for the stock room and risk being chased by the hungry customers.
They need a distraction, a sacrificial lamb to grab the horde's attention and, with a solemn expression, the store manager realizes what he must do.
This isn't a fight he'll make it out of alive.
He leaps up onto a twin inner spring and calls out to the crazed customers attention everyone.
The Bellows I'd like to announce that all our mattresses are half off for the next five minutes: The Crowd, Goes, even more rabid, all eager to eat the pillowy pedestal.
The store manager is standing upon his staff flees in the opposite direction: rushing to barricade themselves inside the storeroom, while their boss meets a grisly demise and the crazed customers devour every remaining mattress in sight, but what on Earth could have possibly caused such a scene to unfold? What was the inciting incident for this unprecedented Act of mass matricide, the Divine destruction and combination Carnage? All it took was one seemingly innocuous image, an unassuming online post to stir over 7 000 people into a featherbed Feeding Frenzy, it's December, the 3rd 2020, almost an entire day before the deranged events that would soon unfold at the mattress, Madness Megastore and just like he does most days after college.
The student is trawling, various internet forums in search of things, to laugh at he's, procrastinating and through inaction, allowing himself to be buried under a veritable Avalanche of assignments, all with rapidly approaching dates that they're due in by, but he doesn't care.
He can always do them tomorrow.
As far as he's concerned, there's plenty of time for him to waste, doing well very little, but no matter where he looks nothing brings with it.
Even the smallest hit of dopamine it's been hours since he stopped checking the clock at the bottom right hand, corner of his computer screen instead wearing out the muscles of his finger as it spins the scrolling wheel of his Mouse.
His social media feed is all the same more Doom and Gloom, and despite his searching, he can't find anything funny to alleviate his ongoing existential nightmare for so much as a second.
If anything, seeing every anxiety-inducing post about the state of the world or dour headlines of reposted news articles only makes everything worse.
That is until the Fateful link appears in his inbox.
It's from one of his friends at College living in the dorm across campus, the pair of them constantly swapped links and exchanged memes over direct messages, sometimes while sitting in the middle of important lectures.
So the student quickly opens up the latest message from his friend pleased to have something to relieve the monotony, instilled by the prior several hours worth of mindless scrolling.
Sure enough, his friend's message sits waiting to be read in his inbox.
It's just a single blue hyperlink with no additional context offered nothing to indicate what the link is or what website it leads to, or even why the student's friend bothered to send it their long pass the need to provide context for the memes they send each other the link redirects to a familiar corner of the internet to the student, the deep fried meme subreddit, just seeing that written in the hyperlink is enough to Spur an enthusiastic click.
It's like going home back to somewhere warm and welcoming, where everybody knows your name and they're always glad you came and where the student knows he's bound to find something to entertain himself.
A deep, fried meme is usually a heavily edited image, with a number of different filters.
Added to it.
Its contrast is boosted.
The picture is oversaturated and distorted all to the point wherein the colors are unnatural and the image appears as a grainy washed out mess of pixels and they're one of the students favorite sub-genre of funny posts, opening up the link sent by his friend.
He finds one such deep, fried meme staring back at him.
It picks a man.
Long haired and wearing dark clothes, presumably a fan of heavy metal music in front of the metal head, is a table with a chessboard placed neatly atop it the pieces on the board are distributed in such a way that places the metal head in Checkmate and his opponent directly opposite him at the table is a glass bowl filled with water and a goldfish aimlessly swimming around and the top off this louvrey masterpiece is text seemingly cut and paste from various different places.
Judging by the alternating fonts and styles, the words have been placed into a sentence that reads: tell me your secrets, fish and the student explodes with laughter as, if answering his prayers for some humorous entertainment.
To avoid working on his college assignments, his friend had appeared out of the blue and delivered a perfect deep, fried meme, but that momentary boost in serotonin levels quickly, subsides and a student knows how these exchanges work.
This has to be reciprocal.
A mutual trading of memes like for like akin to swapping trading cards in the playground at a younger age, and so he searches the subreddit for a token worthy of returning to his friend.
He clicks on a search filter, sorting the results from the top posts of all time to the most recent posts of the day.
These were fresh hot off the presses or out of the deep fryer in this case and the newer they were, the lower the chances that his friend had already seen them scrolling through the student is met with a few underwhelming attempts that weren't worthy of The Prestige, expected by the deep-fried meme subreddit they'd, be better suited for posting on R cringe.
But then it appears the perfect deep, fried crispy golden brown cooked to Perfection picture descend back to his friend.
The distorted image is a photograph of a bed, specifically a king-sized mattress on what looks like a polished wooden bed frame.
Although it's not easy to tell thanks to just how grainy the picture has been made, whoever edited this meme knew what they were doing and has nailed the absurdist bizarre humor that the student at his friend thrive on a label over the mattress simply reads: king-size and the meme is captioned in a classic top text.
Bottom text format with the phrase a feast Fit For, A King and the fiesta resistance.
The crowning touch that makes this meme worthy of the student's lofty standards is the title given to it by the original poster.
It sums up the meme perfectly succinctly in three words eat your mattress.
The student erupts into uncontrollable fits of laughter so much so that Tears start to stream down his face.
His stomach almost feels like it might explode at just how fine he thinks the post he's found is through Giggles that hit like the Aftershock of an earthquake.
He copies the link to the eat, your mattress meme into a message and hit send to share the hilarity with his friend little does.
He know he's just condemned his friend to the same fate that now awaits him as soon as he falls asleep it'll happen and the student and his friend aren't the only ones either.
The post spreads either sent directly from one person to another or seen by those just browsing the deep, fried meme subreddit and happening across the Etro mattress photo.
Not all of them find it funny they don't have to.
They aren't even required to share it to pass it on to someone else and help the post spread like wildfire.
They've looked at it and that's enough come the next day an estimated 7 000 people across the world have seen the same Meme and it affects them all in the exact same way, becoming a directive, a command planted in their subconscious, one that they will act on without even realizing.
It's been only a few hours since all the Carnage erupted at the mattress Madness Megastore, but by now the SCP Foundation has swept in and taken control of the scene.
According section of multiple blocks.
Under the cover story of a dangerous gas leak, it's enough to keep civilians and prying eyes away without asking too many questions, but as for the foundation Personnel themselves, they've got plenty of unanswered questions of Their Own.
Two members of the cleanup team are reviewing the store's security footage baffled by the sites of the chaos that unfolded there earlier that same morning on the screen, frenzied customers are eating entire mattresses, stretching their mouths wide open and swallowing them whole.
They watch as the store manager appears to make an attempt at a noble sacrifice to distract the horde of ravenous customers, so his employees can Rush towards the storeroom manager is fine.
Once The Horde has eaten all the mattresses out on the store's main floor.
They start trying to break into the stock room out back where the other employees have used layers upon layers of cellophane, wrapped mattresses, to barricade the door by the time the foundation arrives, the customers have already forced their way into the stock room and have devoured around half the mattresses, while exhausted employees try to wake them from their sleepwalking State.
The foundation sees to it that everyone affected is rapidly administered with memory, wiping amnestics to forget all about the ordeal their next job is to try and track down the source of whatever caused this unprecedented outbreak of mattress eating, but being experts in all things, anomalous.
It doesn't take the foundation long to start pursuing possible explanations.
Having already confirmed this wasn't a viral anomaly.
Their next course of action is to investigate possible memetic causes and sure enough.
A common factor quickly presents itself the mob that attacked the mattress Madness Megastore, along with subjects who have engaged in similar acts of mattress eating across the world.
All have one thing.
In common, each one has been exposed to the eat, your mattress post on the deep, fried memes subreddit.
It takes some deduction on the foundation's part to figure out the cause.
After all, the meme in question is similar to a number of others posted in the same subreddit.
As a result, the foundation's online detection software or web crawlers initially failed to flag the mattress meme as an anomalous image once they do, it is designated as scp-5126, but with a cause established.
The pieces start to fit together.
The foundation's researchers soon realize what the image does.
Another reason it was initially missed is that its effects only occur once the subject that is seen.
It falls asleep.
The student is one such subject who lived through this.
He dozes off in his gaming chair well past the middle of the night hours after he's, first seen scp-5126, while sound asleep without waking up once he starts to seek out his mattress, laying unoccupied on his bed on the other side of his cramped, dorm room.
He and all the others who have seen scp-5126 then consume their mattresses, including in many cases their pillows any cushions and even plush toys.
Their bodies stretch unnaturally to accommodate the meal only to return to normal once they have done the deed.
Having returned to normal, the student and the others like him remain unaware.
They've just eaten a mattress, but the foundation is left puzzled.
There's still one question that hasn't been answered.
Their examination of the several hundred customers at the mattress Madness Megastore revealed that the consumed mattresses aren't digested like food ordinarily.
Is they vanish Without a Trace? So this naturally begs the question: where are all these eaten mattresses going? Well, the foundation quickly comes up with an experiment to find out they Place tracking devices inside of the cell of a member of d-class personnel and expose him to scp-5126 sure enough.
The meme takes effect and once asleep he eats his mattress.
The experiment is going exactly as the foundation plan.
Now they can follow the signal from the tracking devices to pinpoint the destination that all the consumed mattresses are disappearing to and, after several sweeps of the Earth's surface, their satellites discover a ping coming from a remote location in the state of Montana MTF Sigma 16 suit up ready to head out to the location.
This mobile task force operates under the code name slumber party and it's up to them to investigate.
They come across a large structure.
It looks a lot like a medieval castle, but it has been built out of mattresses and large cushions it's the ultimate pillow fort.
It even has pillars and all the fortifications you'd expect from a real historical Castle, all made out of even more pillows.
The slumber party team enters the fort and quickly discovers that the structure is able to anomalously reconstruct itself.
Sigma 3 kicks over a stack of pillows and plush toys, arranged to resemble a statue and watches as it reforms after collapsing.
The team Ventures deeper into the pillow fort and is quickly met with humanoid entities that are also made out of pillows an entity swipes a pillow arm at Sigma 1, but she Ducks out of the path of the attack drawing her firearm.
She fires causing a plume of feathers to spray out of the pillow person.
The Entity is unfazed and several additional shots do nothing.
Even a taser is ineffective.
The pillow entities are exhibiting extreme resistance to damage, but Sigma 2 has an idea.
She grabs a pillow from one of the walls and uses it to bash The Entity attacking her teammate Sigma 1., the pillow person collapses into a pile on the floor inanimate, and just like that.
The mobile task force has a way to fight back.
They all grab pillows and make quick work of their attackers before they move on to explore the rest of the castle.
Then they encounter the king, there is a man sitting, atop a large stack of cushions wearing a night cap and pajamas eating feathers from an expensive brand of pillow scattered around him are empty pillowcases.
Trying to ignore the smell.
The slumber party team attempts to interrogate him claims to be the king of cushion obsessed with pillows since a young age, their smell taste and texture Inspire him to create a kingdom of plush his Masterpiece of mattresses.
It doesn't take very long for the foundation operatives to realize that this man is insane.
They question him about how scp-5126 the eat your mattress meme works.
How is it able to make people consume entire mattresses and send them to the king's cushiony castle? And why well the king explains that buying mattresses is expensive.
So in order to build his castle, he's outsourced the Gathering of building materials, as he sees it.
He is offering people affected by the meme a delicious meal in exchange for their beds spreading the world of pillows.
So we can gather resources for his kingdom.
Suddenly he challenges the slumber party team to a pillow fight for having tracked him down the king of cushion, takes up a pillow in one hand and charges towards the mobile task force, armed and ready to do battle with them all.
He is quickly incapacitated by Sigma 1's taser and drops to the floor.
Defeated now designated scp-5126-a, the king of cushion, is transported back to the SCP Foundation for analysis and containment.
Their testing reveals he possesses no anomalous properties whatsoever and the King actually requires his stomach to be pumped thanks to the copious amounts of pillow feathers he's been eating, the foundation gets to work, dismantling his pillow fort and moving all the components into storage and as for the eat, your mattress meme itself, the foundation's web crawlers, are keeping an eye out for any other posts of the anomalous image and don't worry if you find yourself giggling at a funny deep, fried image that jokingly implies.
You should eat your mattress.
The foundation will ensure you don't remember it happening and they'll even throw in a replacement for your swallowed mattress at no added cost.
Now that's a bargain London's! Never! Really quiet, even in the dead of night, there are still taxis, driving, drunks, shouting and arguments echoing from top floor windows, cleaners and Airport staff trudged through the darkened streets on the way to work, not looking up at the bar staff and security guards plotting home.
It's probably better that it never gets really quiet, though, as much as the thief would like to be able to hear the footsteps of someone else coming his way.
It's probably best that the noises out on the street mask his own.
His theory has proven correct almost immediately as he jumps from the overpass down onto the construction site.
He makes it over the barbed wire fence, but loses his footing on the landing and Falls against a porta potty, the plastic wall splits and he clatters through into the toilet, sticking out a hand.
He manages to stop himself you'll, never guess where his hand landed.
Ah, wonderful for a moment, he slumps there grumbling to himself praying no one hurt him, but outside there's, just the regular hum of London's nightlife he's safe.
For now he straightens up opens the door of the porta potty and steps out.
He has to Crane his neck back to look up at the structure in front of him he's at the base of a block of flats, or at least what would have been a block of flats.
He'd asked the chicken shop owner from across the street about this place.
In the day, the man told him it was supposed to be a new development to attract young 20-something professionals to the area, but Midway through construction.
The company shut down.
Now the shell of the building stands empty waiting to be knocked back down with any luck.
There might still be some building equipment around here that he can salvage or maybe a bit of copper wiring.
He can sell at the very least it'll put a roof over his head for a few nights, he's even got a toilet kind of he'll scope, the place out and call his wife in a bit after a long day working the market stalls.
She deserves her night in the soup kitchen tonight that place had stopped letting him in after the last fight.
The pair of them aren't exactly homeless; they just don't have a home right now.
The thief sidles into the building peering around in the Gloom exposed, concrete and girders, surround him in every direction.
There aren't many walls in place yet just floors and ceiling, broken up by staircases and supporting pillars.
It'll be quite exposed down here.
He needs to head up higher to see if there are any more secluded spots for the night as he climbs up the stairs the thief hears voices above him echoing through the empty shell of a building he peeks over the top of the stairs this floor is a bit more divided up.
There are a few walls in place.
He sees the light of what must be a fire dancing around the edge of one of them.
That's where the voices are coming from security guards, wouldn't light a fire.
They must be homeless, the thief, hates homeless, people being surrounded by them.
So much at the moment is just demeaning.
They have no morals, no standards, they just lie and steal.
He spies a couple of backpacks leaning against the wall.
He'll have to be quiet, but with a bit of luck he can sneak over and take one of those packs without any of them hearing.
He creeps up to the top of the stairs and a piece of metal glints at him in the dark, a sledgehammer lying there on the ground he tiptoes over to it and lifts it into his arms.
It's heavy if you can give it a good swing.
It'll keep him safe for sure he Grins and makes his way towards the packs on the ground.
He gently Loops a hand under the shoulder, strap three two one clatter an empty can falls out of the side and bounces off the concrete floor.
What was that? Oh, no, the thief shoulders, the pack and runs, but it's too late, A Pair of Hands grab him and spin him around the thief, staggers backward but stays on his feet.
Three figures surround him in the dark.
He doesn't have a choice.
He swings the sledgehammer wildly it takes all of his strength, just to lift it but sure enough.
He feels it connect.
He swings it back the other way hard as he can.
His arms strain from the effort, a man Yelps in the darkness, something heavy thuds to the floor for a moment, all four of them stand there in Silence.
The thief holds the sledgehammer at the ready.
He isn't sure if he's got the strength to swing it again, even with all this adrenaline, but the other men aren't looking at him the two on either side stare at the man in the middle, or rather what used to be the man in the middle, the man's friends bolt for the exit they run off into the night.
Without a look back, neither will ever be able to explain what they saw tonight.
It takes a long time for the thief's hands to warm up by the fire.
They feel cold and don't stop trembling for a long time so long that the sun is about to come up, there's something red on the thief's hands.
He can just about make it out in the flickering light Must Be Blood.
He wipes it on the ground and reaches into his pocket fishing out.
The little brick phone he's only got five percent battery left and almost no minutes on the Sim, no time to explain the details.
He just calls his wife gives her the location and tells her to come.
Quick she'll need to jump from the overpass soon before there are too many commuters on the rails.
He's moved to the body of course, he's sitting next to it.
Right now, actually couldn't leave it out in the open for anyone to see in this little Nook with the fire he's well hidden from the outside world, there's graffiti on the walls.
This must be a popular spot.
If anyone comes and disturbs him, he knows what he's doing with them.
The sledgehammer leans against his leg.
After about an hour, he hears footsteps on the concrete behind him.
He whistles once two whistles come back.
His wife stops dead when she rounds the corner.
He hadn't told her what had happened over the phone just that he'd found them a new spot, she's staring at the body lying next to him.
Rouse petals and candles usually work better.
He shrugs and looks back at the Flames, not his fault.
Self-Defense, as always, but she doesn't stop staring it's starting to annoy him now.
It's like she's, never seen a body what's wrong with her can't she, then he hears a soft rasping breathing very slowly.
The thief turns his head lying there on the ground.
Next to him, with half of his head caved in the man is still alive staring at them, both through one horrified eye the thief, grasps the sledgehammer and stands up.
That just makes no sense.
His wife looks puzzled too.
They look at the man lying on the ground in more detail.
A chunk of his head is missing completely, but the wound underneath is healed over the Flesh and brain underneath, looks like it's been cauterized as if he'd been burned, and surely you can't still be alive with that big of a chunk of your brain missing strange his wife mumbles her hand joins his on the hilt of the sledgehammer.
She takes it from him and caves in the homeless.
Man's head in just a few swings.
His head is a red mushy pulp on the floor definitely dead.
Now they both stare at the body for a bit.
No more breathing lovely problem solved with the red mush doesn't look like blood incredulously.
His wife extends a finger and dips it into the red mush on the homeless man's head.
She raises it to her mouth and has a taste salsa salsa salsa.
He doesn't believe her.
He leans down to take a nibble of the red mush on the ground.
The cool Taste of pico de gallo meets his tongue.
It's not bad.
You know ignoring the sweaty Grime of the homeless, man's flesh, it's actually pretty good.
The thief looks over at his wife.
She Scoops two fingers through the goop and sticks it in her mouth.
A grin, spreads across her face.
A glint lighting up her eye he's been married to her long enough to know what this face means.
She's got a plan.
Finding the jars proves to be the biggest issue, or at least finding intact jars.
Dumpster, diving has never been the thief's favorite pastime feels a bit too homeless for him, but as he climbs out of his 12th bin of the day, with nothing to show for his efforts, but a measly little glass jar, he thinks he's had enough.
He tosses a rotten potato at his wife, it splatters in her hair.
It would probably stink anywhere, but amongst all this trash, the potato is probably the best smelling thing around you throw one more bit of trash at me and I'll be dipping tortillas and what's left to you, she says the thieves had enough.
He clamors out of the dumpster and storms over to his wife.
This plan sucks.
Why does he have to be the one covered in trash all the time? Why is he the one always breaking into construction sites? He races a fist above his head, just as she spots the jar in his hand and squeals an excitement.
She pecks him on the lips and excitedly tells him that they should have enough of them now to get started.
Her lips, Taste of rotten, potato back in the construction site they get to work taking in turns they raise the sledgehammer above their heads and bring it down on the homeless man's body with every hit.
They expect the magic to stop working, but it doesn't dollops of salsa pool where bruises would normally form, while one of them pummels the corpse the other Scoops the salsa into jars, carefully screwing on the lid and writing little labels to go alongside artisanal pico de gallo, three pound fifty salsa made Straight From, the Heart Is Not, all made from a hot dough.
Is it the thief says only one jaw will be.
The rest will be made from the bowels and stuff it's all connected in it.
You can taste some in a bit and tell me if any of it's different.
He doesn't really fancy trying bowel salsa, but his wife makes him she's the one holding the hammer.
You know what, if you didn't know it was bowel salsa, you never would have guessed, it tastes pretty much the same as all the rest.
The pair of them managed to mash about half of the body into salsa.
That day, the remaining carcass lies on the concrete, rather neatly, there's no blood or Gore at all.
If anything, this is a pretty sterile, Affair, just salsa.
What we calling our business, then the thief asks hobo Jose.
His wife rolls her eyes at him and thinks for a moment: El martillo, Ila pulpa, the thief doesn't know any Spanish, so he just laughs and pretends he gets the joke.
At least he hopes it was a joke.
Two days later, business is booming from the first thing in the morning until late in the afternoon, the jars of salsa are selling like hotcakes.
The two of them can hardly believe it.
At lunchtime each day the thief has to go back to the apartment and restock those are their code, words for going back to the dilapidated apartment, complex and pulverizing, the corpse of a homeless man with a sledgehammer, just in case that wasn't clear at three pound fifty per jar, their handmade recipe is pulling in the big bucks.
Who'd have guessed that the homeless could be so profitable.
The market they're selling in apparently has a strong mexican migrant Community Living nearby.
On top of that, a handful of local moms started sharing photos of the Artisan salsa from the local market, which surged the demand.
It might even be time to start jacking up the prices.
Only they've got a problem.
As the thief arrives at the market, with a wheelbarrow full of freshly filled jars, he pulls his wife to one side to have a whispered conversation with her they're, almost out of stock and, of course, by the word stock they really mean the cold rotting dead body.
His wife looks at him incredulously.
Does he really not see the solution here if you're running low on ingredients and your product is flying off the shelves? What do you do you go out and Source yourself, some more damn ingredients as the thief walks away with his wheelbarrow and Sledgehammer.
He wonders why it's always him doing the messy jobs but tries he might the thief can't find any Targets.
He walks around all of the streets near the block of flats, but has no luck.
He approaches one sleeping homeless man and kicks him in the shoulder trying to wake him bad idea.
The man starts yelling loud enough to attract the attention of everyone on the street.
No amount of begging or bargaining is going to get this man to move an inch.
The thief gives it a go anyway and watches in shock, as the man buries his teeth into his ankle, limping back up the stairs into their Nook in the construction site.
The thief has a scowl on his face.
After a couple of hours, his wife arrives and joins him at the fire.
It's a good profit today, even better than the previous day.
Keep this up and they'll be rich in no time he grins at his wife.
She lears back then shoves the money back into her pocket, hang on a minute that wasn't part of the deal.
They're Partners, 50 50.
She Bears her teeth at him and tells him she's just holding on to it.
For now, the sledgehammer sits halfway between them.
The thief glances down at it.
So does his wife, but that night they are in luck.
A drunk wanders into the construction site he's so wasted that he doesn't have time to figure out that he's been pummeled to death by a hammer until he's just a generous splodge of salsa fresca, slowly oozing across the concrete floor, the following night, another two men saunter in then the thief convinces an obnoxious local with a dog to follow him into the place the afternoon.
After that, the dog wasn't worth the effort.
It ran around a lot before they caught it and only produced enough salsa for a medium-sized garden party, but the hall is good.
All of a sudden.
They are overrun with work jar after jar, after jar, everyone in the area keeps coming back for more, even telling their friends about it.
This salsa is to die, for they have to know the recipe dead, londoners, drunks dogs, that kind of thing the crowd of moms, aren't quite sure what the joke was but try to laugh.
Everything is going perfectly, except, of course, for the thief's ankle.
The bite mark went purple and now it's on its way to Green the veins on his foot and up his leg are starting to look like a funny color.
He should really go to the hospital, but he reckons it'll be okay.
Besides, they don't really like him at any of the hospitals around here he's had one too many visits and been the reason for one too many for several other men, but that night it's clear that something's wrong, as he and his wife sit on the pile of corpses next to their fire.
He feels a cold sweat on his brow.
His wife counts all of the coins into neat piles, there's more in front of them than they've ever shared before, but his head is feeling swimming.
The thief lies down on the corpse bed he's back to back with an investment banker who took the wrong alley home on his walk home from work no line down.
Yet you need to cook up a new batch before bed.
His wife is glaring at him.
He refuses says he's too tired tonight and his ankle hurts.
She starts grumbling at him about not pulling his weight.
A switch flips in his head I'll do more work when you give me what I'm owed the money I want.
My share now his wife cackles and jumps to her feet.
Fat chance he's not seeing a penny until he actually starts to contribute she's the one who came up with the idea, she's the one who sells dozens of jars a day, she's the one holding the sledgehammer right now, his eyes widen.
What are you doing with that? You say your ankle's sick, well, I know something that could help you with that before his woozy mind can register what's happening, the sledgehammer arcs through the air towards him that sobers him up lucky for him.
He manages to roll out of the way at the last moment, causing the sledgehammer to embed himself in the ground.
Next to him.
That's it it's time for a hostile divorce.
He hauls himself to his feet and grasps the hammer pulling it as hard as he can towards himself.
The metal connects with his chest and he feels the salsa running down his ribs.
He shoves her back.
The sledgehammer catches her shoulder and salsa Rises it tomato chunks fly across the room and Sizzle in the fire back and forth.
Back and forth.
The hammer swings hitting the thief.
Then his wife then him again on and on until nothing is left, but a sledgehammer and two large piles of salsa.
Usually it's the smell that alerts, people to a dead body, except for once it was actually a pretty pleasant smell.
Forensic police had to consciously stop themselves from having a taste.
One of them even happened to have some tortillas in the car that day by the time he returned to the station that evening, the packet was empty, swears to this day that he ate them dry.
It wasn't long before the story broke.
Some on the local press, theorized that this was a bizarre viral marketing campaign from Doritos.
Once that theory was out there, it wasn't long before the story died.
No one likes overly aggressive advertising to this day, Scotland Yard hasn't got a clue.
What was going on at that crime scene, one senior investigating officer was unofficially quoted shaking his head and saying I, don't know what the hell happened here.
Sometimes it's best to just not ask questions.
We all know it takes two to tango, but I bet you didn't know it takes a sledgehammer to salsa.
That was my attempt to draw some kind of lesson from scp-3794.
You can probably guess the nickname of this SCP already the salsa sledgehammer currently stored in a standard item Locker this SCP is considered to be totally safe in the right hands.
You could use it to demolish walls, break apart cinder blocks or win over your new mother-in-law with a fresh bowl of homemade nachos, assuming of course, that you have the necessary ingredients.
That is because, when scp-3794 makes sufficiently heavy contact with living tissue, it immediately converts the point of impact and surrounding area into salsa, affecting roughly three to eight centimeters around the impact points.
This salsa does not adhere to the rest of the body and will immediately slide out of its crater and fall to the ground appearing at the hole left behind.
You will see that the nerve, endings, capillaries and even main arteries will all be instantaneously.
This Sledgehammer would make for a very clean murder weapon if it wasn't for the human-sized amount of salsa you get everywhere in the process.
You would need to ensure you smashed up every part of the body, though, as any disconnected limbs or tissues, still function and follow orders from the brain as if nothing is wrong, as our Thief learned only too well.
The salsa itself is good, nothing incredible, but not that bad either.
It just goes to show that if you stick an artisan label on anything, then people go crazy for it.
Testing on this Sledgehammer has been suspended.
A test subject was chosen to lie with his head over a generously sized serving Bowl researchers swung the hammer and demolished half of the test, subject's skull and brain in just one hit.
Much to their surprise.
However, the subject continued to exhibit all signs of Consciousness moving frantically around the room and even writing the word helped in the spilled salsa.
The subject died.
30 minutes later the moment that researchers taste tested the dip.
Since then, the sledgehammer has remained in its Locker, although there is often now an air of Suspicion whenever a jar of salsa shows up in the fridge in the break room.
The full moon hangs heavy in the night sky over the dense jungle, canopy below the darkened palm trees, stand silent in the humid air festooned, with vines and lyanna's, and tropical insects hum in the undergrowth.
The night is quiet and dark here far from the city and one of the farthest most secluded provinces of the Philippines, one would hardly expect anyone to be out.
At this time of night, the young woman is hurrying home, carrying a lantern before her face, so that she can see where she's going in the pitch black of the night.
Her swollen belly reveals that she's at least several months pregnant her new middle, throwing her off balance just enough that she has to be careful not to stumble a woman in her condition.
She thinks shouldn't be out at this time of night, and certainly shouldn't have to do household chores like this, but the work has to get done, no matter what She carries a basket of wet laundry under her other arm.
She is returning from washing her clothes in the river and if she had planned things out better, she would have been home long before the moon Rose.
Unfortunately, she spent far too much time gossiping with several other village women before getting to work on scrubbing her filthy clothes against the rocks.
Luckily, it's not too far from the river back to her home in the village.
The worst thing that might happen she reminds herself is that she might lose her footing in the dark and trip over a rock or a root, there's no chance that she might run afoul of some nocturnal animal.
She tells herself, even though the sudden chills down her spine and sweat dripping from her brow, reveals the truth that she doesn't believe that at all and in fact, she's getting more and more nervous as she staggers Through The Dark.
It isn't just the threat of wild animals.
She remembers the stories that her mother told her when she was a little girl all about Sinister, Supernatural monsters that live in these Woods.
Of course, those are just stories invented to scare children.
She tells herself she's a grown woman now about to have a child of her own.
She shouldn't be worried about Boogeyman.
She just needs to keep her head on her shoulders and she'll be sure to arrive home safely.
The lantern throws its light over a figure standing below the crook of a Catman tree.
The woman jolts nearly dropping her laundry.
She gulps back a scream as she realizes that what she sees isn't a wild animal, but rather a person.
Oh sorry, says the young woman, her voice shaking a little I, didn't think anyone else was still out this late I thought you were a wild animal.
Don't you worry little one says the figure in a soft sibilant voice.
The figure steps forward and the young woman recognizes her.
It's an old woman from the village, her back hunched and her long white hair falling over her shoulders in a messy tangle.
The young woman feels inexplicably nervous running into this particular villager here in the jungle at night.
Many of the village kids whisper that she's actually a witch who has all kinds of weird Supernatural Powers, even some of the village Elders, are afraid to cross her for fear of getting cursed.
Where are you going at this hour? Someone in your condition shouldn't exert yourself so much I'm, just heading home, says the young woman hefting the basket of laundry for emphasis, it's dangerous to be out so late alone.
Here, let me walk home with you.
There's safety in numbers, you know! Thank you.
The young woman almost wants to protest that she doesn't need any help getting home because she really does not want to spend any more time with this old woman, but at the same time she is reluctant to say anything that might insult her.
After all, even if the young woman doesn't believe in witchcraft, it's not like she wants to take any chances besides.
The truth is that she is rather frightened of being alone in the dark, and any company is better than nothing.
Even if it's this strange old woman, how far along are you honey, says the old woman placing a hand against the surface of the young woman's protruding belly, the young woman grimaces.
She doesn't like this old woman intruding on her personal space like this, the old woman's hands are wrinkled and Fanny flecked with liver spots and her fingers topped with gnarled Talons.
The young woman wants to cry out at the sight of them, but she bites her tongue.
Instead, she answers the old woman's probing question as calmly and politely as she can very nice.
Very nice there's the old woman, her roomy eyes, never straying from the young woman's belly and her hands still rubbing against her stomach as if she's trying to reach something within the old woman, makes a strange sound in her throat like she's smacking, her lips and hunger.
But it's hard to see anything in the dark.
The young woman can only nod in confusion, but she quickens her Pace.
She hopes that she can get home soon and once she's home she can get away from her unfortunate travel companion.
The old woman keeps Pace grabbing her younger traveling companion by the arm and holding Titan.
Her grip is surprisingly firm for such a seemingly frail old woman and the young woman again wonders if maybe there's something Supernatural about this ominous crone.
She wants to pull her arm away, but the old woman's Long Claws pinch cruelly into her flesh.
It's as if the old woman is silently warning, her don't pull away I'm too strong for you to escape what a sweet, little bundle of joy you carry.
There says the old woman as, if speaking to herself, what a delectable little burden.
The young woman knows that she's still talking about her unborn baby, but all this mumbling just makes her more worried.
They continue walking the young woman staring resolutely at the small circle of Illumination thrown by her Lantern onto the path ahead.
Doing everything in her power to not look at the old woman standing at her side for fear that she might scream.
Why is she so nervous? Worse? Does the old woman sense her fear? The young woman has heard that witches are easily offended and that's the last thing that she needs now.
She continues walking the old woman gibbering and whispering in her ear plying her with odd questions about her pregnancy eating.
Well, have you you know it's very important to eat right when you're carrying, so that the baby can be born, strong and healthy right says the young woman.
She really doesn't need this unsolicited advice.
She heaves an audible.
Sigh of relief as the village comes into view over the next Bluff thank God.
She thinks I'm almost home.
She just hopes that the old woman will take a hint and leave her alone once they arrive at her doorstep.
She wonders if this old woman might try to come into her home or maybe steer her towards some other destination.
But what can she do? All she can do is keep walking home and hope for the best is it just you is.
It is the father in the picture I haven't seen you with any young men lately have I asked the old woman.
Her nosiness is really starting to irritate the young woman enough that she almost forgets her fear.
No, it's just me says the young woman automatically.
She immediately regrets that confession.
What is this old woman planning? Is she up to some Mischief now? She knows that the young woman lives alone, and there won't be anyone around to see whatever this Crone is planning her grip tightens on the young woman's arm as if to warn her again.
The village is quiet and dark.
Everyone else has already gone to bed by now, so the pair of them walked down narrow, still streets.
The only sound is the crunch crunch crunch of gravel under their feet.
After what seems like an eternity, they arrive at the front gate of the young woman's house.
Well, here I am she says a little too loudly and firmly to be completely casual.
This is my home thanks for keeping me company on my way home to her immense relief.
The old woman lets go of her arm.
The young woman immediately pulls away rubbing the Deep bruises left by the old woman's gnarled Talons.
Think nothing of it.
My dear the old woman smiles widely a long rope of saliva dribbling from her slack lips.
Her teeth, look Jagged and misshapen it's hard to see in the dark, but they look more like the teeth of a wild beast than a human.
It must be your eyes Playing Tricks, on her in the dim light fell.
The young woman can't help but recoil in disgust, but luckily her face is hidden in Shadows, so the old woman doesn't seem to notice I'm happy to help I hope to see you again very soon.
The young woman doesn't wait any longer.
Even before the old woman turns to leave the young woman scampers across her yard and Yanks open her door, she runs inside and pulls the door shut behind her her heart is racing and her breath comes in ragged pants.
She can feel the baby in her belly.
Kick suddenly agitated by its mother's fear.
She cools softly patting her stomach and hoping that her tender voice will help to calm her baby I know.
You're scared, scared too, that old woman frightened me half to death.
They say that she's, a witch and I'd almost believe it.
What a strange experience she pulls the curtain aside and peeps out the window, the old woman is gone.
The young woman looks up and down the street but sees no sign of her traveling companion.
She inhales deeply and feels the tension drain from her body as she lets her breath out.
Thank goodness, that's all over.
She can't explain why this whole night has unnerved her so much, but there was just something so uncanny about that strange old woman, she's glad to be rid of her.
The young woman tries to put the whole experience out of her head as she prepares for bed as she pulls on her night clothes.
She startles when she hears something heavy and Loud clatter across the roof, It's Not Unusual for roof rats or other nocturnal animals to Scurry across the roof.
This sounds louder than usual.
It's probably nothing.
She tells herself as she climbs into bed.
I'm still just upset about meeting that old woman on my way home from the river.
That whole thing must have jangled my nerves, worse than I thought.
If I'm flinching at every little sound I'll be fine, when it's light out, the sooner I get to sleep the sooner it'll be morning, even though her nerves are rattled, she is quite tired after a long day, and it doesn't take long before she drifts off to sleep.
The young woman's eyes close and her breathing becomes slow and steady.
The shallow rhythms of sleep inside her head.
She might be troubled by strange dreams, but to any outside Observer.
She is dead to the world asleep in bed.
She doesn't react to the clattering on the roof.
Whatever is up, there is making an awful racket as it drags itself over the roof tiles.
If someone were around to watch, they would see that whatever is on the roof is no rat.
It's a darkened figure, almost big enough to be human, but strangely truncated, two massive leathery, Wings unfurl behind it extended to help the strange creature maintain its balance upon the roof.
It drags itself forward using only its hands, long Talons tapping at the roof shingles, as it seeks a loose tile.
Anything that will give it access to the house below finger, finds a crack, wheezing and panting.
The creature leans forward, putting its eye to the crack to peer into the room below the young woman is asleep in bed directly below and that's exactly what this creature was hoping for.
The young woman mumbles in her sleep, her mind, filled with disturbing dreams, she's oblivious when all of a sudden something drops through that crack in the ceiling it's long and slippery and covered in thick wet mucus.
It looks for all the world like a tongue, but it's far too long to be any human tongue.
It drops lower and lower into the room, extending closer and closer to the young woman sleeping in her bed.
The disgusting appendage caresses her face, leaving a wet slug trail of saliva across her forehead, as if it's looking for something and brushes against her lips and the tongue seems to find what it wants instantly it snakes into her open mouth and shoots down her throat.
The young woman starts to sputter and choke her limbs, thrashing and flailing, but still she is held fast in the grip of sleep, some wild, nightmarish playing out in her head.
Perhaps she fantasizes that she is drowning in a river or choking on some food or being strangled by a fiend, whatever she's thinking it couldn't be further from the truth that an alien tongue has jammed itself down her throat.
The tongue pushes deeper and deeper inside her until it makes contact with her wound.
A trained anatomist might balk at the idea that the tongue could find her womb by accessing her throat, but somehow it is done exactly this snaking its way through the Labyrinth of her insides to find her unborn baby.
A sticky aperture opens up at the tip of the tongue, revealing that the tongue is hollow.
Like a massive soda straw, it sucks up the baby like a vacuum.
Slurping it up up and out bulge of its prey.
Traveling up the length of the tongue like a wild pig swallowed by a boa constrictor once the baby is gone, the tongue slides out of the woman's mouth and retracts back toward the ceiling disappearing back through the subtle crack.
There's a clatter on the roof again followed by the soft flutter of leathery Wings.
The young woman settles back into a deep still sleep.
The awful sensation of Suffocation having passed the rest of the night is peaceful and quiet, but when she awakens the next morning, she finds that the nightmare isn't over.
She wakes with a strange, empty feeling in her guts.
Something is very wrong.
She throws aside her covers and stares at herself in shock.
Her baby is gone.
Her rounded belly has deflated back to its pre-pregnancy state and she can sense, as only a mother can, that she is no longer carrying something within her.
She shrieks in Terror at this bizarre Revelation.
What could have happened? What could be responsible that young woman just had an encounter with scp-5201 scp-5201? Is a humanoid subspecies native to the Philippines, dubbed Homo sapiens, visceralis, but known by many local names across the Philippine Islands, including the oswang, the tiktik, or simply the viscera sucker, but it is most commonly known as the Monon gal.
During the day, an instance of scp-5201 looks like an ordinary human at a glance.
There is no way to immediately distinguish an instance of scp-5201 from a regular member of homo sapiens.
However, Foundation researchers have found that there do exist, certain retinal irregularities unique to scp-5201, so the agency has developed a portable retinal scanner for use in quickly identifying instances of scp-5201 scp-5201 is far easier to tell from an ordinary human at night when it undergoes a strange and startling metamorphosis.
It unfolds a pair of membranous wings resembling those of a bat from its back even more startling.
Its torso splits in two its upper torso then flies off in search of prey, while its lower torso is hidden in a secure location.
Until scp-5201 can reconnect, scp-5201 will seek out human prey most likely, relying on a keenly attuned sense of smell, and once it has chosen, a victim will a light on the roof of their home and then snake its Predator, naturally long tube-like tongue into the house below, so that it can feed scp-5201 feeds by inserting its tongue into the orifices of unfortunate sleepers and sucking out their internal organs as easily as you would suck soda through.
Scp-5201 will happily eat human livers, stomachs and intestines, but its favorite food is unborn, fetuses, so much so that instances of scp-5201 disguised in their human form can often be recognized by their tendency to drool at the site of pregnant women.
Scp-5201 are well known to local humans who live in fear of nocturnal attacks by the dreaded mananangal.
Interestingly, scp-5201 can be repelled by abrahamic holy objects like rosary, beads or crucifixes, or can be staked through the heart, with sharpened shafts of bamboo very similar to the means used against vampires in Western.
Folklore scp-5201 is especially vulnerable when its upper torso is out hunting, so it will always take the utmost care to hide its abandoned, lower torso in a secret, secure location.
If you can find the hidden lower torso, it is possible to kill scp-5201 by sprinkling its exposed viscera with spices like garlic, salt or vinegar, or failing that even Ash or urine.
This causes an unusual reaction that is not yet fully understood by Foundation researchers, but will prevent the two halves from rejoining.
If the two halves of the mananangal cannot rejoin Before Dawn sunlight will kill the Creature.
If none of these methods are available, it is also possible to repel scp-5201 by using a specialized whip fashioned from the tail of a stingray.
The SCP Foundation currently has an undisclosed number of domesticated scp-5201 instances held in the fauna, containment wing of site-235, because this species has been known to practice.
Cannibalism, each specimen is to be held in its own personal containment cell.
While there are obvious ethical and logistical concerns with feeding human organs to scp-5201, the foundation has discovered that scp-5201 can still easily thrive on a diet of any newborn mammal, with a mass of at least one kilogram.
Piglets have so far proven to be the most cost effective and available options, but other species can be substituted as necessary.
All entrances to scp-5201 containment cells are to be guarded by at least two level, two Personnel equipped with Stingray whips crucifixes or some other object found to cause harm to scp-5201.
Unlike humans, scp-5201 have an unusual asexual reproductive process.
The lower body can regenerate a new upper torso via a process similar to epimorphic Regeneration observed in autonomous lizards upper torso of an scp-5201 would leave behind the parent's, lower torso to search for a compatible female human scp-5201 would attack and consume this human claiming her lower torso as its own smearing Ash, urine or spices into the exposed innards of the lower torso inhibits this process and prevents effective reproduction.
The exact origin of scp-5201 is unknown, although the creature is endemic throughout the Philippines and historical records indicate that it has inhabited the island since at least 1500, when it was first described by Spanish Sailors to the islands.
Fossil remains and genetic testing indicate that it is actually an invasive species from outside the Philippine archipelago.
Scp-5201 is currently believed to be extinct in the wild following eradication.
Efforts by the foundation in the 1990s, an epidemic of scp-5201 attacks in the early 90s prompted the SCP Foundation to join forces with the supernatural Committee of the Philippines and the global occult coalition to take action to prevent scp-5201 from spreading to other countries dubbed project Dipsy.
The operation involved anesthetizing the major cities of the Philippines funding propaganda campaigns to dismiss scp-5201 as a product of folklore and urban legends, and eventually domesticating the surviving scp-5201 population for cellular regeneration, research, its aggressiveness and taste for human flesh.
Scp-5201 specimens regularly attempt to breach containment and thus have been given the designation Euclid, and while the SCP Foundation has done its best to eliminate the threat of scp-5201 in the wild.
There's no guarantee that a few instances of this vicious monster might have slipped through the cracks and possibly even spread out into the wider World Beyond its home in the Philippines.
You still might want to search your room for any suspicious cracks or holes before you bed down for the night, because there are very few things: Less Pleasant than waking up from Restless dreams to find a long, slimy tongue, Jam down your throat.
It's never a nice feeling.
Waking up lying amongst shards of broken glass in the middle of the road, the dawn sky above the biker looks almost peaceful.
It's as if nothing had gone wrong at all, as if everything is right in the world, but slowly the throbbing pain washes into his helmeted head and the sound of the traffic surrounding him rises in his ears.
A sea of onlookers gathers around as the cars blast their horns through the cracked visor of his helmet.
The biker can see concerned faces people calling emergency services and a few women crying.
His paramedic bike is toppled on its side about 40 feet from him.
There are long black tire marks running up to where it lies smoking slightly on its side with the groan, the biker sits himself up and shakes his head bad idea.
Looking around, though it seems he's the only one injured.
His bike had gone into the front of a car at the junction, the occupants of the car stand by nervously, offering him whatever little assistance they can, but there's no time for that.
The biker suddenly realizes he looks down at his watch frantically.
It's 1203 PM, there's not enough time.
He rushes over to the bike as fast as he can and lifts it back upright.
A couple of onlookers try to grab his arms trying to sit down to rest, but he can't there's no time.
He has just three minutes to get to Saint Mary's Hospital in central London right now he's at the junction outside Baker Street Station.
He can still make it on time if he gets on his bike and goes now.
The biker swings his leg onto the bike and kicks it into life.
He takes a deep Gulp and looks over his shoulder at the Box on the back of his bike.
He can't risk opening it here.
The damage may already be done, but if the heart is still alive in that box, it is the only chance that a 10 year old boy has for a normal life.
He doesn't get to the hospital in the next three minutes.
His life could be over the school children stand in a circle.
Looking down at the dead bird with a morbid fascination.
Do you think it's alive? No, no way the boy in the middle of the group goes to pick up a stick with an air of false confidence.
He walks up to the bird and gives it a prod.
It makes a squelching noise, the other kids, all real in shock, making wretching noises and laughing about it.
It's only when their teacher comes out to call them inside that the group disperses leaving the animal carcass alone sitting at the edge of the playground outside the view of boring adults each passing day, the kids Wander over to the bird's body.
It's kind of the best biology lesson.
They've ever had as they watched the animal slowly decompose at first, its body just shrinks goes flat.
Almost the feathers start falling out and it loses all of its color.
Then it starts to get puffy different parts of its flesh, bulge out in weird places, as if they're being inflated like a balloon animal at someone's birthday party, then the maggots come.
There are only a couple of tiny white crawling wrigglers in the bird's body at first, but a couple of days after that, it's infested with them.
The creepy crawlies wriggle all over the body.
But as the boy looks down at the dead bird, he spots something very peculiar something they haven't seen in a biology class before there's a red, maggot wriggling and crawling in amongst the rest of the creepy crawlies, it squirms like the rest of them, but even over the course of the school day, it quickly grows larger than any of the others.
Think it is the boy stares at it.
It looks like a worm and a worm is exactly what it was the next day when the kids return.
They see that the red maggot is now much larger than any of the others feasting on the bird with a slightly translucent body, cherry red, coloring and small white Speckles on its skin.
It looks, unlike anything, they've ever seen before, actually not, unlike anything they've ever seen before.
It looks exactly like something that all the kids recognize very well.
In fact, one of the kids has a bag of them right now that he's chewing on a candied worm.
The kids stare in curiosity first at the bag of candy that their friend has in his hand and then down at the worm slowly eating its way through the decomposing bird.
As far as their eyes can tell the two things are exactly the same, except of course, that the one eating the bird seems to be alive, kids being kids.
The next thing that happened was sort of inevitable.
One dares the boy to eat it.
He almost wretches in disgust, there's no way he's even touching it and then another one of the children throws down the poison chalice and dares him.
The boy stands there nervously.
He knows that he's not allowed to eat worms that had been a lesson ingrained in him from a very young age, but his mother isn't here right now, and this thing doesn't look like any kind of worm that he's seen before it almost looks a bit tasty in exchange for eating the worm.
Another one of the children promises he'll, give him five English pounds the kids around the circle gasp, that's a lot of money.
None of them have even got two pounds on them, let alone five think of all the sweets you could buy with that kind of money.
But the boy is adamant.
He Puffs his chest out.
He stands up tall and he nods firmly five pounds or he wouldn't do it.
After some intense schoolyard debate, the deal is sealed, as the boy lies in bed that night staring at the ceiling and grumbling.
He knows that he's not happy about what his friends have done to him today, he's going to get them back, for this only he's getting a bit of a tummy ache.
Getting is the wrong word.
He's had a tummy ache for most of the evening.
What he's experiencing now is heartburn feels as if something is crawling in his chest.
The boy just ignores it.
It's probably just his worries about the worm inside of him.
He chewed it up pretty well, there's no way that it's still alive in him.
Surely his uneasy sleep is punctuated by rotten dreams, dreams in which he finds himself lying on the floor and his playground lying on the ground at school, unable to move as people gather around him to poke him with a stick.
He feels his skin covered with maggots.
They even crawl across the surface of his eyes in his chest, there's a searing pain, the boy wakes with a start, as he feels his heart pounding thutting against his ribs.
It's agonizing adrenaline courses through him, as he sweats off his face, crying out for his mom.
The boy lies there in bed feeling the heart attacking his system.
When you decide to become a surgeon, you have to accept that you're not going to get very much sleep, most nights.
In fact, it's more than that you have to not only accept that you won't get much sleep most nights, but you also have to be at your absolute best when you've had no sleep and it's the middle of the night with over 40 years under his belt.
The surgeon doesn't need coffee anymore, even when the junior doctor offers it to him as he strides toward the operating theater.
Instead, he asks them to fill him in on the situation who's his patient.
What's going on what needs to be done? The doctor accompanying him reads the notes in a calm but hurried voice.
They haven't got much time on this one at all.
At any moment, the boy's heart could give out the surgeon asks what's wrong.
With the organ.
The doctor looks at his notes in apparent confusion.
Apparently, over the course of the night, the boy has suffered a 72 percent reduction in the mass of his heart.
The surgeon stops just on the other side of the door.
He doesn't want to have this conversation in front of his whole team.
He whispers to the doctor in a terse voice.
What kind of infection does this boy have that his heart has undergone that rapid of a deterioration? It's not an infection at all, sir, it's well, sir.
It's a worm.
The doctor holds out a sheet to him.
The surgeon takes it from him.
He looks down at the X-ray to see a scan of the boy's chest cavity.
It doesn't look so bad, there's a hole in the heart for sure, but the surgeon has encountered worse in his career.
This was taken when the boy was first admitted the doctor hands the surgeon, a second X-ray, and this was taken just one hour later.
It is barely recognizable as a human heart.
There seems to be a mass growing in the cavity that was left by the heart and there infecting all of the boy's organs was the shape of a worm.
The biker weaves his way through the traffic down on marilabone road eyes, starting frantically in all directions.
You may have a concussion and you may not be allowed to drive at all right now.
In fact, he knows he definitely isn't, but he is under strict instructions.
This Heart needs to get to Saint Mary's hospital before it's too late.
The bite careen's around the corner and skids to a halt outside the emergency doors.
An ambulance team in front of him is trying to help an old lady out of the back of their vehicle, but the biker doesn't have time for them.
He grabs the organ box from the back of the bike and races into the building.
It takes all of his remaining concentration to navigate through the Maze of Hospital corridors on his way to the operating theater on a better day.
He'd be able to do this with no problem, but with his head injury he can see the light starting to blur all around him.
Ward 6 Ward, 7, Ward 7A, Ward 7B.
He runs as fast as his heavy boots will allow him feeling that energy draining from a system can't look at his watch.
He can't check the time he just has to find this boy operating theater there right up ahead of him.
Just a couple of hundred feet.
There's a doctor waiting outside the door who looks up at the sound of his footsteps: the biker rips his helmet off and holds out the box with a heart in it panting heavily it's the moment of truth.
Is he too late? The doctor looks shell-shocked not at the Biker's arrival, but clearly it's something else.
She's just seen the man starts to explain but runs out of words and instead beckons the biker to follow him into the observation room there.
The two of them stand looking through the glass at the little boy lying on the operating table with the surgeon standing over him.
There's something in the air.
The biker sniffs confused.
Can anyone else smell sugar next time you open a packet of candied worms, take a second to look through the little creepy crawlies in the bag, perhaps poke a couple of them just to see if any of them are moving.
You never be too careful.
If you had told the parents of that young boy on the night, when their son woke up with heart, palpitations telling stories of eating a worm at school, that the only health concerns he would have going forward were mild diabetes and a slightly raised level of blood sugar I'm sure they would have been thrilled to hear it.
You see scp-839 commonly referred to within the foundation as candied worms is much scarier on the surface than it is underneath.
Not only does this SCP resemble your usual candy Worm, but its body is actually composed of sugar, flavorings and colorings roughly equivalent to what you would find in most convenience store, candy aisles each instance even has a small raised bit of writing near the Tail specifying which flavor it is, while the origins of these worms are yet to be determined, cases have sprung up across much of the western world, with higher numbers reported in areas with higher levels of diabetes, there seems to be a parallel between high sugar diets and the presence of scp-839, whether they are of man-made or other Origins, is yet to be determined.
That is not to say that scp-839 cannot survive outside of human populations.
This SCP in the wild primarily feeds on decomposing organic matter and is capable of sustaining itself on a purely vegetarian diet.
However, when ingested into the human body, scp-839 will Target specific organs and burrow its way towards them.
The organ in question depends on which color candied worm.
The SCP instance is, for example, the red cherry flavored candied worms will burrow towards the heart and consume that, while the blue, raspberry, Ones Will instead feed on the human's kidney one would expect the health consequences of this feeding to be severe.
However, as the SCP feeds, it will also change its own shape and chemical composition until the worm itself becomes a substitute organ for the one that it is consuming.
However, this substitute organ is not a perfect replacement, as other health consequences are derived from its presence.
For example, the green apple flavored scp-839-3 targets the eye and replaces it with a jelly Green version of the human eye.
While this eye is mostly capable of sight, subjects have reported mild, hallucinations and blurriness of vision, as well as a greenish tint to how they see the world, fortunately, for the foundation, scp-839 reproduces sexually, meaning that individual instances require a partner in order to have Offspring.
This has made containment of this SCP much more feasible, though they are a relatively low priority entity.
In the broader scope of the foundation, there are no known cases as of yet of any scp-839 infections leading to death or serious chronic illness.
Therefore, any instances that are captured by the foundation are sent to storage site 839-1, where they are kept in a glass housing and regularly fed a diet of plant matter each day.
Here, their reproductive activity can be closely monitored and controlled, based on what research is needed, those infected with scp-839 instances can continue to live long and healthy lives, with only minor Health complications arising.
Therefore, the foundation is comfortable, allowing a reasonable number of cases to go unexamined in the world.
So, like I said for next time, you open up a bag of candied worms.
Maybe just give them a quick poke.
You could be saving yourself a trip to the hospital and a lifetime dependence on insulin, the researchers and guards scream and Terror, as the creatures run rampant through the factory nobody ever imagined, they could be so dangerous and all for a little live entertainment.
The janitor rolls his mop cart down the hall of his brand new workplace.
It's his first day on the job, and you would never let anyone hear him admit it, but he's a little bit nervous.
The building is a huge fancy research facility, an intimidating, sprawling building, bustling with researchers and lab coats, Executives and suits, and dozens of security guards.
The previous Place he'd worked had cubicles in a break room with a 20 year old coffee machine and this place had state-of-the-art technology and key card locks on every door.
He was here to do a job and that's what he was going to do, though he was getting distracted by the intensity of the place when there are spills to clean and apparently there's a big one as soon as the janitor had clocked in a researcher had rushed over to tell him that he was desperately needed on one of the lower levels.
So here he was rolling his cart toward the elevator holding the researcher's key card in his hand, his own won't work to take him down to the appropriate level.
His security clearance isn't High Enough.
He wonders idly why this company has such tight security, but figures that it isn't his job to ask that sort of question.
Instead he enters the elevator swipes the card and hits the button for lg-1 the elevator doors open with a ding and the janitor Wheels his card out right away.
He notices something off about this level.
There are rows of massive glass boxes filled with what look like giant fuzzy puppets.
He can hear the usual sounds of chatter and footsteps, but there's also the clucking of chickens.
The bleed of a goat are there farm animals down here, maybe that's the source of the mess they were talking about test.
Subject: animals or something he continues past the glass boxes searching for someone who can direct him toward the mess as he walks.
He feels dozens of eyes on him and stops to glance over his shoulder.
His stomach drops as he sees that the creatures he thought were puppets have moved.
They turned to face him as he passed by eyes locked onto his back.
Whatever these things are they're alive and they're all watching him, he shudders, but continues walking at the other side of the hall.
He can see a huge red spill on the tile floor.
His footsteps Quicken as he approaches, The Spill and a metallic smell, fills his nose.
He had assumed it was some sort of leakage from Machinery, but now up close, he can tell it's blood.
That's it! No paycheck is worth whatever is going on here.
He turns to leave abandoning the mop, cart and comes face to face with a giant furry thing.
At least eight feet tall it grins down at him reaching toward him with outstretched arms.
Before he can run it wraps those arms around him and pulls him into an inescapable bone-crushing hug.
He struggles, but he can't break free.
He can't breathe the air squeezed from his lungs in a halting, inhuman voice.
The monster says: Teamwork Makes the Dream work.
Then everything goes black about one week after that, janitor's ill-fated first day at work.
The local police station received a video transmission from an unidentified man reporting an emergency at the facility.
No further information was given other than the exact location of the facility, the insistence that helped be sent as quickly as possible when the police arrived.
However, they quickly realized that the situation was above their pay grade and contacted an organization much more experienced with handling unusual occurrences.
The SCP Foundation the foundation quickly arrived administered amnestics to all Witnesses and investigated the area there.
They found something, unlike anything they had ever seen before, and for the SCP Foundation.
That was saying something all human Personnel at the facility had been terminated or were missing altogether.
There was still activity present in the building, however, though, none of it was human.
There were anomalous creatures roaming, the facility uninhibited.
They did not resemble humans or any known animals, but instead looked more like costumed characters from a children's television show along the lines of Sesame, Street or Barney.
The site manager's office was completely empty of any files and all hard drives found within had been wiped.
Every surface had been sterilized and cleaned to remove any DNA evidence or fingerprints.
The anomalous creatures were promptly captured, though they did not go without a fight.
Several other creatures were heard, moving through the vents and were unable to be removed due to their speed, agility and excretion of caustic material in the underground laboratory, spaces of the facility, the foundation agents discovered glass tubes filled with amniotic fluid, in which underdeveloped specimens were being grown.
Agents also discovered containment, Chambers made of bulletproof glass, as well as pens filled with deceased farm animals, including cows, chickens and goats.
Once the foundation had rounded up all of the creatures, the facility was blocked off from the outside world and given the official designation, scp-3325 scp-3325 is an abandoned facility belonging to real characters.
Industries the facility includes a recording studio, a series of underground Laboratories staff, living quarters, storage, containment areas and an industrial grade incinerator.
There are also several administrative areas as well as a helipad on the structure's roof.
The containment areas are home to a collection of biologically engineered organisms that bear a cursory resemblance to puppets or human beings wearing plush costumes, like those seen on children's television, shows for research purposes.
These organisms have been designated scp-3325-1 despite their colorful appearance, which could even be mistaken for inviting and wholesome from a distance instances of scp-3325-1 are incredibly hostile to humans and any other organisms outside their own species, though they are vulnerable to attacks with Conventional Weapons.
These creatures lack any sense of pain and will continue to go after an intended target until they are effectively destroyed.
In addition to their penchant for aggression, the instances of scp-3325-1 are carnivorous and will eat any meat they are given access to.
Thankfully, these organisms lack reproductive organs, so there won't be any baby plush monsters running around anytime.
Soon instances of scp-3325-1 behave in an unpredictable manner, though their most common activities are either staring at Personnel blankly for long stretches of time, attempting to attack them or repeating assorted canned children's television, friendly phrases and voices that Foundation Personnel have described as unsettling and disturbing over the course of the initial Discovery and containment of scp-3325 SCP Foundation staff created an observation log describing all known types of scp-3325-1.
The breakdown is as follows: scp-3325-1a long, neck, avian organism, with feathers, three meters tall, its wings, are redundant unable to facilitate flight instances, are able to reach a speed of approximately 72 kilometers an hour.
Aggressive behavior patterns are similar to that of a cassowary instance.
Frequently damages its beak by running into objects.
Color varies I've encountered cassowaries before, while conducting field research, and, let me just say the dinosaurs never really did die out.
They live on in those monstrous Birds, but I digress.
Scp-3325-1B, bipedal, reptilian organism observed in colors of purple green and yellow scp-3325-1c bipedal organism covered in fur.
One meter tall able to Sprint at speeds of around 60 kilometers an hour observed to attack in packs upon acquiring a target an instance will vocalize a random phrase which elicits aggressive behavior in other nearby instances.
Color varies scp-3325-1d unknown organism that hides in vents.
Object is able to secrete and project a corrosive fluid.
The appearance of the organism is unknown specimens have yet to be obtained.
Scp-3325-1E, bipedal, reptilian organism, 5 meters, tall, constantly sings in a distorted voice.
The lyrics of its song are unintelligible, presumably due to malformed vocal cords.
Only one instance has been encountered.
The other observed variety of scp-3325-1 is not one specific type of organism, but rather a collection of malformed creatures, characterized by the presence of conditions that, in any other organism, would cause death shortly after, if not during birth.
These include, but are not limited to necrosis missing skin tumors additional organs in places where they shouldn't be or other life-threatening deformations.
As you might imagine, the appearance of specimens with this classification varies greatly.
Following my initial Research into scp-3325, several addenda were added to the official file consisting of several pieces of pertinent and often trouble in media.
The first was a brochure discovered on the floor of the facility depicting a dissatisfied crying child standing next to a puppet, in contrast to an image of the same child laughing and clapping in the presence of an scp-3325-1 specimen.
In addition to these images, the brochure contains this text.
In today's world children are bored of Animation puppets costumes and even the once groundbreaking computer-generated, Graphics they've seen it all.
They know it's all fake children nowadays want more.
But what is the next step in the entertainment industry? Think outside the box? We're not talking about puppets or any of those materials, children know or fake.
We, as humans inherently need to associate with living breathing creatures, not puppets or moving pictures we're talking about real characters.
Our goal is to provide children with characters that are alive that will teach them how to manage their emotions and solve life problems.
Realistically, you can't get more real than that during a subsequent sweep at the facility grounds.
An SCP, Foundation employee discovered a videotape wedged between the wall and a large paper mache Apple scrawled in pen across the tape's case, where the words we shouldn't have played God.
A transcript of the videotapes contents is included in the file's second addendum, which I will attempt to summarize for you.
The video depicts an unidentified woman standing next to a green instance of the cassowary-like avian species of scp-3325-1.
Two men stand behind the camera, directing the action context.
Clues suggest that this tape was intended to serve as a demonstration of the facility's characters, possibly for potential clients or investors.
At the start of the video, the woman expresses discomfort with the bird-like creature, which stares at her still and unblinking.
She is instructed to say her lines as scripted, but when action is called and the actress begins to speak, the creature bites her arm one of the men steps in front of the camera to intervene, but the entity does not respond to his commands.
Even when the man begins to strike the creature with a baton, it does not budge.
Instead, it bites down harder and harder until blood is drawn, security is called and the footage is cut short after the first tape was discovered.
The foundation conducted several more sweeps of the property in an attempt to locate any additional media.
They may have missed the first time during a search of the security room.
An officer's backpack was located.
It contains several personal items, including a very expired yogurt, a Nicholas Sparks novel and a bag of sour cream and onion chips at the bottom of the bag.
However, another tape was found.
This one appeared to have been surveillance, footage captured by security cameras.
This was particularly notable given that all other surveillance footage found at the facility had been destroyed or corrupted most likely deliberately to this date.
This is the only security footage successfully recovered from scp-3325.
The footage depicts two figures: presumably security guards standing on a catwalk looking down at containment, pens filled with instances of scp-3325-1.
Each guard holds a long pole with a device attached to the tip appearing to function, similarly to a taser or a cattle prod, S Talk amongst themselves.
Joking about shocking, the creatures for fun guard points out a particular instance of scp-3325-1, which is standing still and staring Dead Ahead.
The other guard points out another stagnant creature, which appears to be staring directly at the other guard.
Disquieted by this, the guard decides to knock the entity's hat off of its head.
He grabs An Empty Bottle, throwing it at the instance the bottle collides with the hat, but the item does not budge.
Instead, it breaks open and begins to bleed, revealing it to be a part of the creature's body rather than a costume piece.
The two guards begin to panic at the site of the security camera before asking Dany in the security room to take the tape.
The second guard admonishes the first for his behavior and the footage cuts.
The next addendum to the scp-3325 file is, in the opinion of this researcher, the most disturbing field agents, retrieved, 79, steel containers from a storage area.
On the bottom floor of the facility, 41 of these containers contained human bodies preserved in a formaldehyde solution.
Additionally, each container had documents attached detailing each person's name and position at the company, as well as the cause of their death causes of death, listed included.
Mauling organ failure, necrosis and scheduled termination scp-3325, is classified as Euclid.
Currently, scp-3325 is contained on site, surrounded by a fence and guarded by no fewer than four security guards at any given time to the isolated nature of the location.
No further security measures have been deemed necessary.
As for the specimens of scp-3325-1 they're, kept in large animal containment cells at a research sector whose precise designation has been redacted from official files, each of these containment cells has an audio recording device inside each specimen is to be fed twice a day on a diet of raw meat and no direct interaction between research staff in these specimens is permitted without first tranquilizing The Entity the effort to locate and contain all pieces of equipment associated with scp-3325, as well as any documents pertaining to it, is an ongoing project.
At this time it's uncertain, if any of us will ever know what real characters Industries was up to and when it turned from an attempt to revolutionize the Children's Entertainment Market to something far more sinister.
What did the researchers discover that signed their eventual death warrants? Was the project truly abandoned or just moved deeper underground to a new facility staff with fresh faces? Who won't ask too many questions? One thing is certain: be wary of cuddly new characters that appear at theme parks at birthday parties and on screen in the coming years.
It's possible that these creatures are just actors in suits on life-size puppets and all they want is a hug, but it's also possible that their wide vacant eyes and Friendly Smiles hide an uncontrollable rage and unpredictable intelligence and a thirst for blood.
The boy screams, as his body transforms it bones warp and twist, as feathers emerge from his pores and his skull sharpens into a long hard beak he's in a living Nightmare and who could have guessed it all started with an innocent attempt to play.
Hooky it's an ordinary Monday morning in all over town.
Children are waking up and reluctantly dragging themselves out of bed for school.
Some are oversleeping, hitting the snooze on their alarms and getting a bit of extra shut eye before their exhausted parents, notice, wake them up and rush to get them to school.
Before the first Morning Bell in one particular bedroom, a young boy is awake, but still in bed, brainstorming as fast as he can.
He is determined to skip school.
Today, however, he can he usually doesn't mind School very much, but today all he can think about is the math test.
He didn't study for and the mean classmate who likes to knock his books out of his hands, but he can't just ask to skip school for no reason he has to come up with a plan.
He runs to the bathroom splashing hot water in his face to give him a flushed appearance in a warm forehead.
Then he hops back into bed and begins to loudly cough and sniffle.
Until his mother comes to check on him, he complains that he doesn't feel well enough to go to school and sure enough when his mother feels his forehead.
It is hot to the touch she agrees to.
Let him stay home from school for the day, provided he stays in bed and gets plenty of rest.
He promises that he will and she leaves to go to work on her way to work.
The boy's mother remembers that there isn't much for him to eat while he's home alone all day.
At least there isn't much that he would want to eat while he's sick.
She decides that she can be a little bit late to work for the sake of her son's health and pulls into a nearby grocery store.
She rushes out of her car and into the store making a beeline for the subile.
She reaches for her usual go-to brand of chicken noodle soup, but finds the Shelf completely bare.
That's right! It's flu season! Of course the soup is sold out.
Oh great, this is exactly what she needs: a sick kid at home, one can of chicken noodle soup left at the store and the machine won't even scan it.
She smacks the side of the machine in frustration and the screen reads invalid code transaction canceled with a heavy sigh.
She glances over her shoulder.
No one is watching.
She tried to pay for the can to do the right thing, but the machine wouldn't let her so she grabs the can and runs out of the store before anyone can spot her.
While his mother is out the boys at home, raiding the pantry for snacks to say it is not at all sick appetite.
He fills up on Oreos and toaster pastries, cheesy crackers and chips.
When he hears his mother's car pulling into the driveway.
He quickly wipes the crumbs from his face and jumps back into bed just in time for his mother to find him there resting like he promised he would.
She gives him a kiss on the forehead and tells him that she will heat up some chicken noodle soup for him to eat she's in a hurry to make it to work, though so she'll need to leave it in the microwave for him.
She pours the contents of the soup into a bowl, adds a bit of water and Pops the bowl into the microwave.
For a few minutes, she calls up to her son, letting him know that the soup will be ready when the microwave dings, then she rushes out the door and heads to work for the day, confident that her son will be fine through her shift.
If he happens to need anything, he can call her and let her know the boy hears the microwave ding, but his stomach is too full from his rummage through the pantry for him to want any of the soup in spite of its Heavenly aroma.
Instead, he creeps into the living room and sits down to play video games until his eyes start to hurt, as he boots up his gaming system.
He thinks for a moment that he can hear a strange noise coming from the kitchen.
A soft clucking sound like the chickens he saw in his grandparents Farm, but he quickly forgets about the sound as the screen lights up and he disappears into the world of his favorite game.
He plays for hours until the grumbling of his stomach interrupts.
His concentration he's suddenly very hungry and remembers the soup his mother left in the microwave.
It is certainly cold and unappealing by now, but he can just reheat it first.
He punches the buttons on the microwave and waits for the soup to be ready again.
He can hear strange noises coming from the microwave, but he doesn't think anything of it, the microwave dings and he pulls out the bowl of soup, grabs a spoon and digs in a little while later the boy's mother pulls into the driveway.
In a panic, she left work early when her phone rang with a call from her son.
She answered asking what was wrong, but he wouldn't answer her.
All she could hear on the other end was rustling heavy breathing and some pain grunting, fearing the worst.
She drove back as fast as she could running several red lights along the way.
Now she fumbles with her keys as she unlocks the door terrified of what she will find.
She grips her phone.
In her other hand, thumb hovering over the buttons ready to dial 9-1-1.
If the situation calls for it, she pushes the front door open, calling her son's name, he doesn't answer and her stomach drops.
Suddenly she hears the loud thud of something heavy being knocked to the ground.
Something is terribly wrong here and even though she might find her worst nightmare, she has to face whatever is waiting for her inside.
She runs into the kitchen and finds it a mess.
The bowl of soup is shattered on the floor.
Congealed cold soup, pooling on the tile, the kitchen table, is turned over on its side.
The kitchen chairs are in disarray, but the strangest sight is the dozens of tiny white fluffy things on the floor counters and furniture.
She picks one up for a closer look and finds herself even more confused than before.
It's a feather, they're, all feathers.
She calls her son's name again, praying for a response.
This time she receives one, though not the one.
She hopes for she hears the sound of shuffling footsteps up above, followed by a strangled sound like a scream caught in someone's throat.
She Sprints up the stairs as fast as her legs can carry her throwing open the door to her son's bedroom there.
She finds him, but this is not the bright-eyed boy that she left behind when she left for work.
His arms are covered with a thick layer of white feathers, the same feathers that are beginning to poke through the skin of his face.
The top of his head has elongated into a floppy comb of excess skin, the same sort of excess skin that is wobbling below his chin and his mouth.
It doesn't look like a mouth anymore, it's pointed and hard and his lips click together when he speaks or rather clocks.
His bare feet are scaly and red with claws protruding from his toes.
He flaps his wings frantically eyes wide and wild plucking and running back and forth across the room.
When he looks at her, she does not see recognition in his gaze.
Her son, her beloved boy, has turned into a chicken unable to do anything else.
The mother calls an ambulance at first.
The paramedics that arrive on the scene think the call was some sort of elaborate prank, but when they set eyes on the boy, they agree that something truly bizarre is going on.
They speed to the hospital with the chicken boy in tow, but sadly are unable to save his life.
The mother turns over the can of the mysterious soup to the authorities who launch a formal investigation Unfortunately.
They are unable to trace the can to any store, nor are they able to verify the existence of the company name on its label, employees of the grocery store, where she found the can insist that they have never seen it in their lives.
Several weeks after this incident occurred, the SCP Foundation conducted a raid on a New York office of Marshall Carter and dark for those of you, unfamiliar with the organization, and that is most of the general population by Design, Marshall, Carter and dark LTD is an extremely powerful multinational corporation, founded by three individuals, with those surnames specializing in the acquisition and sale of anomalous items, entities and experiences.
To put it simply, they run the largest anomalous Black Market in the world and are the crime bosses of the Paranormal World.
During this particular raid SCP Foundation operatives recovered 17 different unusual items.
Among the items discovered was a shipping crate recently delivered by the federal postal service from an invalid return address.
This crate contained 103 cans of scp-2057, as well as a copy of a letter written to one of the company's Associates.
So far, the letter has not been traced to an address.
It reads: dear Cyrus, Maria has told me of the unfortunate circumstances that have befallen your children, I'd hope to hear about the Improvement of their condition soon, as their Godfather I am extremely distressed.
To hear this, having experienced a child suffering from the measles myself, I know how terrifying it can be when it seems as if they are getting worse.
Recently, we received a shipment of something that I hope can help your family.
There is a crate in the storage area marked with wondertainment discontinued item.
It will not be there long as it goes to auction next week.
I will leave a key under the photo of your family on your desk.
Follow the instructions exactly do not under any circumstances do anything different than what is directed on the can destroy this message as soon as possible.
I do not want any of this to come back on us, be careful.
My friend, Williams scp-2057 consists of 92 318 milliliter cans of condensed chicken noodle soup.
Each can is covered with a brightly colored label depicting images of new, a cartoon, chicken and dancing vegetables.
In addition to this, inviting imagery each label is emblazoned with the text.
Dr wondertainment's, ultralicious chicken noodle soup for kids.
Each can has a pull-top lid for easy opening.
It is printed with a set of nutrition, facts, ingredients and instructions for heating.
The nutrition facts are as follows: calories 95, fat, 3.17 grams carbohydrates, 2.2 grams protein, 13.48 grams, vitamin W, 2 grams and Mother's Love 10 grams CP, Foundation attempted to analyze the contents of the soup in order to compare it to the posted nutrition facts, the calories, fat, carbohydrates and protein were found to be accurately reported.
Vitamin W was present in the reported amount as well, though it was not a compound that the foundation scientists had ever encountered before.
Mother's Love as it is, an intangible concept was not able to be identified or measured in the analyze soup samples.
The ingredients are listed as ultralicious chicken stock enriched Chinese egg noodles, finest cooked chicken breast farm, fresh carrots, Crispy, Crunchy, celery, sweet, Vidalia, onions, no paint, thinner, fresh mountain spring water, vitamin W contains less than two percent of the following ingredients: a pinch of salt, a smidgen of chicken fat, sprinkle of spice extracted from rare plants, a dash of high quality unicorn tears, the instructions for heating, read, hey kids, feeling sick, icky or downright yucky, just pop open a can of Dr wondertainment's ultra-licious chicken noodle soup for Kids Place contents of the can in a medium-sized Soup pot, add a can of water stir and heat watch as the fun begins, eat hearty and you'll feel better and ready to play with Dr wondertainment toys.
In no time all of this is relatively straightforward.
Give or take a few unusual ingredients.
Someone taking only a quick look, might mistake a can of this soup for any other chicken noodle soup.
However, it does have something that most ordinary canned soup does not a warning label.
Dr wondertainment's, ultralicious chicken noodle soup for kids is intended to be eaten.
While it is hot to make, you feel better in no time at all, do not consume after it has become cold, do not reheat by purchasing from Dr wondertainment.
You agree to not hold Dr wondertainment or any of Dr wondertainment's Affiliates accountable for injuries or damages incurred by your product.
Thank you for purchasing from Dr wondertainment.
So what exactly is in a can of Dr wondertainment's ultralicious chicken noodle soup for kids? Well, when the SCP Foundation first opened a can to take a look, they found that it was filled with condensed chicken broth and a massive egg.
Noodles shaped like an egg when water was added and the contents of the can were heated to a temperature of 70 degrees.
The noodle-based egg hatched inside was a small domesticated chicken made up of egg noodles carrot, celery, onion and cooked chicken breast, for simplicity's sake, this chicken noodle soup chicken is referred to as scp-2057-1 as the foundation.
Researchers continue to heat the broth to a higher temperature scp-2057-1 began to move around make audible.
Chirping sounds and eat the broth as it ate.
It grew larger and larger until it reached a mass of 85 grams and resembled a miniature adult chicken at a temperature between 35 and 70 degrees.
Celsius scp-2057-1 behaved much like an ordinary chicken.
It continued to behave normally, even as it was consumed or cut apart, apparently feeling no pain or awareness of its situation.
Dissection of scp-2057-1 revealed that its insides were made up of soup ingredients, including celery and onion bones cooked chicken breast mussels, carrot beak and legs, and chicken broth blood.
When scp-2057-1's temperature dropped below 35 degrees Celsius, it stopped moving and collapsed into the soup at a temperature below 20 degrees Celsius, it became congealed and unappetizing.
With these observations completed, the foundation then attempted to measure the effects of this unusual chicken soup on a person that ingested it when test subjects were fed samples of the soup at a temperature between 35 and 70 degrees Celsius, they had a very positive experience.
The soup's taste was described as excellent, delicious and homey, though the meal caused a bit of psychological distress due to the soup, chicken's, realistic appearance and behavior, it improved every test, subject's physical well-being.
This eventually applied to test subjects with a case of influenza measles or the common cold following consumption of scp-2057 each subject with a diagnosed illness of this kind reported immediate relief from their symptoms, including fever, aches and pains cough and congestion.
With this positive, if a bit disturbing effect documented the foundation next set out to determine what would happen if they let the soup get cold before it was eaten test subjects serve.
This version of the soup had a far worse experience describing the taste of their meal as Bland disgusting and repulsive 67 of the test.
Subjects experienced cramps chills and diarrhea following their consumption of the soup and 62 percent, found themselves, making involuntary clucking noises as well as experiencing a strong aversion to poultry products.
Again, several test subjects were deliberately selected based on their cases of influenza, measles and the common cold.
These test subjects immediately began to develop troubling symptoms, including the growth of pin, feathers on their forearms loosened excess skin on their heads and under their chins, a change in their ability to walk, normally and distressing hallucinations of being hung upside down by the ankles.
Following these two rounds of testing, the research team decided to see why exactly the warning label advised against reheating the soup.
D-Class 45782 was selected as the test subject for this particular experiment and was instructed to reheat a bowl of cooled scp-2057-1 in a microwave on high for 2 minutes and 30 seconds, then he was to consume the reheated soup and report his experience to a camera placed in the room with him as instructed d-45782 microwaved, the bowl of soup, as it heated in the microwave it emitted, unintelligible vocalizations in a deep voice.
After removing the ball from the microwave d-45782 noted that it was gelatinous looking with black and burnt bits around the edges, he took three bites of the disgusting hot and cold at the same time, mixture before spitting it out onto the floor and refusing to eat another bite.
15 minutes after tasting the reheated soup d-45872 began to exhibit significant distress, plucking angrily into the camera.
Now five minutes later, d-45872 became more difficult to understand, clocks and other chicken-like vocalizations, making up most of his attempted speech.
He began scratching vigorously at his arms to the point of drawing blood.
Loose skin could be seen gathering on the top of his head and under his neck six minutes later, d-45872 had lost the ability to speak large white pin, feathers had sprouted from his arms covering the skin and smaller white feathers were beginning to sprout from his face.
After 16, more minutes passed, d-45872 began attacking other objects in the room, attempting to destroy the microwave, knocking the bowl of soup to the floor and flipping over a table and chair.
He had grown feathers over 67 percent of his skin and his face had begun to change drastically.
His nasal area was elongated and hardened joining with his lower jaw and an appendage resembling a bird's beak.
His upper lip had disappeared into his nasal cavity.
Only five minutes later d-45872 suddenly stopped moving and collapsed to the floor dead following d-45872's death.
An autopsy was performed.
These were the findings.
Autopsy revealed, d-45782's cause of death was due to extreme and sudden physical change of internal organs, resulting in shock and cardiac arrest.
93 percent of the subject's skin was covered in feathers.
Physical changes in the face resulted in a beak-like alteration of the nose and mouth loose skin under the neck and on the top of the head resemble a waddle and comb subject's.
Lower legs were found to be covered in thick scaly skin, with the toes of the subject's feet, ending in small, rounded claws.
The subject and instance of scp-2057-1 were incinerated after testing and autopsy whenever not being used for Approved experimentation.
All cans of scp-2057 must be stored in a standard large volume, storage, locker in containment, area 27 and kept at a temperature of 25 degrees Celsius, because scp-2057 is in limited supply.
All experiments must first be approved by at least two personnel with 2-1103 clearance, as well as receiving the go-ahead from Dr Applegate.
There are still 41 cans of Dr wondertainment's chicken soup unaccounted for, and the foundation has been unable to track them down so far.
Who knows where they ended up? Maybe yet another office of Marshall, Carter and dark, or maybe just maybe one made its way onto the shelves at your local grocery store best to be careful out there when you're, feeling sick, hungry or in need of a little pick-me-up there's nothing quite like a steaming hot bowl of chicken noodle soup just make sure to read the label carefully and always follow the printed instructions.
If you ignore them, you might just find that your chickens have come home to roost.
After all, as the saying goes, you are what you eat a knife in the dark, bloody teeth and an appetite about to bring an end to one of history's, most infamous Monsters.
The year is 1888 and the Streets of London are teeming with tension and fear in the daytime.
People struggle to find work, fighting each other tooth and nail for scraps of opportunity.
The sunlight only serves to illuminate the grime and misery, the workhouses and the factories, the smokestacks pumping poison into the sky.
At night, though, it's even worse, the gas lamps provide only ghostly wisps of dim light, just enough to see a stranger's Shadow from the corner of your eye, but not enough to see if the glint of something shiny in his hand, is his pocket watch or his knife.
You might glance over your shoulder for a closer look, but he's already disappeared into the fog if he was ever even there at all, these streets feel haunted even on the quietest of nights, but lately there are rumors swirling in the air of something far worse than a ghost skulking through the alleys, more real than the devil, more evil than any ordinary man.
There's a killer on the prowl and his name is Jack.
The Ripper at first most citizens refused to take notice of his presence writing off his victims, as women of ill repute bound to meet a dreadful demise sooner or later.
But as the bodies piled up, the sheer brutality of the killings became impossible to ignore.
Now everyone is on edge, particularly if their daily business takes them to London's east side, where the murders began once hoped to be a place of opportunity for those traveling to London from afar to seek their fortunes.
White Chapel has become a den of sin and Terror.
No one can breathe easy here, not until the Ripper is caught.
If he ever is.
There are theories of course, accused noblemen surgeons, butchers and doctors.
Whoever the culprit is.
One thing is certain: he knows his way around a knife.
Still no one suspect seems to stick and no one theory is compelling enough to lead to an arrest privately behind locked doors where no policeman can hear them.
Whispering the people of White Chapel are beginning to wonder whether the Ripper will ever be found.
Perhaps this nightmare won't cease until the Streets Run Red with blood, but even in the middle of Hell on Earth.
Day-To-Day matters must still be attended to.
So, even as he worries for the lives of his customers and his own livelihood, the owner of a local pub posts, a job listing seeking a new cook, he doesn't need anything fancy.
He can't pay for much just a fellow who knows his way around a kitchen and can cook up decent enough food without accidentally slicing.
His fingers off still he's not sure, there's anyone out there who would be too happy to take a job so close to Jack the Ripper's domain at the moment, but the next day, as he comes in, to unlock the doors and set up for the day he finds an applicant waiting for him outside grinning ear to ear he's a massive fellow towering over the pub owner at a height he's never seen before, outside of a circus performer on stilts, but he greets the pub owner with a firm handshake and follows him inside though he has to hunch a great deal to fit through the door.
It's not as if there's a line of applicants out the door, so the pub owner goes ahead and hires him as the new cook.
The cook is a Frenchman, but he won't hold it against him.
That night, when the pub opens for business, the new Cook gets right to work from his disposition.
One would never know he's working for pennies in a dingy Pub in the most dangerous part of town bustles around the modest kitchen chopping meat and singing in a warm loud voice that carries through the whole building bringing some much needed cheer to the exhausted customers.
Pretty soon they get a taste of the new Cook's work, mutton and potatoes and juicy meat pies.
Whoever this new worker is, the crowd is pleased to have him around.
The owner does advise the cook to stay in the kitchen, though his food and his singing may be popular, but his appearance might frighten the already skittish regulars.
There's plenty to be afraid of these days, no need to add a giant to the mix when the pub closes up for the night.
The owner stops for a moment to chat with his new cook.
He can't help but be curious about the man where he came from what brought him to London.
The cook tells him tearfully that he was once a soldier in the French army, but that he lost his military career following a tragic accident.
He refused to disclose the details of after that he worked in a circus, then as a private Chef in the home of a wealthy French family until he was thrown out over a Forbidden love affair with his boss's daughter, the pub owner isn't sure he believes a word of it, but he nods along just the same.
He asks the cook when he first arrived in London the first of April he says, and with that he heads off home, leaving the pub owner alone with his thoughts the color draining from his face.
April 1st was only two days before the first Jack, the Ripper victim was discovered, couldn't be, could it as the pub owner embarked on his journey home? He replied the image of the cook's work that night over and over in his mind, the man was plenty competent with the knife that was certain.
He was strong enough to kill quickly too with those hands he could squeeze the life out of someone before they even got the chance to scream.
He could have done it, but why would he he seemed like such a friendly man? Odd though he was- and he was odd- almost frightening- it clearly lied about his past as well.
What reason would he have for doing that, if not to conceal a dark and terrible secret? The pub owner lies awake all night, horrific visions of his new cook, keeping him from sleep the next day the pub owner's suspicions began to fester and grow.
He notices things.
He didn't pick up on before the strange way.
The cook always speaks through his teeth.
The Deft way that he handles a butcher knife slicing through the cuts of meat that he brings to the pub himself.
What butcher is he going to? Where is he finding so much meat in such scarce times, the owner shudders, at the possibilities his customers are starting to take notice of his change in Attitude too, they see the sweat dotting his brow, his further glances toward the kitchen, the way his hands shake when he brings him their plates of food.
Several customers Corner the owner and demand an explanation these days they can't let any unusual behavior go on for long.
Something sinister could be a it.
After all, the pub owner, relents and confesses his suspicions that his newly hired cook might be the Ripper himself, not only that, but he's afraid the meat he's been preparing might not be sourced from any livestock but from but from all of the Rippers victims.
It was an unwise choice to admit these fears to a group of men driven to the Edge of Reason by their own dread bodies in the streets and a bit too much ale.
They swarmed the kitchen to confront the cook and are shocked at the sight of the Behemoth.
They find there the cook greets them with his usual smile, but they aren't having any of it.
They attack him in spite of his intimidating size, pummeling him with their fists.
The cook tries to reason with the men, but they are determined to get an answer out of him and his previously unfailing smile falters.
He opens his mouth wide and in a truly shocking display, gobbles up one of the men in two quick bites.
He spits out a shoe and it flies across the room hitting another one of the men in the face.
There is silence for a long moment and then sheer Pandemonium, the surviving men tear out of the pub spilling into the streets in a drunken panic-stricken, mob, wiping his mouth.
The cook turns to see his boss staring at him with wide eyes Frozen to the spot, in fear with a polite bow.
The cook gives his resignation apologizes for the disruption and turns to see himself out.
Meanwhile, the pub patrons are cornering a policeman demanding.
He follows them to the location of a giant man-eating monster who they believe to be the Ripper, the policeman laughs in their faces and advises them to head home and sleep off their drinks before they get themselves into any more trouble with a full belly, but without a job and without anywhere else to go.
The cook Ducks out the door to the pub and begins to stroll slowly down the dark dingy streets up ahead.
He sees a woman walking alone.
She drops something on the ground, a small coin purse.
She doesn't notice, it fall and keeps walking, but the cook is very much a gentleman in spite of his cannibalistic indiscretion before he hurries over and bends to pick it up.
When he looks back at the woman, he sees a man creeping up behind her.
The shadowy man draws a knife and lifts his arm preparing to strike.
The cook cries out to warn the woman and she turns letting out a blood curdling scream at the site of both the would-be Killer and the giant with blood still dripping from his chin.
She picks up her skirts and runs as fast as she can disappearing down a nearby alley and out of sight.
The cook still holds her coin person in massive hand.
There's no way she'll come back to retrieve it now.
The man with the knife turns on the cook with a roar of Primal Rage.
He slashes at the giant with his knife, but it merely glances off with the enormous man's tough skin, not drawing so much as a single drop of blood.
He tries again and again but fails to make even a mark, frustrated, exhausted and still a little bit hungry.
The giant grabs hold of the attempted killer lifts him into the air, opens his mouth wide and swallows him whole in a single gulp.
The knife still stained with the blood of his previous victims, clatters to the ground, the cook, Sighs and Tucks the coin person to his pocket.
Then he continues on his way walking out of London and on to the next chapter of his life's Grand Adventure.
He has no idea that his climactic meal in Whitechapel was none other than the infamous Jack.
The Ripper and the people of London will never know of the unintentional Act of heroism he committed that day.
They will only remember the fear and the sight of a giant devouring a man alive, but soon enough that will fade from memory replaced with relief when no new victims are found and then replaced again with a mystery that will endure for hundreds of years, though, that cook was no Ripper.
He was also clearly no ordinary man before they decided to drive him out of town.
The people of White Chapel had unbeknownst to them been eating, and drinking with scp-082 scp-082 is, according to his genetic makeup, a perfectly ordinary human.
However, one look at scp-082 makes it clear that he is far from ordinary.
Some sort of external process has caused him to grow, to an enormous size, standing at eight feet tall and weighing around 700 pounds.
Foundation researchers are divided an opinion over the exact cause of scp-082 as unique proportions.
Some theorize that it is some sort of mutation, others propose an extreme hormone imbalance, some believe it to be chemical in nature.
While others insist that only a supernatural Force could be responsible for such a dramatic deviation from the norm.
Whatever the case may be, scp-082 is a formidable and Visually impressive specimen.
His head is bald and slightly pointed his chin and jaw are large and round.
His nose is bulbous and his eyes are dark and sunken.
His body has a high fat content, but also contains notable muscle, mass and his physical strength should not be discounted.
His forearms have a circumference of around 28 inches and his fists are nearly an entire foot across the knuckles.
Suffice it to say he is not the sort of opponent you would want to come up against in a fight and certainly not someone to antagonize, though medical examinations of his body indicate that at least a few likely ill-fated individuals have tried over the years his skin is covered with scars and though his x-rays are difficult.
Due to the density of muscle, tissue scans have indicated that there are dozens of bullets and several blades from knives and swords alike buried in the man's flesh.
Clearly, scp-082 has been through a great deal of hardship, but you wouldn't know it from his disposition.
He is gregarious and polite with the personality as big as the rest of him.
Oh, that reminds me I've been extremely rude.
He has a name, it's Vernon, at least that's what he says.
Vernon speaks fluent French, but is proficient in English as well, though he speaks with a heavy accent.
Whenever he does speak, he does so with a smile talking through his tightly clenched and massive teeth.
Occasionally he clenches these teeth so hard that his gums will begin bleeding from the effort.
The reason for this is unknown, but the SCP Foundation considers it normal behavior for Fernand whatever.
I have my own personal Theory regarding fentanolan's penchant for clenching his teeth, but I won't get into that just yet.
Vernon does occasionally open his mouth all the way and separate his teeth, but only when he is eating or singing.
He is quite the musical Talent serenading, the SCP Foundation, with his takes on well-known, classical music as well as long forgotten, drinking songs and the occasional sea shanty.
He loves to sing while cooking, which he is permitted to do under strict Foundation supervision.
He has allowed access to a rudimentary set of cooking implements whenever he prepares his food, including a butcher knife that he also uses to shave his unusually thick facial hair.
He is given various ingredients to prepare on request with the stipulation that these ingredients must not be too expensive or human in origin.
In spite of his off-putting appearance and tendency to speak through his teeth, Fernand is easily one of the the more likable anomalies contained by the foundation.
He doesn't Express overt hostility like scp-682, nor does he attempt to diagnose staff with any sort of pestilence like scp-049.
All he seemingly wants to do is cook sing and play.
Dress-Up did I mention his costume trunk yet well, he has one.
Some of his favorite outfits include a tuxedo complete with top hat and a monocle.
The military uniform serves of the French Revolution, a ball gown that comes with an elegant fan and matching beaded purse and a clown costume that includes a wig and a trick.
Water squirting flower in its pocket new costume pieces, are made on request in order to keep feminon's morale High.
According to my findings, in-house costumers are currently hard at work, making Fernand a detective costume, a chef's hat and a set of footie pajamas Vernon is an indisputable charmer greeting Foundation researchers with a wide smile, a joke and more often than not an invitation to join him for dinner.
Unfortunately, those same staff members occasionally find themselves on the menu, in spite of all his endearing qualities.
Vernon has the unfortunate habit of routinely snapping giving in to his voracious appetite and eating his visitors alive.
He doesn't intend to do so and frequently expresses regret at his poor manners.
After all, having company for dinner doesn't mean you eat your company, but still he can't help himself, no matter how recent his latest meal was, though I have yet to confirm this hypothesis I believe this cannibalistic impulse to devour others may be the reason for ferenon's constant clenching of his teeth, whether consciously or not, I think he is attempting to hold off on attacking for as long as he can before.
He inevitably succumbs to the hunger once more.
When his gums bleed, it could be a sign that one of his attacks is Drawing.
Near again, I have yet to confirm this, but it seems entirely possible.
It's unlikely that Fernand will ever be able to verify this for himself as his connection to the truth is tenuous.
At best, though, he is highly intelligent in terms of his memory puzzle, solving skills and grasp of language ferenon struggles to differentiate between fact and fiction when consuming media.
He assumes that any movie or television show he watches is depicting a real person and that any book he reads is essentially a biography.
This doesn't limit his enjoyment of this media.
On the contrary, he gets a great deal of Joy from watching films and reading books, particularly works of fiction revolving around Hannibal Lecter, who Fernand has described as his favorite person and someone.
He would very much like to meet one day to make matters even more interesting.
Vernon does understand the concept of lying he's able to identify when someone is lying directly to him and also displays signs of being a compulsive liar himself, particularly when it comes to his personal history.
Over the course of his containment, he is claimed to be a vampire, a homunculus, beloved Sesame, Street character, Big Bird, also beloved actor and wrestler Andre.
The Giant Napoleon Bonaparte French comic book character, Obelix the foundation's own Dr bright The, Incredible, Hulk Alexander, the Great Captain Hook and detective Sherlock Holmes.
He has also claimed at different times and once on the same day to be both Dr Frankenstein and Frankenstein's monster when called out directly on these lies.
Fernand offers only this explanation, but I only lie when it's through my teeth, which I have to admit, is pretty funny.
Scp-082 Fernand is currently contained in enlarged living quarters and armed biocontainment area 14., as he is unfazed by most standard Weaponry.
His cooperation has been insured through deception, rather than physical.
Fernand has been led to believe that he is acting King of France placed in a secret Palace for his own protection from potential assassins.
Any Personnel that interacts with Fernand must address him as if he were in fact the king of France, and any deviation from the charade is met with swift discipline.
Any housekeeping done in 082's containment area must be performed by class D personnel only as it poses too much of a risk to non-disposable staff guards assigned to scp-082's.
Containment will receive level 2 clearance, but are not permitted to interact directly with scp-082, no matter how friendly he is no matter how many knock knock jokes, he tells them and no matter how he tries to entice them into a round of karaoke scp-082 is a curious mix of congenial and threatening.
The consummate host, who loves to sing and cook for anyone willing to sit at his table.
He's also strong enough to snap a spine in half and has teeth that can crack open skulls, a skill that he demonstrates with stomach churning regularity still, he seems to genuinely enjoy the company of others and has an Earnest playful spirit from his giving spirit to his diet.
Scp-082 really gives a new meaning to the word humanitarian.
If you ever have the chance to meet him, just be careful not to let your guard all the way down, because there's a fine fine line between being his dinner guest and being his dinner.
Seeing that shadowy figure coming towards him makes the worker turn and run, he hasn't had the time nor the luxury of freezing on the spot or waiting for it to get closer.
So he could get a clearer view.
He just runs with every Pace.
Every hurried horrified step comes the mental image of the strange figure gaining on him in his head every movement he catches in the corner of his eye.
Every shuffling sound he detects the thing was right behind him: inches away and ready to strike.
So he just keeps on running only seconds ago.
It was just standing under a streetlight, a ways ahead of the worker barely moving.
He calls out to it assuming it's a person.
Somebody may be lost or in need of help, but then it steps into the light, and it's not a person at all.
The head of the suit isn't on properly it droops at an angle like it hasn't been affixed or is barely hanging on the crude lazy-eyed face is haphazardly drooping.
That, too, is non-right as the entire head sways unnervingly, with each approaching step, maybe underneath the suit hiding beneath all that dirty orange fur still coated in Grime, despite the rain, perhaps there's a person in there whose arm hefts an old baseball bat as they plod closer and closer to the worker, but all he sees is the monster.
The filthy costume might be clumsily made, but the worker instantly recognizes the all too familiar resemblance of an orange cat from a popular comic strip.
It's what starts him running that and the blunt weapon the monster is holding as it menacingly makes its way closer.
The downpour doesn't let up as the worker turns a corner met with the sights of two bright, blinding white beams of light cutting through the rain, a car speeding its way down the road, it catches the worker in its headlights, and he starts frantically waving his arms encased in the sodden fabric of his jacket.
Oh please, please help me.
He yells something's, coming after me, I think he's trying to kill me.
The driver doesn't stop.
Instead simply cruising past, the worker can just about see through the passenger side window the vehicle's sole occupant, giving him a strange look from inside the safety of his car almost as quickly as it appears.
The car has driven off its headlights already fading from view thanks to the rain, but the worker doesn't realize is that the driver's look of confusion wasn't directed at him.
But at the thing following him, the creature gives a low animalistic sound, which causes the worker to spin around.
Now he sees it right up close in all its foul Ginger Glory, a tail dangles lazily from the lower portion of the suit trailing in puddles Laden, with muck the water making the fur even dirtier than it already is.
It's so close that the awful pungent stench of the thing hits the workers nostrils a sickening smell that somehow seems to fit with the Grim gross costume and its wearer, seeing the wet fur coated suit.
So close, he realizes that it isn't covered in the soft plush synthetic coat that he expects.
A costume like that to be made of it, looks real like actual cat hair and a huge humanoid shape with the legs and arms of a man, arms that were Midway through swinging, a baseball bat right at the worker's head.
He Ducks just in time the dull wooden bat glancing off the bricks of a nearby building, narrowly missing the worker's head as it bounces off the wall.
The blunt weapon slips from the Soggy gloves of the suit and clatters to the ground, the second he hears the wooden bat land on the ground.
The worker turns his heel and runs again taking advantage of those precious few seconds to get further distance between him and his attacker.
It's only exactly as he turns his back that he wishes he'd reached for the bat himself to fight back, rushing further down the rain-swept street.
The worker can hear the heavy slumping footsteps of the suited attacker, giving Chase he alternates between looking straight ahead, the raindrops streaming down his face and getting into his eyes and daring to glance back over his shoulder.
Every time he does he's met again with the horrifying sight of the suit behind him.
He wants nothing more than to escape to get out of this nightmare, wherein he is soaked head to toe in rain water and fear running for his life from someone dressed as the comic strip cat he sees every day, but as strong as his will to escape.
Is he can't bear to let the fursuited pursuer out of his sight for even a second? If he can't see it, then it might be anywhere at least looking told him that he was still right behind him, bearing down on the worker, with its bat now firmly back in hand.
Shrill noise of chain links rattling sounds behind him, as the attacker in the suit starts, striking a nearby fence, making the worker more and more aware that, with every strike it's getting closer through the Relentless downpour, the worker spots a shape standing on the sidewalk just a few feet ahead, short stationary, something he sees every day of his life, but never pays any notice to.
But tonight it might just be the thing that saves his life.
Can it's full, and that means heavy and any second now he'll be close enough to reach it.
A plan forms in seconds erupting like a fire with gasoline thrown on it.
If that gasoline was pure terrified, adrenaline of being chased by someone in an orange cat costume reaching out as soon as his fingertips grip the wet metal rim of the can the worker pulls as hard as possible.
His instincts, keeping him from stopping running the trash can clatters behind him, as he passes, followed by the heavy thud of the attacker falling to the ground as it trips over the obstacle and lands furry head.
First in the garbage now strewn over the sidewalk, the worker knows he's only got another short window, Another Blessing of a precious few seconds to get far enough away from his attacker.
He turns changing course to rush across the street.
There's an old Warehouse over there.
If there are security guards working, they might be able to help.
If not, then the place is unguarded, then at least it could be somewhere to hide a sudden blaring noise pierces the workers eardrums before he can make it all.
The way to the opposite, sidewalk, it's a horn coupled with a bright pair of Lights appearing as it from nowhere, then before we can turn to see it coming impact first against the hood of the car, speeding through the rain towards him unable to stop in enough time next.
The pain of hitting the jagged blacktop of the road.
The second impact as the worker lands a few feet away.
Spots of rain, still patterning against his face, as everything goes from dark to pitch black for a few seconds.
His head floods with scenes from earlier that day, as if his life was about to start flashing before his eyes.
Only in reverse the news of the comic strip, doing poorly arrives at the paws Inc office, and with it the knowledge that, if they are going to be layoffs, then he'll be first he's the new hire.
After all, it didn't matter that the once beloved comic of a cartoon cat is losing its popularity going stale after so many years in print.
It upset the investors and the worker has been worrying all day if he'd be the one fired to appease them until he suddenly remembers.
What's coming after him, fighting back and clawing his way back to Consciousness, he struggles back to his feet, screaming with pain, he's injured that much.
He can certainly tell even if he doesn't know how badly hey, hey mister, the driver calls stopping his car and starting to climb out of the vehicle.
It's a different driver in car this time, and unlike the first, he makes the effort to stop a mistake that is about to cost him greatly.
He sees the worker getting back up, ignoring his calls.
He raises his voice to cut through the noise of the pouring rain.
Hey you, okay, so sorry, I didn't see you, my lights were on low wipers are going it wasn't until you rushed out across the street.
That anyway, look.
Let me at least get you to a hospital.
We can exchange our insurance information once they get you all patched up.
The worker wasn't listening.
He hears the driver's words, but pays him no mind he's still so intent on getting away that it takes him a second to realize the car it's a way out, and then the worker makes the same mistake as the driver he stops and when he does, he sees what has clamored back to its fur coated feet and is now shuffling towards the driver.
Look out the worker yells.
The driver turns just in time to see on the hell.
He exclaims wait a minute why you dressed in a Garfield, costume whack, the sound of the bat being swung at the driver makes the worker feel sick.
He turns his back and moves as quickly as he can towards the warehouse.
Despite the pain and the horrified screams coming from behind beneath the rain.
There's something else: a twisted vile squelching noise that quickly snuffs out the driver's dying cries.
The worker doesn't dare to look back this time.
He doesn't want to see what's happening, lifting a heavy metal shutter and pulling it shut behind him.
He finds himself in the warehouse.
It's completely deserted.
There isn't a single sign of Life anywhere.
The only sound is the pattering of rain water against the hard concrete floor dripping through a hole in the ceiling Guided by the low glowing light of the street lamps outside that bleeds through the warehouse Windows, the worker starts fumbling around for a place to hide, just as he crawls underneath a large pallet rack.
He hears a metallic rattling as the fursuited monstrosity lifts up the shutter it's inside with heavy plotting steps in its suit it Paces up and down the aisles of discarded, shelving the worker clamps his soaked hands against his mouth, trying to mask his Panic breathing only to let out a scream as he feels something grab his ankle and pull with ease the thing dressed as a disheveled Garfield pulls him out of his hiding place, instinctively the worker thrashes his legs, Landing a solid kick to the creature.
As his foot connects, he notices it doesn't feel like a person underneath the suit there's, no body, no familiar outline of a human being beneath all the Soggy fur and stench.
It's just a slimy Mass.
Nonetheless, the kick knocks the garrish Garfield back only a few Paces, but better than nothing.
He scrabbles to his feet, standing and running as fast as he can in the opposite direction.
Only to hit a wall at the far side of the warehouse.
The shutter is the only way out and right now it's wide open, but Garfield stands between the worker and freedom.
He turns the dart down the next aisle between the rows of shelves keeping his eyes on the attacker as he passes, underneath the hole in the ceiling.
The rain is still coming down through it leading a puddle on the floor.
The worker's focus is locked on the Beast.
He suddenly feels his foot slipping out from under him that awful Lurch of his heart as he falls the puddle he slipped on it and come crashing down to the ground.
The force of the concrete, striking his back knocks all the breath from his lungs.
Everything is spinning in a nauseating mix of pain, disorientation and Terror above through the unrepaired ceiling, drops of rain come pouring down on him, then a low agonized meow from somewhere nearby the monster Garfield brings its bat swinging down and sharply connecting with the worker lying on the ground.
A new surge of pain, racks, his body right at the hip, where the baseball bat just landed in an unforgiving blow.
The worker can do nothing but scream in pain and fear.
A horrible sound like something wet tearing, fills his ears over his own cries.
He remembers the sickening feeling of a slimy Mass being aggressively pushed into his face.
It's disgusting rancid, but even under all the horror and the repulsive taste he can detect familiar hints pasta, beef, Tomato, Sauce Cheese, all of it moldy and rotten, but still recognizable.
The Monstrous scp-3166 forces further fistfuls of lasagna down the worker's throat until the screaming stops, he'd always hated Mondays, the trucker tumbles to the greasy floor of the diner thrown out of his Booth only to come crashing down before he can regain his footing.
He'd be climbing back to his feet, ready to square up to the patron, who has just hurled him, but staring up at them has made him freeze on the spot as he lies on the diner floor, the trucker's eyes lock onto the bizarre horror towering over him.
It looks like a huge fleshy mess more akin to a chewed up, wad of gum than a living being, it's nearly impossible to differentiate what parts of its head are.
Facial features is the mouth right there in the center or is it one of the various other strange and inexplicable orifices? Does it even have a mouth and where are its eyes? Does it have the standard human too, or does it see by smelling, sounds or tasting the air and are those tusks they are? The trucker has only stopped off for a hot cup of coffee and a bite to eat.
Now, he's facing off against the puzzling creature, ripped straight out of a David Cronenberg movie, but then again that's what he gets for stopping off at Freddy's Diner.
It all begins a few moments.
Prior the trucker is at the wheel, exhausted, but making good time on a long haul across the Interstate.
Thanks to life on the road he's been lucky enough to see much more of the country than most driving from the west coast to the east coast and Back Again plenty of times and being so familiar with his roots.
The trucker has his very own curated list, the best places to eat while on the road he double checks.
The time and realizes he's got plenty to spare so decides to make a quick detour and heads towards a little-known Roadside restaurant Freddy's Diner.
The trucker still remembers the previous time.
He took a pit stop in Freddy's place.
It never ceases to amaze him that it even exists.
After all, there's not another Diner like it from here in California to the truck stops over in New Jersey and the trucker knows he'd pick Freddy's Diner over any Maritime themed novelty seafood place.
He likes going there.
So much he's even kept it a secret from his fellow truckers on the road, he'd simply hate for everyone to start piling over there and turning his favorite spot into a Rowdy, trucker, hangout or tourist attraction pulling his truck up outside the trucker locks, the vehicle up securely and heads inside from outside.
It's just a calm, quiet seeming place, a diner like any other in that stereotypical 1950s Style, that's part of what the trucker likes so much about Freddy's.
It's got that comforting nostalgic feeling to it like one of the few remaining vestiges of an era that nearly nobody alive remembers anymore, except from seeing it second hand in old movies.
But despite it, looking quiet practically empty from the outside.
Stepping through the doors at Freddy's, is like setting foot on another planet.
The entrance isn't just the way into the restaurant.
It's the access point to the trucker's other favorite part about visiting there, the people at first it seems normal.
There's always a decent number of customers bustling about talking to each other or ordering from Freddy the friendly silver-haired Old owner, dressed in his typical pinstriped apron over a shirt and bow tie.
No matter if he's in the middle of serving a customer, Freddy always turns to greet the newest arrival with a warm smile and his classic motto: welcome to Freddy's Diner the only place where you can eat Cuisine, that's out of your world.
The trucker loves how gradually it creeps up on him.
Taking a cursory glance around the diner.
Nothing seems all that out of the ordinary, but looking closer he enjoys noticing the other patrons and how eccentric they all seem when taking a gamble on Freddy's and making his first ever visit on another long drive to California, the trucker finds himself convinced that there must be some kind of science fiction or comic book convention in town then soon after he starts to get a little worried thinking that maybe he's been on the road too long and is starting to see hallucinations out of pure exhaustion.
But now he's been in enough times to know the folks who pitch up to eat at Freddy's Diner.
Well, the best way to put it is that they're from out of town wandering past the bar looking for somewhere to sit down the trucker notices, a trio of figures, sitting down and enjoying Plates Full of freshly grilled burgers and baskets of golden fries hot from the fryer.
What does it matter that all three are wearing huge bulky space suits with metal piping, sneaking down them and vents hissing out warm steam they're just enjoying their meals? After all, the trucker finds a vacant booth and sits down on the comfortable leather seat scanning the diner for Freddy.
So he can order a coffee sitting across from him at the opposite.
Booth his eyes fall across a couple smiling and giggling to each other, as they chat he's so caught up in their infectious Positive Vibes that he barely realizes how one of them has had her entire right arm, replaced with an intricate cybernetic one or that the other is entirely blue and has pointed ears, it's just nice, seeing how happy they are.
That's when a voice that sounds like someone gargling water, Chimes up and a sinewy tentacle grabs the trucker by his flannel shirt.
Ah, what the hell do you think you're doing the patron gurgles I gotta use the bathroom for five minutes and find some Trump in my seat.
That's my table! Pipstreak moments later the trucker is on the floor.
Looking up at a creature he's never seen before.
In fact he's not even sure if the patron is human.
Judging by the chewing gum head and the disproportionate limbs protruding from random points across its Blobby body, it's a safe bet that it isn't the trucker stumbles towards the bar and asks Freddie for a cup of coffee, a strong one to wake him up in case he's dreaming across his visits to the diner he's been convinced that all the flamboyant and eccentrically dressed customers are all just wearing costumes, either for a local convention or because of an anything goes dress code.
But after seeing the patron, the trucker is starting to think that he might have been very, very, very wrong about this place, not to be confused with a certain Pizzeria populated with quirky animatronic characters.
Freddy's Diner is a restaurant experience like no other, but if you're hoping to experience its comfort, food and unique atmosphere for yourself, then you might have a hard time getting past the quarantine Zone that now surrounds the diner thanks to the SCP Foundation technically Freddy's Diner is still very much in business, although you're not likely to see anyone stepping through or out of the front doors anytime soon.
Well, not from this Dimension, at least before it would go on to be known as scp-4258.
The SCP Foundation learns of this seemingly innocuous restaurant two months after it first appears to begin.
None of the people that live in the nearby area pay the place much mine as far as they know, Freddy's Diner is just a harmless 50s themed Diner each and every one of them remains totally unaware that their memories have been tampered with so that as far as they're concerned, scp-4258 feels like it's always been a local staple.
Despite only having been around for a few short months.
However, some new folks roll into town and pretty soon the foundation are getting rather suspicious about Freddy's Diner, thanks to Abundant reports of a strange restaurant with weird cosplayers from the newcomers they send in an undercover agent to investigate, making sure to be as subtle as possible.
After all, at this point, there's still every possibility that Freddy's Diner really is just a hot spot for cosplayers and other eccentrically dressed individuals, but if only things were that simple inside the agent is greeted by familiar nostalgic surroundings.
Circular seated bar stools, black and white tiled floors like a chess board underfoot a jukebox in one corner, blaring out hits from the likes of Chuck Berry and Elvis Presley.
Even the menu has all the old classics on there, thick frothy milkshakes served in Tall Glasses freshly made Burgers and Fries the kind of food that fits the atmosphere of the 1950s.
The thing that doesn't, of course, is the various unusual customers that frequently eat at Freddy's Diner, even without his extensive training in identifying anomalies.
It doesn't take the foundation's agent very long to realize that some of the people enjoying their meals inside scp-4258 aren't all human.
Some are in fact most of them do still resemble something close to humanoid.
Although upon closer inspection, it would appear that almost everyone in the diner has widely different physiology.
Even those that look mostly human on the outside aren't a perfect match, at least by our standards.
That's because everyone who visits Freddy's Diner has come from a completely different reality: scp-4258, isn't your average Diner? It's an interdimensional Diner people from all across the Multiverse have made their way to this specific restaurant for a bite, and it's definitely popular with those that visit Freddy's Diner might be the only restaurant that can claim to be multiversely loved frequented by customers from multiple different dimensions.
All at once, some days, you might see little more to indicate this than a few patrons wearing weird clothing, the kind that you've never seen before a site like that is easy to write off as a bizarre fashion statement after all, but on other days when you find yourself enjoying a classically made milkshake at the bar, when a six and a half foot anthropomorphic slime creature sits down on the stool.
Next to you, then it becomes a bit more apparent that Freddy's Diner is anything but ordinary, and the agent sent to investigate the place by the foundation quickly gets that very same impression.
During his first visit, perhaps in an effort not to get swept up in the wondrous MOS Eisley Cantina energy of scp-4258, the agent approaches the bar and begins to conduct an impromptu interview in the field.
He talks directly with an Old Gentleman who appears to be running the place, the sole worker and owner of the establishment, the man the diner is named after Freddy, although he'll later become known as scp-4258-1 Freddie greets the agent with the same Charming, well-mannered demeanor as all his customers before the agent starts.
Trying to get to the bottom of what exactly the place is.
A Dinah Freddie tells him after a quick chuckle.
They don't have these.
In your dimension kit.
The agent clarifies that there are indeed similar, diners elsewhere in this Dimension, although they aren't quite like Freddy's, the owner, reassured the agent that he's only kidding and then delivers the diner's motto which apparently took him a century to come up with.
Welcome to Freddy's Diner the only place where you can eat Cuisine, that's out of your world being well-versed in the anomalous and aware of the existence of other universes.
It doesn't take the agent very long to figure out that this Diner acts as some form of multiversal Junction point a Nexus where various different worlds can intersect, but Freddie points out.
That's not exactly entirely correct, but the agent has at least grasped some of the core principle.
More than happy to converse with his new customer Freddie explains that his Diner exists in what is known as todash space.
This, according to him, is the space between dimensions and the door to scp-4258 does indeed connect to all sorts of drastically different realities.
As the agent takes a look through the diner Windows, he notices a change in the scenery where there was once the familiar setting of Earth.
There is now a wide sprawling desert that seems to stretch endlessly into the Horizon and Beyond.
Just then, a tall humanoid figure wearing a mask steps into Freddy's, Diner, wrapped in extravagant robes Freddie greets the newcomer as quarrel he's.
Clearly, a regular customer, the agent returns to questioning the old man curious as to how the diner actually functions and hoping to gain as much Intelligence on the matter as possible for the SCP Foundation.
One of the main questions the agent wants answered is: if Freddy's Diner exists between Dimensions, how can the customers possibly pay for their meals? After all, even on Earth? There are multiple forms of currency with different competing values across an infinite number of entire universes.
There's hardly going to be one multiversally accepted form of payment, but luckily Freddy has an answer, even if it is a little abstract, as he explains it.
The restaurant is funded in a sense by something called empathyus.
You know that happy feeling you get when you remember something nicer, someone compliments you.
The restaurant feeds off that until keeps the place running confused as to what he means.
The agent asks for clarity.
For a moment.
It sounds like Freddy's, Diner extracts, positive emotions from its clientele like a leech draining blood, but Freddie assures him that it's not quite the same.
The diner itself only takes away the excess empathiest, the positive emotions that its customers experience from being there enjoying their meals and the atmosphere of the interdimensional diner Freddie Likens it to trimming the edges of a hedge scp-4258, doesn't Rob people of their enjoyment.
It just takes a little bit to keep the lights on the patrons.
That visit only have to feel happiness and that's the only payment for their meal that Freddy wants.
That brings the agent to a final question.
If the restaurant takes a little bit of empathyus as payment, then what exactly is Freddy the owner Chuckles and says that he's just an old man looking to make good food, speaking of which he offers to take the agent's order, not wanting to be rude.
The agent asks for a hamburger and fries to go.
He tries to see if there are any other staff working in the kitchen, but there doesn't look to be anyone at all, save for a pair of transparent hands that place a plate down on the kitchen line.
Foundation researchers conduct a few different tests on the food that the agent received from scp-4258, but their analysis quickly reveals that there's nothing harmful about it at all.
It's just a well-made burger.
The agent is subsequently sent back to the diner to gather more information about it.
This time he's given instructions from the foundation to change up his approach and speak with some of the customers instead to see what they think of Freddy's Diner.
After all, despite his friendly demeanor, the old man could always be a liar trying to cover up a more Sinister nature to his restaurant, so he can lure in more unsuspecting people from across the Multiverse.
Although the agent has little reason to suspect anything untoward about scp-4258 the foundation is nothing if not thorough.
During his second visit, the agent sits down with one of the customers enjoying a meal at Freddy's Diner, a humanoid being whose body is composed entirely of different types of stone.
Just from a cursory glance, there looks to be a mixture of Basalt, granite and Limestone all over the entity who introduces itself as rock the agent starts by remarking that the creature has a very interesting name.
Everyone on Rock's world is named Rock, pushing for more information on the creature's Universe.
The agent decides to ask if Rock's Homeworld has a name to which the reply is rock.
As far as the agent can attain from Rock's fairly blunt description, the stone entity originates from a universe that lacks any life forms with flesh and blood bodies or squishies, as rock refers to them.
It also states, with a similar lack of descriptive detail, that its home Universe also lacks anything resembling vegetation.
There are no trees or plants, which means that the denizens of this Dimension only eat Rock very delicious.
Yes, the agent submits a proposal to the foundation for a third visit to Freddy's Diner.
Writing in his report that his latest interview has proven to be completely useless, although it does at least provide one interesting detail about scp-4258.
Besides all the facts about rocks, it seems that everyone within Freddy's Diner, regardless of which dimension they originate from, is capable of understanding each other.
It's almost like a multiversal translator is, in effect within the restaurant itself, to make it easier for Freddy and his patrons to communicate returning to scp-4258.
For a third time, the agent finds himself striking up a conversation with a rather familiar face, his own against the improbable odds of infinite different people across an infinite number of universes.
In an endless Multiverse, the foundation agent happens to bump into one of his own counterparts from an alternate reality and for the most part, this alternate agent seems to be from a universe that is practically identical to the first agents.
The two men sit down and begin to have a friendly discussion almost immediately after entering Freddy's Diner.
After all, it's likely that nobody else in the establishment is as familiar with each other, as the pair of them are.
The first agent is quick to remark at how strange this encounter is, even amongst his own years of experience at the SCP Foundation working with anomalies on a day-to-day basis is strange enough, but interviewing an alternate version of yourself has to be a jarring experience, to say the least, the agent tries to establish any major differences between their two universes asking his counterpart, who he works for in his reality.
The alternate agent explains that he also works for the SCP Foundation or another version of it, so far, no differences next, the agent asks a more personal question.
Is the alternate agent married.
It turns out.
He is as a matter of fact they both are and their wives are not only alternates of each other, but both versions of the couple have been together for 20 years.
Next, the agent asks his interdimensional doppelganger to describe his world in more detail more than happy to oblige.
The alternate agent describes that in his Universe it is currently the 21st century.
Most of the socioeconomic issues faced in this Dimension are the same as this one.
Political corruption is Rife.
There are shortages of Essentials like food and water in many countries, along with various other problems, but the alternate remarks.
There are good things there too, like Shark Week that sounds fairly close to our world.
The agent observes seems like there aren't any noticeable differences between the two guess, not pretty funny huh.
His alternate reality counterpart replies.
It is at this point during the interview that Freddy comes over to give the alternate agent his order, a burger and fries presented in delicious Fashion on a plate.
Awesome thanks, Fred.
The alternate agent says before.
Turning to his food time to Chow Down, then the alternate agent's jaw proceeds to unhinge, revealing multiple rows of razor-sharp teeth, hidden behind the front-facing human set.
He lifts up the plate and begins to violently consume the burger and fries.
He ordered having devoured the meal.
In a matter of minutes.
The alternate agent then eats the plate.
His food was set out on crunching down chunks of ceramic returning to the foundation.
The first agent laid a request to be administered with amnestics.
His request is denied check out the Dr Bob patreon and become a junior researcher.
Today now go and watch another entry from the files of Dr Bob like scp-5126 eat your mattress.