12.05.2024 Top 12 Body-Altering SCP That Will Change You Forever! (Compilation)

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A man wakes up with a start. Did something just bite him? He looks down at his hand. Something definitely bit him. He can see the red welt already forming. He looks around for the culprit but can’t find it anywhere. He really hopes he doesn’t have bed bugs, that’s the last thing he needs right now. He’ll have to keep his eyes open for potential pests, he doesn’t want this to happen again, since the spot is already starting to itch and feel uncomfortable. A couple days pass though with no signs of other bugs. It must have just been a random insect that came inside his house to escape the winter cold.

The spot on his hand felt a little rough for a day or two, but now he’s pretty much forgotten all about it. Now what he really needs is some coffee before sitting down to another coding session The man is in his kitchen trying to make a fresh pot of coffee, but finds he’s having a hard time. He’s not so much making coffee as he is making a mess. He knocks his favorite mug onto the ground, breaking it, and decides that maybe he doesn’t need coffee after all. A couple of nights later, as the man is watching TV, he starts to cough. Just a little at first, but then more and more. The coughing fits get longer and deeper too, like they are coming from the very bottom of his lungs.

He hopes he isn’t coming down with something. He hasn’t left the house in days, so how could he have? Can bugs transfer colds? He’ll have to look it up later. For now, he needs to do something about this cough, he won’t be able to sleep if it keeps up. He needs to go get some medicine. The man gets bundled up and heads out. It’s lightly snowing as he walks to the pharmacy and he can’t help but admire the way the moon hangs in the sky, a beautiful beacon of light on this dark winter evening. Inside the pharmacy, he finds the cold medicine section and picks out a cough suppressant. He takes it to the counter and decides to get a few candy bars too.

He’s developed a real sweet tooth these last few days. The man starts to cough again, it’s a good thing he’s getting this medicine. Several more days pass and the man isn’t feeling any better. This cough just won’t go away. He decides it’s finally time to go see a doctor. As he sits in the doctor’s office waiting room, he does his best to hold in his coughs, but he has a very hard time. The woman on the other side of the room is coughing too. Strangely it actually makes him feel a little better, there must just be something going around. A nurse comes into the waiting room and calls his name, the doctor is ready for him.

The man is sitting on the bed in the examination room when the doctor enters. He’s looking over his medical records and doesn’t even look up from his clipboard. He tells the man to take off his shirt so that he can be examined, and the man obliges. “Okay, let’s see what the trouble is” the doctor says. He finally looks up at the man and screams. It didn’t take long for the SCP Foundation to hear the reports of people’s limbs metamorphosing into insectoid appendages, and they knew immediately what they were dealing with. This was another outbreak of the parasitic limb transforming insect known as SCP150.

SCP150 is an obligate parasite, meaning that it requires a host for the completion of its reproductive life cycle. It bears a visual appearance similar to that of Cymothoa exigua, another parasite that eats the tongue of a particular type of fish before replacing the tongue with its own body. SCP150 engages in similar behavior, though it appears to exclusively affect humans. When a human comes in contact with the small, buglike organism, it will embed itself under its new host’s skin. Next, over the course of roughly seven days, SCP150 will burrow deep into the host’s flesh and begin to cause numerous physiological changes to them.

First and most prominently, SCP150 will begin a gradual process of altering the limb that is nearest the original infection site. As SCP150 burrows deeper and consumes the flesh, it excretes a substance that has the effect of replacing the missing sections of the limb with a hard, chitinous material that resembles one of its own appendages. Beneath the chitin, the excreted substance forms a rudimentary nervous system that gives the host the ability to control the new limb as if it were their own. As it feeds, SCP150 also secretes several chemicals that contain anesthetic, immunosuppressant, and transplant rejecting properties that keep the host’s body from responding to the changes, or even reacting at all.

In fact, the host will often report that their new limb is completely normal, and feels stronger and more resilient after the transformation. SCP150 will continue to feed for approximately one to two weeks, and as it feeds on the nutrients within its host’s body it will begin to reproduce, creating eggs that it deposits directly into the bloodstream. While the majority of these eggs will die off, enough usually survive to begin colonizing other parts of the host’s body, where they will hatch and repeat the process of feeding, reproducing, and spreading more eggs. It is theorized that it is capable of reproducing on its own, meaning that a single instance of SCP150 is all it takes to create a new colony.

Humans infected with SCP150 will sometimes report slight discomfort and issues with their fine motor skills during this period, but will usually not express any knowledge of what might be causing this. Eventually SCP150 eggs will reach the host’s lungs where the process of assimilating continues, this time replacing the lungs themselves. During this process more eggs will be produced, laid, and then spread out of the body by the host’s coughing. As many as 10,000 eggs will be produced during this period, approximately 1% of which will survive being expelled, find another host, and implant themselves.

The assimilation process then spreads to the central nervous system including the spinal cord and brain, but strangely, the host will show no signs that their consciousness or behavior have been affected in any way. In interviews with hosts of SCP150, those who are unaware that they are infected have not expressed any knowledge of changes happening in or out of their body. When subjects are made aware that they have been infected, they will be able point out the site of the original infection and agree that a change has taken place, but they seem to have no ill will towards their new chitinous appendages, and will often express positive feelings about it.

In order to better study the effects of SCP150 under SCP Foundation control, two D-Class personnel, D13732 and D-016002 were both infected with the parasites and the assimilation process was allowed to fully progress through all the stages. Following signs that D016002 was experiencing swelling of the brain, a decompressive craniotomy was performed, a procedure in which a portion of the skull is removed in order to relieve pressure on the brain. This surgery had the added benefit of giving Foundation researchers the chance to look at SCP150’s progress firsthand. But after a flap of her skull was removed, the attending scientists did not find that her brain was swelling.

They didn’t find her brain at all, but instead observed numerous instances of SCP150 in the cavity where her brain should be. The DClass had been partially anesthetized to numb her skull but remain conscious during the procedure, and the scientists asked her several simple questions to which she was perfectly able to answer. They began removing some of the parasites and as they did so, her answers became slower and less clear. It appeared that the SCP150 instances had not just eaten and replaced her brain, they had become her brain. For the next experiment, they would use the instances of SCP150 that had been removed from D13732’s nervous system after he had been euthanized following the discovery that his entire nervous system had also been replaced entirely by SCP150.

The parasites taken from his brain cavity were placed into D016002’s and the results were nothing short of incredible. After observing a period of time where the organisms appeared to move and rearrange themselves within her skull, she regained consciousness. Once awake, not only did her cognitive functions immediately improve, when she was asked to state her name, she told them it was Michael. D13732’s name. It is unknown why SCP150 engages in this peculiar life cycle, but the danger it poses to human’s and the difficulty in keeping it contained has led the SCP Foundation to classify it as Keter.

Some of the more erudite researchers have taken to calling the parasite the Ship of Theseus, a play on the philosophical notion that questions whether something that has had all of its parts replaced is still, fundamentally, the same, or if it has become something new. Perhaps the observation of those infected with SCP150 can shed some light on this millennia old question. Infected patients who are being studied are to be kept in Level3 Biohazard Containment Cells, with never more than one infected host per cell. Cultures of SCP150 adults and eggs are kept in vacuum-sealed glass flasks in the Site-42 infectious materials lab, and the Foundation’s standard pathogenhandling procedures are required to be followed at all times.

Should any instance of SCP150 be found outside of containment, it is to be immediately incinerated. “Tell me if it starts to hurt,” the dentist says before reaching into your mouth with a pair of orthodontic pliers and starting to pull your front teeth back into place. Evidently, your screams aren’t enough of an indication of the extreme pain you feel because he doesn’t stop pulling. After what feels like hours of excruciating oral surgery, you’re finally standing outside the dentist's office texting with a friend. “Come on, show me. It can’t be that bad,” reads the message from your friend. You’re nervous to send her a picture though since you have a small crush on the girl and you don’t want her to see you in this state.

But after she asks you again you decide to take a quick selfie and send it to her anyway. You snap a photo of your mangled mouth and jaw. The mess of wires had to be hastily applied to move your remaining crooked teeth back into place with globs of fast hardening epoxy and the result looks like a lowbudget horror movie prosthetic. You send the message and wait. You watch the dots appear that indicate she’s writing a response, then watch as they disappear without a reply. You sadly slip the phone back into your pocket and begin walking away. As you make your way home with your head hung in shame you keep your mouth shut tight.

You don’t want any passersby to see what you’ve become. You decide to detour through the park to avoid any people as much as possible and as you walk, you decide to stop at a picnic table next to a small pond. You sit at the table and watch the ducks mill about in the water. “They have it so lucky,” you think. “Ducks never have to worry about their teeth getting knocked out by a baseball and leaving them looking like a monster.” The ducks suddenly all start moving away from your side of the pond, eventually taking flight and leaving completely. You get the sense that they’re trying to get away from something and you turn around, but there’s nothing behind you.

“Oh, it must be me,” you think. But then you get the sense that there is something behind you and turn again, still though, there’s nothing. It’s just you, the picnic table, and the empty pond. You turn back to watch the still water but you can’t shake the feeling that there’s someone behind you and turn again. “Hello? Is anyone there?” you ask but no one answers. You turn back to the pond and You scream in fright at the thing standing before you and fall back off of the picnic table. You get up out of the dirt and you don’t wait to stick around to see who or what this thing is. You start to run as fast as you can but you immediately hear it chasing after you.

Instinctually you take out your phone and start trying to take pictures of whatever it is that’s behind you. You know no one will ever believe you and you want some evidence of this, this thing. You manage to snap off a couple of pictures but you can hear the creature gaining on you. You scream as your mouth begins to ache. Perhaps running this soon after your surgery is causing your damaged teeth to shift, and the pain is intense. It starts to feel like your mouth is full of jagged rocks, but you can feel that it is your teeth pushing out and stabbing into your mouth. You take one last picture before the creature leaps on you, sending you both to the ground and your phone tumbling into the dirt.

Early the next morning, a police perimeter has been set up in the park. The detective arrives and walks past the traumatized looking jogger who must have been the one that discovered the grisly scene. An officer guarding the site lifts up the police tape so the detective can enter the crime scene that surrounds a body lying under a white sheet. The detective asks the officer if they’ve found anything yet and the office hands the detective a plastic bag containing a dirty cellphone. The detective puts on a latex glove and removes the phone from the bag. The screen is cracked but it still works. There’s numerous messages on the screen that look like they’re from someone trying to apologize for not responding sooner, then asking where the phone’s owner is and if they’re mad at her.

The detective opens the phone’s camera app and starts looking at the last photos that were taken. It’s a strange series of pictures. They seem to all be selfies that a young man was taking as he ran through the park. It almost appears as though there’s a figure behind him but it’s hard to tell. There’s a foggy white vignette on the pictures that gets worse the further he looks, slowly closing in until the last photo is nothing but a blurred milky white screen. The detective flips the phone over and looks at the lens which he can see is completely covered in a hard white substance. The detective places the phone back in the evidence bag and kneels down next to the body.

The police officer turns away, he’s already seen the victim and doesn’t need to again. The detective pulls down the sheet to reveal a truly shocking sight. The boy’s mouth is a mess of teeth, far far too many teeth. There are teeth growing out of every part of his gums at horrible angles, filling his mouth and jutting out at painfully odd angles. Who could have done this? What could have done this? The local police department may not have had any idea what the state of this victim meant, but the SCP Foundation did, because they had seen the same occurrence dozens of times before. In fact, they had seen it happen so many times that they had classified this anomalous entity as SCP4910, but it had already earned a much ominous nickname within the Foundation.

It was known as The Grinner. Very little is known about SCP4910, and eyewitness accounts of the creature are all extremely brief, due to those who have interacted with it quickly succumbing to its effects. What is known is that SCP4910 is a quadruped, and appears to be made partially, or perhaps entirely, out of teeth. Those who encounter SCP4910 quickly experience its primary anomalous effect, which is that it causes the extremely rapid overproduction of teeth in its victims’ mouths. Existing teeth will quickly increase in size, protruding farther out of the gums than should be able, while new teeth will begin to sprout from any available space in the mouth including the roof of the mouth and underneath the tongue.

These new teeth will completely fill the mouth, which almost immediately inhibits their ability. to speak or vocalize at all.. The creature will then use this opportunity to attack and incapacitate the victim, before. starting to feed.. Further adding to the mystery of SCP4910’s appearance comes from the effect it has on. any nearby recording equipment.. Cameras and other devices that come within SCP4910’s proximity will have their critical. components compromised by a sudden appearance of a layer of dentin, which is the calcified. material that partially makes up teeth.. Interestingly, SCP4910 seems to possess some level of intelligence, as it appears able. to differentiate between normal civilians, who it hunts for sustenance, and members of. organizations that seek to hunt down and contain or harm it, which it uses for an even more.

Nefarious purpose. While the exact mechanics are still unclear, it seems as though SCP4910 is able to “infect” certain anomalous organization members with its ability, causing them to act as a vector for the effect, who then spread it to even more victims. This effect is, of course, of great concern to the Foundation, and containment protocols for infected victims have been hastily put into place. Should a member of staff begin bearing a grin with too many teeth, or multiple toothfilled smiles, they are to be immediately immobilized by any means necessary, though preferably with a firearm that allows one to keep an appropriate distance and hopefully prevent any further spread of the effect.

The infected individual is then to be doused in a hydrochloric chemical compound that will reduce the afflicted to a pulplike substance. Once this pulp is no longer animate, it can be transferred to the closest incineration site for disposal. Should a member of personnel have an interaction with SCP4910 and feel that they were exposed to its anomalous effects, they may be saved by taking immediate medical action. Oral surgery to remove the additional teeth has been found to be effective when the procedure is undergone in the first one to two hours following exposure, though the victim will suffer lifelong permanent physical issues from the procedure.

Once three hours have passed, the effect will have spread to the rest of the body, with teeth appearing virtually anywhere. Unfortunately for the victim, should the infection reach this point, pain management has been shown to be ineffective, and there is nothing that can be done to alleviate their suffering save for termination. SCP4910 remains at large and has been given the Keter classification. Mobile Task Force Epsilon, codenamed “Tyrfing Black” is the only MTF authorized to respond to sightings and they have been given permission to engage the creature and utilize lethal force if necessary due to the danger this anomaly presents specifically to the SCP Foundation.

A kindly looking old woman is carrying groceries into her home. When she closes the door, a crack forms in the wall and a tile slides down off her roof, crashing to the ground and shattering. The next day, the local builder seems confused. He’d just fixed a similar problem a week ago at another house. And another the week before that. He’ll patch this crack just like he did before and repair the roof. But as he does so, he can’t help but think he’ll be at another house with the same problem soon. Old people are like this sometimes though, breaking things on purpose to get someone to come visit them.

Oh well, as long as the money is right he’ll keep doing the repairs. That evening the old woman is in bed when she’s woken up by something falling onto her face. A crack has opened in the ceiling right above her bed and plaster is falling on her. What is happening to this house? She would have to call the builder again in the morning and let him know that it was getting worse. She gets up to clean the plaster dust off her face but stops halfway to the door. Was that a noise she heard? It sounded like it was coming from downstairs. Another noise, she definitely heard something. Is someone in her home? “Hello?” she cries out.

“Whoever you are, you better go. My husband is going to be home any moment and he won’t be happy.” The noises seem to have stopped. Maybe she was imagining things. Who would rob a poor old woman after all? She didn’t have anything worth taking. She still needs to wash the plaster off her face though. She listens for a moment, and when she doesn’t hear anything else, she opens the bedroom door and screams. The next day a child stands in front of the house with a look of shock. Was there an earthquake? How could a house end up like this? They ring the doorbell but there’s no answer. They knock on the door and are surprised to find that the door is open.

“Grandma?” the child cries into the quiet house. No response. The child enters and looks around. The house is a mess. Chunks of plaster have fallen off the walls and ceiling, shelves have fallen over spilling their contents, and there’s broken glass from shattered light bulbs everywhere. The boy looks up the stairs and can see that his grandmother’s bedroom door is open and the light is on. “Grandma, are you up there?” Still no response. The child nervously starts up the stairs, gripping the railing tight. They quietly make their way to the bedroom and step into the sliver of light coming from the cracked door.

The child pushes the door open to find their grandmother on the floor, only, it isn’t their grandmother. Whatever this is looks like their grandmother, but like she has been stretched and twisted, her body bent at angles where no joints exist. The child is paralyzed with fear, unable to do anything but stare. But the nightmare isn’t over yet, because their grandmother is still alive. Sadly, reports like these are all too common in this small town that is plagued by attacks from SCP783, also known as The Crooked Man. SCP783 is an extremely dangerous anomalous creature that is currently plaguing the population of Temby, a small, rural village in Oxfordshire, England.

Every twelve years during the fall and winter months, SCP783 will engage in a period of hostile behavior that lasts for roughly seventy days during which time it will target and attack people who are indoors and alone after sunset. Those targeted by SCP783 will find that the building they are in rapidly deteriorates, causing damage and creating structural integrity issues. These often appear as cracks on the outside of the building that lead to the buildings taking on a crooked appearance. Unfortunately, while the SCP Foundation is aware of both the location and the periods within which SCP783 operates, it has so far been unable to prevent any attacks.

Additionally, the Foundation has yet to be able to produce either an image or even a physical description of SCP783 due to the effect it has on recording equipment. Cameras set up to capture the anomaly produce only distorted or corrupted footage, leaving its appearance a mystery. Victims targeted by SCP783 meet a fate that is, in many ways, worse than death. Their bodies will experience extreme deformations as their bones suffer dozens of fractures and are stretched and twisted in various unnatural directions. They are then healed by the rapid generation of cartilage and the growth of extra skin to cover the new elongated limbs, leaving the victims a malformed knot of gnarled extremities.

Some of the cases are quite severe, with one victim having just their forearm extended to over 2.4 meters and another who was left stretched to 12 and a half meters in height. Despite the gruesome injuries suffered, the majority of victims are still alive following the attacks, though they will more often than not be left completely paralyzed, in a persistent vegetative state, or both. Twentyseven victims of SCP-783 are currently being held in a long term care facility within a wing of a local hospital that was requisitioned by the Foundation specifically for the care and treatment of 783 victims.

Like many of the anomalies that the SCP Foundation investigates and contains, many of the residents of Temby appear to have some awareness of the Crooked Man, and the anomaly has become something of a local boogeyman. Researchers have even documented local school children singing a nursery rhyme that appears connected and may even explain the origins of the creature. It goes: There lived a crooked man, who made a crooked deal He kept a crooked cane, and his catch in crooked creel He stole a crooked child, who cried a crooked squeal And that crooked little man was broken on the wheel A month before a recent SCP783 period of activity was to begin, a Class D Personnel, D209, was sent to live in a Foundation owned home in the village.

Audio and video recording equipment was set up throughout the house in case the DClass was targeted, in the hopes that some information could be gleaned should something take place. Fortythree days after he began living in the house, something finally did. One evening while in bed reading a book, D209 heard noises on the ground floor of the home. Cameras on the first floor experienced corruption and showed only a distortion moving through the house. When D209 attempted to leave the bedroom and escape the home, they immediately encountered SCP783. During a period of time that lasted roughly five hours, their bones were broken numerous times and re set over and over, leaving D209 a twisted mass of flesh and bone.

Strangely, at the exact same time that D209 was being attacked, all twenty seven of the living prior SCP783 victims in the hospital experienced violent seizures, despite most of them having been declared functionally brain dead and the rest being totally paralyzed. Also concurrent with the attack was a seismic event on the outskirts of town. And the details revealed by this event were both illuminating and extremely disturbing. Foundation personnel were dispatched to the site of the seismic activity to investigate and determine if it was connected to SCP783 in any way. There they found a small group of angry townspeople, perhaps frustrated by seemingly unending paranormal events in their town and the lack of progress that had been made to stop them.

After a tense standoff, SCP Agent Collins fired her service weapon into the air and the crowd quickly scattered. Now, free of distraction, the agents could begin their investigation in earnest. They immediately spotted several objects sticking out of the earth. Upon closer inspection, these were identified as elongated human toes. A dig team was sent to the site and by the next day, a mass grave had been uncovered that was filled with a twisted mass of what appeared to be victims of SCP783. Their mutated and drawn out bodies were well preserved despite being buried directly in the ground, and had all been buried head down, with their arms extending deeper into the burial pit.

As one researcher was attempting to take a tissue sample from one of the bodies, the ground beneath him gave way and he fell into the pit. He landed on the tangled mass of limbs, which shifted under his weight and he disappeared into the pit beneath them. Agent Collins immediately found a length of rope, tied it to her waist, and climbed into the pit with instructions to the onsite team to pull her back up when she signalled. Agent Collins descended into the pit beneath the bodies and after several minutes, she was extracted, though without the missing researcher. At debriefing, she described how she found an anomalous location under the ground beneath 783’s victims’ corpses.

And she was so rattled by what she saw, that she was granted a temporary leave of absence. The Foundation had to know more, and a DClass personnel was quickly selected for exploration of the underground anomaly. D2172 was equipped with audio and video recording equipment, along with several scientific measurement tools as well as a firearm, and was lowered down into the pit via crane. Their wired tether to the surface would both send the information they collected back as well as serve as their lifeline to the surface. As D2172 was lowered past the mass of corpses into the darkness, they experienced a sense of vertigo, before it was realized that the anomalous effects extended to gravity as well, which had become reversed, and that they would need to start climbing up in order to descend further into the pit.

They soon climbed out of the hole surrounded by the reaching, extended arms of corpses,. and emerged into an open world with an overcast sky.. It looked exactly like the town of Temby with the same buildings present there as in our. world.. The world appeared to be uninhabited though, with no sign of the missing SCP Foundation. researcher.. D2172 began investigating the buildings and found them all to be empty as well.. Though they did unfortunately find signs of a struggle in one house, with what looked. to be evidence of the missing researcher’s demise.. They continued exploring the area and found that the anomalous properties of the location. extended to its borders too, and as the D class walked north out of the town, after. several kilometers they found that they were now somehow back at the southern edge of the.

Town. D2172 was ordered to return to the entry point but as they walked, they were suddenly impeded by the deformed body of an SCP783 victim that stretched across the road in front of them. D2172 drew and fired their weapon at the entity but it didn't react, and they were forced to retreat into the nearby woods. After several minutes, they stopped to rest, when they spotted something else. In the distance, the Dclass saw what looked to be a giant, white birch tree. And it was coming towards them. As the living tree approached, it became clear that it wasn’t a tree at all. What looked like branches were extended bony fingers that it was using to walk.

The long, branchlike fingers were coming out of the top of the “tree” where D2172 could see their origin. These branches were the elongated fingers of the missing SCP Foundation researcher. D2172 turned to run as the giant living tree chased them back into the town, firing their weapon at the creature whenever they had the chance, but was unable to stop it. The visual feed was soon lost as the audio continued to broadcast the screams of D2172. But this wasn’t the end of the expedition. The onsite team was surprised to witness after several hours that the tether was pulled on twice, the signal that it should be reeled in.

A medical team was sent to the site, since it is assumed that D2172 would need immediate care, and the team began reeling in the line. After several minutes, they spotted the harness that should have been strapped to D2172, but with nothing in it. They continued to pull but the harness became stuck on the mass of corpses in the pit. They then noticed that it wasn’t actually stuck, there was a hand holding onto the harness for dear life. It was D2172’s hand. The team kept pulling as D2172’s arm kept stretching out of the pit, to a length of over three meters. But eventually the resistance became too much, D2172 lost its grip, and it was seen sinking back into the mass of corpses inside the pit.

Following this expedition, it was determined that only Special Operations teams and Mobile Task Forces would be used to explore the dangerous anomalous location in the future. At least three such expeditions have been undertaken, though the details remain classified for the time being, and perhaps it is for the best if they remain so. The SCP Foundation will continue to monitor the town of Temby in an attempt to learn more about SCP783 and hopefully discover a means to contain it and its related phenomena. Due to the difficulty in containing the anomaly, it has been classified as Keter, and a local building adjacent to the Temby hospital has been requisitioned and designated as provisional Site5 in order to accommodate the increased Foundation presence.

As the SCP Foundation continues to research this mysterious and highly dangerous anomaly, any victims of SCP783 are to be retrieved, their injuries catalogued, and then their bodies are to be incinerated. “As you can clearly see, this completely throws our entire understanding of our place in the universe into complete disarray!” says the astronomer as he excitedly makes his case to a panel of aged, and supposedly learned advisors. “My observations leave no doubt that everything we previously suspected to be the absolute truth is wrong.” The panel of advisors murmur and lean close together to whisper to each other.

The astronomer can’t hear what they are saying, but the passion and joy that he felt as he explained his findings to the room is quickly draining from his face. He can see the men mouthing the words “no” and “lies” as they make disapproving gestures. But how could this be? Had they not understood what he was showing them? Maybe he didn’t explain things in a way that they could comprehend. Here he was, the greatest scientist of his day, presenting hard facts backed up by rigorous observations and this was their reaction? The group of advisors finish conferring and grow quiet. The chief advisor clears his throat and everyone in the room waits for him to speak.

“Royal Scientist this panel has examined your findings and listened to your… theories.” The advisor can’t help but sneer at the word. “And has decided that the ideas you present are not only incorrect, but dangerous.” The astronomer can’t believe what he’s hearing. “This panel, acting under the authority of the king, has charged you with the crime of heresy!” The astronomer is shocked. He steps towards the panel to plead with them but he’s stopped by a pair of guards who grab him by the arms. “Stop! Stop! I’m a man of science! I only presented you with the truth!” But no one seems moved by his appeals.

The panel watches as the astronomer is dragged from the room, kicking and fighting, still insisting on his innocence. The screams echo through the dungeon as the torturer cranks another notch on the rack, stretching the astronomer’s body just a little bit more. He has no idea how long this has been going on hours, days? The pain has been excruciating and without end. He closes his eyes, trying to escape the torture by retreating into his mind, but he’s slapped on the face and brought back to the reality of his situation. Standing in front of him is the chief advisor, the same one who sentenced him to this inhumane treatment.

“You can end this any time you like. Simply recant your statements and admit you were mistaken and all of this will be over.” The astronomer is unsure if by “over” he means that they will release him, or simply kill him to put him out of his misery. But it didn’t matter which the right answer was, he couldn’t lie. The astronomer knew the truth and no amount of pain, no matter how intense or how long they submitted him to it would change what he now knew. Disappointed with the astronomer’s steadfastness, the advisor signals to the torturer who cranks the rack again, stretching the astronomer’s body to the point where he feels like his bones might pop out of their sockets.

“Recant!” the advisor screams, repeating the word over and over, growing louder as the astronomer’s own cries increase from the pain caused by the torturer cranking the rack more and more. The astronomer closes his eyes again, he’s certain this will be the end of him soon, and that he will die with the great secret he’s learned without getting the chance to share it with the world. But suddenly, the astronomer notices that the room has gone quiet.The advisor is no longer yelling and the torturer has stopped operating the machine. The astronomer opens his eyes to see the advisor and the torturer both in a deep bow.

His gaze continues up and he sees the king himself standing in front of him. The king stares at the astronomer for what feels like an eternity before simply asking “is it true?” The astronomer, limbs still stretched on the rack, manages a nod and with his remaining strength whispers “it’s true.” The king motions with his hand to the torturer who stands up and begins releasing the astronomer from his constraints. The advisor protests “but my lord, this man ” but he’s cut off by the king with a stern look and retreats back into his deep bow. “Show me” the king says, as the astronomer stands, rubbing his sore shoulders where the tendons and muscles were stretched far beyond their natural limits.

The astronomer opens the door to his laboratory and gestures for the king to enter. The room is a mess of papers and scientific equipment, a reflection of the busy and scattered mind of the man who works here. The king is immediately drawn to a table with a large scroll. He spreads it across the table and examines it, but his face betrays no hint of what he is thinking. “Is this what you showed my advisors?” The astronomer nods yes. “Would you like to see for yourself?” The astronomer motions to the window, where a brass tube is attached to a tripod. The king approaches the device but doesn’t know how it works.

The astronomer demonstrates by looking through the eyepiece. He moves it slightly, making small adjustments to make sure it is just right for the king. “There, now look.” The king bends over to peer through the telescope, and a look of shock comes over his face. What he sees is the most incredible thing he has ever witnessed. There, far above up in the sky, unable to be seen by the naked eye, is a man. And he is staring back at him. The planet that this played out on was not Earth, but a bizarre place that is one of the strangest anomalies in the entire SCP Foundation archive. This is SCP007, also known as Abdominal Planet.

SCP007 is a spherical object located in the abdomen of a young man. Or rather, in the space where his abdomen should be, since most of the muscle, skin, and organs that should be present, simply are not. The subject, a caucasian male in his mid twenties of average height and build does not appear affected by the large missing portion of his body, and has not reported experiencing pain or discomfort of any kind. In the space where his abdominal muscles and organs should be is a small globe composed of soil and water. This sphere, which measures roughly sixty centimeters in diameter, resembles the planet Earth, though the arrangement of the continents does not match any known configuration from our own planet’s history.

The tiny planet has its own weather patterns and even a small, but still detectable, gravitational pull. Perhaps the most fascinating aspect of SCP007, is that it appears to be inhabited. Microscopic organisms, that would correspond to roughly the scale of human beings on earth, have been observed on the surface of the planet. So far, two distinct intelligent species have been identified, both of whom seem to possess a technological level similar to the 15th century on Earth. It is unknown if the inhabitants of the Abdominal Planet are aware of the world outside of their planet, and communication attempts with the planet’s occupants have been placed on hold by senior Foundation officials pending further study into what effect an exchange may have on them or us.

The human subject within which SCP007 is located provided the Foundation with a name that he claims to be his, but no records of such a person existing have yet to be located. Upon being questioned about the lack of records, he willfully offered both a social security and driver’s license number, but when they were checked against current records, neither had yet to be assigned by the US government. And the mysteries surrounding this man don’t stop there. The subject has not shown the need for either food or water and it is unknown what energy source his body continues to operate on without nutrition.

He is capable of both eating and drinking though, despite the large missing section of his stomach, but it is still not known what happens to the substances after he swallows them. The man is above average intelligence, and scored a 128 on an administered IQ test. He also generally appears friendly and amiable, and expresses only a passing curiosity about the planet located within his abdomen and how it came to be there. When asked about the origins of the planet, he replied very matter of factly that “I just woke up one day, and there it was. I don't have any idea how it got there.” Due to the poorly understood nature of SCP007, it has been classified as Euclid and the small planet and the man it resides in are contained in a sealed, comfortably furnished, ten by ten meter room that the subject is not allowed to leave.

The subject is to be monitored closely by foundation staff and has a weekly chess game with one of attending doctors, which also serves as an opportunity to evaluate his mental health. So far, he has not shown any signs of mental illness or violent tendencies and seems to be quite content. In general, he appears happy with his restricted living situation inside the Foundation facility and has made no attempts to escape. The subject has made multiple requests for access to a computer with an internet connection, but due to potential security risks, this request has thus far been denied. “What was that?” The man and woman’s hike through a gently rolling portion of the Rocky Mountains has just taken a turn for the dangerous.

“There’s something there in the bush” the man tells her before stepping in front of her in a defensive pose. They watch the bush intently, there’s a slight rustling of the leaves as if something is inside. The man picks up a stick from the ground and holds it in front of him, ready to strike whatever fearsome beast is lurking in the underbrush. The rustling stops but the man doesn’t move from his protective stance. “Do you think it’s gone?” the woman asks. The man isn’t sure. He leans in towards the bush, searching for signs of what might be hiding inside when Ahhh! The man screams and falls backwards as the creature emerges from the bush.

“Aww” the woman cries, “it’s a pika!” She kneels down to get a closer look at the adorable little creature. Pikas are native to this part of Colorado and they resemble rabbits but with small, rounded ears. She watches it hop back off the trail before turning around to see her friend lying tangled in the branches of a tree. She can’t help but laugh as she offers a hand to help pull him out of his predicament. “Are you alright?” she asks between fits of laughter. Yes, he’s fine. The only thing hurt was his pride. He notices a small red spot on his arm and rubs it, but it doesn’t seem to hurt at all.

His attention is diverted by the woman though, who is marveling at the tree he was just stuck in. Free of the branches, he can appreciate now that the tree really is incredible. It looks like a huge blue spruce, but the name is a complete misnomer, because this tree is a vibrant red color. “I’ve never seen anything like it,” she says and the man hasn’t either. Neither knows what species it is, and strangely, there don’t seem to be any others like it. Maybe this is the result of an odd genetic defect that turns blue spruces red? After admiring the tree for a moment, the pair decides that they’ve hiked far enough and that they should probably head back to the car.

She jokes that he’s likely exhausted from his runin with a wild animal and he laughs, but clearly his ego has been bruised. The man stops his car in front of the woman’s house and she thanks him for taking her on the hike. As she starts to get out though he stops her. He asks if she wants to go do something else. Like dinner? The woman thanks him for his offer, but she has to be up early the next day for work. Just a quick drink then? An hour? 30 minutes? The woman tries her best to let her friend down easy, explaining that she likes him as a friend and as only that. The man opens his mouth to respond but she stops him.

If he valued their friendship then he wouldn’t try to take advantage of it by using it as a backdoor to dating her. The man again looks like his pride has been shattered. He apologizes and admits that she is right. It’s just that he has such a good time with her that he never wants it to end. She gives him a sad smile as she closes the car door and he watches her enter her house before he finally drives away. It’s two weeks later when the man’s phone rings. It’s his friend. She explains that she’s been thinking a lot about what he said in the car and that she likes spending time with him too. Maybe there could be something more to their relationship.

The man can’t believe it, is this really happening? The woman is serious. She’d like to take him up on that dinner offer if he’s still interested, her treat. She wants to know what he is doing right AHH. The man suddenly yelps in pain. Is he okay? What was that sound? “Yes, I’m fine, it was nothing,” the man tells her. “It’s just that now now’s not a good time.” The woman doesn’t understand, she thought he’d want to see her. She explains that she’s leaving town for a work trip the next day and will be gone for a couple of weeks. She was hoping she could see him before she left but The man cries out in pain again.

He tells her that he hasn’t been feeling well all day, but that he’ll be alright. “Okay, well get well soon. I’ll call you when I get back.” They exchange goodbyes and the man hangs up the phone. The man looks terrible. His skin is pale and his face looks hollow and gaunt. He looks down at his arm and sees that the veins themselves appear to be moving, pulsing and vibrating. He screams again in agony and falls to the floor, clutching his arm. After writhing on the floor he manages to summon the strength to reach for the phone. His hand searches on the table above him and eventually he’s able to knock it onto the floor.

He grabs the phone and starts to dial Nine One before he can press one again another wave of intense searing pain consumes him. Several weeks later, the woman is standing outside the man’s house. Mail and newspapers are piled up on his front porch, as if no one has been in or out in some time. She knocks on the door but there’s no response. “Hello?” she calls out, but still nothing. She’s very worried. She’s tried calling him several times but he never answered or returned her messages. She tries the doorknob and to her surprise, the front door swings open. She steps inside and the room is dark.

She’s also immediately hit by a strong aroma of pine?. She searches on the wall and finds the switch.. She turns on the lights and can’t believe what she sees standing in front of her.. There in the middle of the room, is a massive spruce tree, it’s upper branches pressing. against the ceiling.. She reaches out and touches the tree's vivid red branches.. They feel sticky and wet.. She pulls her hand away and looks down to see that it’s covered in a red substance.. That’s when she notices something else.. Stuck among the trunk at the base of the tree, is the half consumed body of her friend.. Unfortunately this pair would never have the opportunity to see their feelings take root. and grow, because unbeknownst to them, this beautiful tree is actually a very deadly anomaly,. known to the SCP Foundation as SCP867, but which is perhaps better known by its very.

Appropriate nickname Blood Spruce. SCP867 is, or at least appears to be, quite similar to the species of tree Picea pungens, better known as the blue spruce. Of course there are a number of dramatic differences between 867 and its nonanomalous counterpart. Visually, and most obvious, is the coloration. While blue spruces, as the name implies, are typically a bluegreen color, SCP-867 is a deep, vibrant red. There’s another major visual difference too, with the Blood Spruce lacking any sort of seed cones that you would normally expect to find. With no pine cones to protect and spread seeds, you’d be right to ask how SCP867 goes about reproducing.

The answer to that question is what makes this beautiful tree such a dangerous anomaly. The secret to how SCP867 reproduces is found in its leaves. While they look like pine needles, SCP867’s leaves are, in fact needles. Their structure is very similar to that of hypodermic needles, and each one contains a single long, thin seed which sits above a small gas pocket at the base. When a living creature touches the leaves, the tree immediately reacts. It triggers the gas pocket in the base of the leaf to release which injects the seed into the skin of whatever touched it. The process is quite similar to that found in autoinjectors, like those used to quickly treat allergic reactions.

The seed itself is extremely small, and is coated in a liquid that has both anesthetic and coagulant properties, which makes the process virtually undetectable. Once implanted in the skin, these seeds can lay dormant for up to two weeks, before they begin the germination process , and the true horror of SCP867 is revealed. Once the seeds begin to sprout and grow, they will not seek to penetrate through the skin like a plant rising out of the soil. Instead, the strange plant will grow within its host’s body, spreading throughout the circulatory system. This process is extremely painful for the host.

The plant’s tendrils wind through their veins and capillary system, stretching and pressing against them as the blood spruce grows within them. Eventually, the ever increasing size of the plant’s tendrils becomes too much and the veins will begin to rupture. This leads to severe internal bleeding and soon after, the death of the host. The entire process is quite quick, with it only taking twentyfour hours from when the seeds first sprout to the host dying, but that single day will feel like an eternity to the afflicted individual as they feel the plant rapidly growing inside of their body. But even though the host has expired, this parasitoid tree is far from finished with them, or at least their body.

Soon after death, a new instance of the Blood Spruce will burst from the body. The red tree is quite small at first, but it will continue to quickly grow, just as it did within its host’s body, and can reach maturity in just thirty days. And unlike most other plants, SCP867 is able to grow regardless of light or soil conditions, because it does not produce food via photosynthesis, no this plant is carnivorous. As it grows, the 867 will slowly consume its host’s body until nothing remains except the blood red tree. Instances of SCP867 were first identified in Colorado during the 1990s, following reports of numerous disappearances of hikers and Park Rangers.

The SCP Foundation dispatched a team to the area to investigate, and they soon discovered numerous instances of the previously unidentified tree. Several still young specimens were acquired, though unfortunately this led to the deaths of several agents, who were not yet aware of just how dangerous the red spruces could be. Once their threat level was properly assessed, several specimens were flagged for containment and research purposes, while all of the other identified instances still in the wild were destroyed. The remaining instances of SCP867 were classified as Euclid, and are now securely kept at a Foundation BioContainment site.

Direct human contact with the plants is normally not allowed, and remote rovers are used for the majority of tests and upkeep. If for any reason, it is necessary for a human to enter 867’s containment cell, they are to wear full hazmat suits with a kevlar underlayer, and upon exiting the cell must undergo a full herbicidal treatment and inspection. Should any possible puncture marks be discovered, they will be forced to quarantine for no less than fifteen days. Ah nature It's so beautiful, peaceful, and calming, yet seems determined to try and kill us in any number of ways. If you’re out hiking or camping in the woods, try to remember this extremely famous adage which I may, or may not, have just made up.

It goes, “leaves of three, let them be, needles of red, well you’re probably already dead.” It’s 1:00 o’clock in the morning on a work night and the last of the barhoppers and clubgoers have long since turned in. At the end of the street, the last bar is finally closing down for the night – or it would, except that the bartender is having trouble getting rid of a customer. Sitting at the bar, an old derelict is demanding yet another drink. The bartender grumbles in annoyance. This derelict is sloppy drunk and the bartender just wants to go home. “Closing time,” growls the bartender. “Just one more,” protests the derelict, shaking his empty glass for emphasis.

“I’ve got money!” He laughs at his own words, his giggles ending with a loud belch that blows a cloud of aromatic vapor into the bartender’s face. That’s it. This derelict has been hanging out at this bar, causing trouble all night, and the bartender has had enough. “Get out of here,” says the bartender as he hustles the wobbling derelict out the door. “You’re done!” The derelict creaks and totters as he stumbles out into the street. The night’s festivities are really hitting him. It isn’t often that he’s got the money to burn, but, when he does, he likes to spend it here. The prices are right and the conversation is minimal, which is just the way that he likes it.

The derelict turns around, fire in his eyes. He’s raring to fight and he doesn’t care that the bartender is quite a bit larger than he is – right now, all he can see is red. “Don’t tell me when I’ve had enough,” he slurs, raising his fists as he prepares to lash out. But the bartender has already slammed the door in his face. Defeated, the derelict turns his back on the closed bar and starts a slow stumble down the street. “Stupid bartender,” mutters the derelict, turning up his collar against the cold bite of the night air. He wishes that he just had one more drink to warm his stomach against the chill.

He’s so out of it that he doesn’t stop to think that the bartender did him a favor by refusing to fight; there is no way that the derelict would have won that battle. Even if he was in his physical prime, even if the bartender wasn’t twice his size, the derelict is in no shape to fight: His vision is blurry and his head is swimming. In fact, he can barely remain upright. If he had any sense, he would probably stumble home and sleep this off. But the night is young and he’s not ready to give up yet. He walks down the street, eying every store front in hopes of finding another bar. Unfortunately, every window has a “closed” sign in it.

He swears under his breath. What a run of bad luck! What’s a guy supposed to do in this town, he wonders. Just when he’s about to give up hope, he spies something glinting in the reflective halo of a street lamp. He stumbles closer to get a better look and he can hardly believe his eyes. Finally, his luck is changing! Someone has abandoned a halfempty bottle. “Well, hello there, little friend,” says the derelict. He struggles to focus, but the world is spinning. In his confusion, he could swear he’s seeing things. But no, he can feel the heft of the glass bottle in his hand and he knows that it is as real as he is.

“Who left you behind? Who would leave a perfectly good bottle just sitting out here?” He recognizes this brand. There’s only about three fingers of liquid left, but that’s better than nothing. Some people might balk at drinking out of a random bottle that you found on the street, but the derelict doesn’t give it a second thought. He tips the bottle back and slurps it all down. It burns going down, just as it should, he thinks. He sighs in contentment as he feels the harsh liquid warm his stomach. Perfect! That really hit the spot. But what happens next surprises him so much that he can’t believe his eyes.

There’s still liquid in the bottle! He blinks, wondering if maybe his addled brain is playing tricks on him, but he shakes the bottle cautiously and is rewarded with the telltale swish of liquid. That’s no illusion. He takes another swig, guzzling it down. Normally, he’d drop the bottle to the floor and stumble on, but something makes him pause. He maintains his grip on the bottleneck and raises it again to take another look – and sure enough, there’s still more left in the bottle! The derelict cannot believe his luck. He feels like he must have won the lottery – he’s found a neverending bottle! Already his mind is reeling with possibilities.

“That bartender thinks he’s so smart,” he mutters to himself as he weaves unsteadily. “But I don’t need him anymore. See if I ever go to his stupid bar again! He just lost his best customer. Now that I have you, little bottle, I don’t ever need to pay for drinks ever again!” “This is the best day of my life!” crows the derelict, raising his arms in triumph. He’s barely able to stagger back to his home, a seedy apartment on the bad side of town, before he passes out on the floor. The morning sun rouses the slumbering derelict and he rises with a groan. His whole body aches and his mouth feels dry and parched.

That’s par for the course after a night of drinking, but somehow this hangover feels different. He puts that thought out of his mind as his mind returns to the strange neverempty bottle that he discovered the night before. It’s lying on its side on the floor, next to him. He reaches for the mysterious bottle only to find that, in fact, the previous night was not a dream. The bottle still contains just as much as it did the night before. He can’t explain it, but the derelict isn’t about to question his good fortune. He lifts himself to his feet and walks slowly into the bathroom. He’s feeling a hangover like he’s never felt before.

His head is pounding and his throat is dry. His tongue feels swollen and sluggish inside his mouth. But he knows how to handle it, a little hair of the dog is all you need to help with a hangover. He takes another gulp from his bottle, but this time it brings little relief. And he notices something else strange too. It's his scalp. The skin on his head has started to itch and he can’t stop scratching. He feels like he’s got the world’s worst dandruff problem. He should probably take a shower, he thinks. He strips down and steps into the tub, turning the hot water on full blast and letting it wash over him.

The shower only brings him temporary relief. Afterward, as he dries himself off, the towels feel rough and abrasive against his skin. His skin comes off in big flaky patches and his nails leave red trails in their wake. What’s that? Is that blood? He examines his fingers to see that his nails have grown into ragged clawlike talons. With a frightened yelp, he bites them off. It’s easy to do. Although they look formidable, his fingernails are weak and brittle, almost as if he’s dealing with a sudden calcium deficiency. What could be wrong with him? He remembers all the warnings he heard back in school, when they used to march everyone into assembly to listen to lectures from the local police.

At the time, he scoffed at the long lists of scarysounding consequences of a lifetime of drinking, but now he’s not so sure. “It’s probably nothing,” he says as he examines himself in the bathroom mirror. His skin looks blotchy and infected. It doesn’t take long before his hair and nails are out of control. His hair grows down to shoulders, but comes out in big ragged clumps if he runs his fingers through it. His clawlike fingernails are constantly breaking and cracking until his fingertips are bloody and his quick is itchy and infected. If his habits had left him looking worse for wear before, he really looks awful now.

For the next week, he barely leaves the apartment. He pulls the curtains and keeps the lights off, afraid that someone might see him. When the landlord bangs on the door, shouting that the rent is late and demanding that the derelict hand over the money, he doesn’t answer. He waits. The landlord gives up, for now. That’s good, thinks the derelict. It will give him time to think, time to figure out what to do about his disease. He knows that something is not right. Many of the local bartenders are, by now, probably wondering where he’s gone. It’s not like the derelict to stay away; he’s practically kept the bar industry in this town afloat all by himself.

It must be something major indeed to keep him away from his favorite poison. Luckily, he still has the bottomless bottle to comfort him during this trying time. The derelict is certain that he’s caught some bad bug, but he thinks that he can wait it out. All he needs to do is make it through the next week and everything will be fine. Sipping free drinks helps him to pass the time in a pleasant stupor as he waits for his health to return. Unfortunately, things are only going to get worse for him. His hair and fingernails keep growing, to the point that he has trouble lifting the bottle without his twisted nails getting in the way.

His dry flaky skin is changing as well, becoming thick and leathery and hanging off him in great folds like the hide of an elephant or a rhinoceros. His skin continues to grow, until the folds flop over his knees and gradually hang lower and lower until they touch the ground. Moving is harder now that he’s carrying so much extra weight. He thought at first he just had a nasty bug, but he’s clearly picked up some weird skin condition and even this derelict, sotted as he might be, suspects exactly where he got it. It’s got to be that crazy bottomless bottle! He can’t think of another reason. Even so, he can’t bring himself to part with this little gift from heaven.

Even in his darkest hour, a few sips of liquid courage always help to calm his nerves. He considers lumbering down to the free clinic, in hopes that they might be able to cure him or at least tell him what’s wrong with skin. But he thinks better of this option. What if he’s got some weird alien parasite that no one has ever seen before? They might lock him away in some government lab or something. No, he reasons, it’s better to wait it out. He’ll sleep it off, swear off the sauce for a little while, and maybe it’ll pass. In desperation, the derelict drags himself across the floor, hoping to at least find some solace away from human contact.

He locks himself into his bedroom while he’s still able to manipulate the lock on his door – the extra folds of skin are hanging off of his hands and arms making it hard to do anything! The extra skin is so heavy that he can’t walk much carrying all that extra weight. He lies on the floor of his bedroom, away from everything, and hopes that tomorrow, when he wakes up, this will just be a fading dream. The only thing that brings him solace is the neverending bottle, which, even now in his advanced state of decay, he keeps close by him. After all, he reasons, the damage is already done. What could possibly be the harm in enjoying a nice drink? A week later, his condition has not passed.

The landlord is back and this time he’s not taking no for an answer. The landlord isn’t supposed to enter his tenant’s apartment without permission, but he doesn’t care. He uses his own key to unlock the door and go inside. The condition of the apartment is appalling. The furniture is broken, the floor is covered with unidentifiable filth, and there’s a rotten stench in the air. The landlord wants to throw up as the full weight of the musty smell hits him in the face. It’s as if someone has been living in here without any ventilation, with all the windows firmly closed and sealed. A sudden noise from the bathroom draws his attention.

Of course, thinks the landlord, that old bum is hiding in there. He thinks I won’t find him. The landlord steels his resolve and heads toward the bathroom, determined to get the money that he feels is owed to him. But what greets him when he steps through the door isn’t the derelict anymore it isn’t even human. The creature in the bathroom is a massive pile of ambulatory skin folds. The skin flaps have grown so large and cumbersome that the derelict within can barely move. They sprout all over his body, covering him so that he looks more like some kind of alien sea cucumber now than any human. The landlord stumbles backwards, screaming in terror at the sight, unable to comprehend what he’s looking at.

Improbably, the creature reacts to the noise and a ripple of movement spreads across its surface. It starts to move, despite not having any legs. The landlord is so terrified that he doesn’t notice the glass bottle that suddenly drops from between the creature’s skin folds as it starts to move toward him – the same bottle, still with three fingers of liquid inside. How could something like this happen? What parasite or disease did the derelict contract from the miracle bottle he found. Sadly, this never ending bottle isn’t a boon, but a curse, and the man who found it that night became just another victim of what the SCP Foundation has classified as SCP420.

SCP420 looks like a perfectly ordinary bottle of a certain popular libation, even to the point that it bears the label of a common brand. The bottle always contains a small amount of a mysterious liquid known as SCP420-1. If this liquid is poured out, SCP420 will always replenish itself. When SCP420-1 is potent, it is physically, chemically, and molecularly indistinguishable from ordinary whiskey – although drinking will have an effect far greater than even the strongest liquor. When SCP420-1 is poured out of SCP-420, though, it undergoes a strange transformation, eventually losing its potency and changing until it is indistinguishable physically, chemically, or molecularly from urine.

Consuming potent SCP420-1 instigates a bizarre physical transformation, called SCP-420-2, in six stages. In stage one, beginning 12 hours after consumption, the subject will start to have difficulty speaking, resulting in slurred speech that is not consistent with normal alcohol inebriation. Their fingernails, toenails, and hair will start to grow at an accelerated rate, but also become brittle and prone to breakage. Nail breakage to the quick often leads to bleeding and infection. The Foundation has had some success in curing SCP420-2 if it is caught when still in stage one, treating it as if it is an aggressive form of cancer with radiation and chemotherapy as well as a constant intravenous supply of formula 420a09t-t174b.

Victims thus treated have a 73% recovery rate but a 21% fatality rate. From phase 2 onward, this protocol can slow the spread of SCP420-2 but will not stop it entirely. In stage two, beginning one to two weeks after stage one, the subject’s skin begins to show similar properties to those exhibited by hair and fingernails in stage one, becoming dry, brittle, and prone to cracking. As old skin flakes off, the subject’s new skin begins to grow at an accelerated rate, eventually forming thick leathery folds all over the subject’s body. Skin flaps growing inside the mouth interfere with speech and eventually render subjects mute, but do not appear to impede breathing or eating.

Indeed, subjects in stage two exhibit a renewed interest in eating, possibly because the subject’s body requires additional nutrients and calories to build the increasingly heavy armor of thickened, calloused skin. Stage two subjects will eat anything that they can get their hands on and many die after attempting to eat poisonous or inedible objects. In stage 3, beginning three to six weeks after stage 2, nerves in the skin layer grow uncontrollably, but no longer connect to the victim’s central nervous system. Genetic testing of the skin in this stage reveals that its DNA has become so mutated that it can no longer be classified as human.

It is, in fact, a separate and very inhuman organism that almost acts as a parasite growing from the human host. The skin may develop tumorlike growths, which appear to be analogous to human muscle and secretory cells. Hair and fingernails sprout randomly from the mass of skin. By stage 4, beginning 3 to 7 days after stage 3, the skin has become a mass of thick, leathery folds completely covering the human host to the point that they disappear completely. The skin begins to exhibit random twitching movements as though it is indeed a living organism finally coming into its own as a lifeform and testing out its new body.

The human subject within the skin continues to eat, although brain scans reveal that they are no longer in control of their mouth. Instead, the skin entity forces the mouth to move by moving the attached skin. Small holes begin to form in the skin, eventually growing into narrow tunnels or “throats” that lead back to the now trapped body of the helpless subject. The subject is still consumed with a ravenous hunger and will eat anything that they can get in their mouth. In stage five, beginning one to two days after stage 4, the skin begins to move in patterns indicating rudimentary intelligence.

The skin, although still attached to the original subject, is now completely and distinctly nonhuman – it is its own organism. It can move of its own accord, dragging the trapped host along for the ride, and it moves and feeds much in the manner of an extremely large amoeba. It feeds by excreting a digestive enzyme onto foodstuffs and then enveloping the nutrients with its skin folds, again like an amoeba surrounding its food. The food is taken into the “throats.” These tunnels connecting the outside of the skin to the now completely subsumed host are now directly connected to the host’s circulatory system and function as additional mouths – they can consume nutrients which are moved down their length by bristly hairs and further broken down by grinding keratinous plates before being taken into the host’s body.

Most hosts will remain in stage five indefinitely, although there still remains a much more dangerous stage six yet to come. At this time, it’s unknown what factor triggers SCP420-2 to develop into stage six. Little information about stage six is available at this time, although it is known that it involves even more accelerated skin and keratin growth, resulting in a sudden increase in size and mass. Perhaps the most terrifying part of the entire transformation is that the host remains alive for the duration of the process and sometimes even after SCP420-2 has settled comfortably into its new life at stage five.

Mercifully, most hosts will have completely succumbed to insanity by this point, although some are shown by brain scans to still be selfaware and quite calm, perhaps fading into a zenlike state as they accept the inevitability of their fate. SCP420 is contained in a storage locker at an undisclosed site maintained by the Foundation and it is only to be removed from this locker by SCP staff with level 3 clearance or higher. It has been given the Safe class, because, despite the horrifying nature of its effects, at least it doesn’t move anywhere. Samples of SCP420-1 not in use for testing should be stored in the container marked "SCP-420-1-decon" in locker 1014420 until they lose potency, at which time they can be disposed of as biohazardous liquid waste.

Victims infected with SCP420-2 are not contagious and should be contained in standard solitary Dclass secure confinement. On reaching phase 3, subjects should receive double rations. Due to the extreme danger of Phase 6, any subjects who reach phase 4 should be closely monitored for signs that the condition may be advancing further, in which case they are to be immediately destroyed by incineration. Knowing the fate that befalls victims of SCP420 should make anyone think twice about drinking out of a random bottle that you just find in the street. Though personally, I think that’s just common sense 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 fulllength 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 taken 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 Satanworshipping 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 on the couch, she’s going to make an effort. She’s going to 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 postworkout 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 stray to a nearby coffee shop. She sighs in 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 café 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 whip 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 the 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 into this coffee shop.

She retreats to a table in the corner and tears open the bag. She wolves 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 going to be serious about this diet.” She stands up and leaves the café, 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 highborne 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 longlost 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 is 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 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 and the steel body frame starts to creak when she rests her full weight upon it. She steels her resolve. Sure, it might be embarrassing to go out in public wearing an illfitting sweatsuit and riding a bike groaning under her bulk, 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 to 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 evertightening 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 sweat suit? 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 straying from the everchattering 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 halfeaten 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 the 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 SCP2611. SCP2611 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, SCP2611 is under observation because of SCP-2611-1.

SCP2611-1 is a mass of sentient fat located on SCP-2611’s left side. SCP2611-1 has become integrated with several of SCP-2611’s vital organs, making it too dangerous to attempt to remove SCP2611-1 via liposuction or other means. SCP2611-1 has gradually exerted increasing control over the mind and actions of its host, to the point that SCP2611 is only fully conscious for one to two hours daily. The rest of the time, SCP2611-1 is fully in control of its host’s behavior. Prior to coming to the SCP facility, SCP2611-1 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 SCP2611-1 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, SCP2611-1 can speak through its host, communicating in standard American English. SCP2611’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, SCP2611-1’s main interest appears to be daytime television. Attempts to communicate with SCP2611-1 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, SCP2611-1 let slip that it preferred daytime television to the programming watched by “that other guy,” suggesting that it lived inside a different host before it eventually took up residence within the body of SCP2611. At another point, while in the middle of a conversation about a court drama, SCP2611-1 suddenly announced “Kill it. Kill it now. I don’t care if I die!” Staff believe that this might not have been SCP2611-1 at all, but rather the voice of SCP2611 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.

SCP2611 -1 does not appear to be contagious and the way that it bonds with a host is unknown, so it is currently classified as safe. At the moment, SCP2611-1 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. You and your friends exit a club and step on to the darkened city street. Everyone is in a happy and joyful mood, it’s been a great night, one that you’ll be reminiscing about with your friends for years.

As you walk and laugh together, you don’t notice the large man standing in front of you and almost run straight into him. You offer a quick apology and move to go around the man, but he steps in front of you, blocking your path. All of your friends grow quiet, and you finally take a good look at the man. The man towers over you. He is huge, with giant elaborate tattoos wrapped around his bulging muscles, that it looks like he may have gotten to cover up the numerous white patches of skin that are missing pigmentation. His face though, is bright red, and filled with rage. The man begins screaming at you, asking why you ran into him and calling you horrible names.

Again you try to apologize but the man just keeps yelling as if he can’t even hear you. He pushes you hard in the chest and you fall back into one of your friends. Another steps forward in an attempt to diffuse the situation, but the man punches him in the face, breaking his jaw. A melee ensues, though it could more accurately be described as a massacre. The man has gone ballistic, and punches, kicks, and bites your entire group of friends. His strength seems unreal, even for someone as big and muscular as him. A large bouncer runs over in an attempt to break up the fight, but even he is no match for this tattooed giant.

You’ve been on the ground since he shoved you, watching this insanity play out, but now with everyone else lying on the ground bloodied and bruised, he turns his attention back on you. You try to scramble back to your feet but he’s upon you in an instant. He picks you up over his head, and tosses you into some trash cans, knocking you unconscious. You open your eyes to see the man standing over you. You can feel the blood from numerous cuts on your face running down into your eyes and mouth. The man picks you up with one hand and holds you by the throat against the wall. He’s still in a rage, breathing hard through clenched teeth, bits of white foaming in the corners of his mouth as he brings up his other hand and curls his fingers into a fist.

All you can think is “is this it? But then you notice something. The tattoo that snakes down the man’s arm all the way to his hand is moving. The long, serpentine dragon is writhing and slithering as if it’s alive. Is this really happening? Or just a result of the concussive trauma you’ve received? There’s no time to consider it further though, as the man pulls back and throws a punch right into your face. You can feel your nose flatten and break from the impact, which understandably distracts you from the bizarre occurrence that follows. Right as the man’s bloodied fist makes contact with your face, the dragon on his arm seems to “swim” off of his skin and onto yours.

Like a snake moving through water, it glides off his fist onto your face before sliding down your neck onto your body. There is a searing pain as it moves, like you’re being poked with needles over and over. You scream from the pain, blood from your broken nose pouring out of your mouth. The man drops you to the ground and steps back. He no longer looks to be in a rage and instead looks confused. He looks down at his skin to find that the tattoo is completely gone. A look of unbridled joy comes over his face and he turns and runs away into the night, laughing with glee as he does so. You are left whimpering in pain, curled up in a ball in the pile of trash where he left you, the dragon tattoo now covering your entire body.

As you have probably already guessed, this is no normal tattoo. No, this is an anomalous creature that is known to the SCP Foundation as SCP021, but it also has another name The Skin Worm. SCP021 is an obligate parasite that uses the human body as a host. Its visual appearance is in the form of a large, elaborate tattoo of an oriental style dragon, which covers roughly one square meter of its host’s skin. What makes this tattoo truly unique, is that it is fully animated, and moves on the host's body just as a real animal would, though in 2D like a cartoon playing out in real time on their skin.

The movement of the tattoo causes horrendous pain for the host, and has been described as feeling like thousands of tiny needles are stabbing at them all at once, as if a fresh image is being constantly tattooed on their skin, while at the same time, a tattoo removal process is happening. While the tattoo organism is able to move, it seems to prefer spending most of its time on its host’s torso, though it has been seen to move around to other parts of the body on occasion. As SCP021 moves around on the surface of its host’s body, it appears to feed on the pigments in the skin. It’s favored meal seems to be other tattoos, which it will seek out and devour, though if none are present or if it has eaten all of the tattoos on its host, it will begin consuming the melanin from the skin instead.

Melanin is a naturally occurring pigment found in human’s skin, and after SCP021 sucks it from its host, it will leave them with permanent skin damage and patches of unpigmented skin that appear similar to that of skin condition vitiligo. The feeding itself does not appear to cause the host any pain, and the pigments, whether they are from another tattoo or the natural ones in the skin, will simply disappear as 021 “eats” them. The pace at which SCP021 feeds will vary, but it has been observed as being able to clear over half a square meter of skin in roughly one hour. One way to prevent SCP021 from eating all of the melanin present on a human is to quickly add new tattoos of fruits or small animals, as a way to continually distract it from turning to the melanin.

Thus far, outside of motion, the organism has displayed no elevated intelligence or the ability to communicate. It simply moves and feeds. SCP021 is not permanently affixed to the skin of any one host, and in fact can be transferred back and forth between hosts multiple times. The only way to transfer the organism is through physical contact, though skin to skin contact does not guarantee that the organism will take to a new host. In the event that it does, the dragon tattoo appears to “swim” across the touching skin and will affix itself to the new human host. Skin to skin contact in the erm… romantic sense, has been shown to be the most reliable method of transfer from one host to another, with a 93 percent rate of successful transmission.

However, as you can imagine, the tattooing sensation that comes along with any movement of SCP021 means that this particular transfer is extremely painful for all parties involved, and the Foundation has deemed that despite its high success rate, it should only be used when absolutely necessary. Contact between two open wounds has been shown to be an only slightly less effective method, and has become the default means transferring when the SCP Foundation wants to move SCP021 from one host to another. Transferring the organism from a deceased host to a living one is possible, though more complicated.

SCP021 appears not to mind when its host organism is no longer alive, continuing to feed on whatever pigments are available to it, and does not seem to suffer any ill effect from the condition of its host. It is as yet unknown whether SCP021 could be transferred to another species. So far, the organism has only been willing to move from human to human, though research into the question is ongoing. It’s theorized that if SCP021 is able to exist on a non-human animal, that it would only occur in the rarest of circumstances. Unlike most parasites, SCP021 does offer some small, but tangible benefits to its host human.

In addition to hosts of the organism appearing to have an improved immune system, research has also shown that the presence of 021 will increase its host’s release and reuptake of epinephrine, better known as adrenaline. It will also decrease the buildup of lactic acid, which is what builds up in the muscles during activity and causes burning sensations and soreness. Combined, these benefits from SCP021 provide its host with increased strength and confidence, as well as give a heightened pain tolerance during stressful situations. Not surprisingly, the host of SCP021 also displays a high level of aggression, though whether this comes from their elevated hormone levels or simply because the organism causes them to be in constant pain is still an unanswered question.

The amount of time that this symbiotic relationship can be sustained is typically limited to how long the host can tolerate the unceasing pain of the tattoo moving about their body. The persistent agony that a host of SCP021 endures has led to multiple hosts having taken their own lives, and in a few rare cases, they have also succumbed to fatal skin infections. Though these were likely the result of open wounds caused by the host scratching at their own skin, rather than anything directly attributable to the organism. SCP021 is currently contained on the body of a D-Class personnel, D-139, who is housed in standard detention cell 217A, and the relative ease with which it can be kept on a human subject’s body has led to it receiving the Safe classification.

Only DClass personnel are eligible to be a host to SCP-021, and currently operating procedure is to allow the organism to live on the same host’s body until they expire. The exact nature of what SCP021 is as well as its origins remain a mystery to the Foundation. Attempts have been made to trace the path of its transmission from before its time in containment, and it is hypothesized that the organism could be many hundreds of years old, if not older. As evidenced by its low SCP number, 021 is one of the oldest SCPs that the Foundation keeps contained, and it has proven to be a very useful educational tool for new and upcoming researchers, as they study this bizarre creature and its existence that occurs entirely within two dimensions.

A man is lying in a hospital bed and it is clear that he is not doing well. A group of doctors buzz around him performing various tests, checking his vital signs again and again. The man feels weak and a little disoriented, and the looks on the various doctors’ faces tells him all he needs to know something is very wrong with him. Finally there is a break in the commotion and the doctors stop prodding at him and peering into his eyes with a bright, blinding light. All of the doctors and nurses leave the room except for one. The doctor steps towards the man and tells him that he has some bad news.

“You see” before the doctor can finish, someone else emerges from the shadows in the corner of the room and taps him on the shoulder. “I’ll handle this.” The man hadn’t noticed this person, but he can see now that he’s dressed in a suit, and unlike the doctors, he doesn’t have any identifying items like a name tag or badge. Maybe he’s some kind of professor? Or a renowned surgeon who is going to tell him how they will make him better. The doctor steps back from the bed but the man in the suit tells the doctor that it would be best if he and the patient could be left alone “just for a moment of course.” The doctor nods in agreement and leaves the room.

The man in the suit waits until the door is closed behind him to continue. He tells the sick man that “he has a rare condition. Quite rare. So rare, in fact, that you’re the only person to ever have it. The only recorded case in history.” The man in the suit sits down on the bed next to the man and takes his hand, lifting it up, examining it. The man’s hand is an odd color. It has a slight green tint to it, and the skin itself appears to be taking on a fibrous quality. The sick man feels very tired, but he manages to whisper, “are you a doctor? Are you going to help me?” The man in the suit responds, “yes, I’m a doctor of sorts.

A doctor and a researcher. I work for a very important organization, and I specialize in cases just like yours. Well not exactly like yours, you’re unique, quite special, in fact.” The sick man offers a weak smile, “I’m very lucky.” “Oh yes, very lucky indeed. Well not because of your condition of course, but because I am here. You see, if it’s alright with you, we’d like for you to come with us, to come stay at one of our facilities for a while. We can’t promise that we’ll be able to figure out exactly what’s happening, or why. But if we can, we have a much better chance of figuring out how to cure it.

To cure you, so you can go back to a normal life.” “Do I have much of a choice?” the sick man asks. “Of course you do! It’s completely up to you. I think this would be your best course of action, your best by far in fact, but we can’t force you to do anything you don’t want to do.” The sick man looks down at his greenish hand again, turning it over in front of his face. Examining the small growths that seem to be sprouting from his skin. “When do we leave?” “Right now!” the man in the suit tells him, “the nurses will come get you ready and then we’ll be on our way.” The man in the suit leaves the room and closes the door behind him.

Standing next to the door in the hallway are a pair of men wearing tactical uniforms like a SWAT team. The man in the suit tells them that luckily they won’t be needed today, “this one is coming easy.” The sick man lies on a bed but now he is in a new room. This one is even more sterile than the hospital, with cold, concrete walls, and harsh fluorescent lights. Just like in the hospital, he’s surrounded by a seemingly never ending cast of doctors, nurses, and researchers. They too poke and prod at him, take samples, and administer all kinds of tests. As time goes on, the man’s condition only grows worse.

It seems there’s nothing that they can do to stop his condition from advancing.The green color spreads across his body and his skin soon becomes woody and stiff. If he sits in one place for too long without moving, tiny fibers emerge from his skin, like probing roots looking for soil. All the while the man grows weaker and more fragile. Even the slightest movement seems to cause him great pain. The doctor who originally brought the man to the facility gathers with a small group in the observation room next to the man’s containment cell. They discuss the results of a recent test which showed that much of the melanin in his skin has somehow been replaced with chlorophyll, and that the fibrous quality of his skin is being caused by the appearance of cellulose around his cells.

In other words, he isn’t just starting to look like a plant, he’s truly becoming a plant. And there doesn’t seem to be anything they can do to stop it. Try as they might, they haven’t found a single clue as to what is causing the man’s condition, or how to treat it. The man, though, seems strangely at peace with his fate. He’s told that they’re going to allow him to live, whether that be as a man or as a plant in containment for as long as he can stay alive, and that he will be well taken care of to make the whole process as comfortable for him as possible. Even though they failed to find a cure for his anomalous disease, they will do everything in their power to make sure he doesn’t suffer.

A tragic yet familiar tale for the SCP Foundation. A normal person is subjected to an abnormal situation that completely changes their life, and not for the better. At least in this situation, the Foundation appears to have shown a rare glimpse of their own humanity, opting to make this safe class anomaly’s existence as painless as possible rather than force it to endure a lifetime of painful tests and studies. Or at least, that’s what you’ve been led to believe. Unfortunately, everything you’ve just seen about SCP1500 is a lie. Those with Level 3 Clearance though, can learn the truth, which is that SCP1500 is actually an extremely dangerous anomaly, whose true identity must be hidden from even the majority of the Foundation for reasons you’ll soon learn.

SCP1500 is not a man suffering from a condition that causes him to slowly transform into a plantlike being, but is actually a greenish-gray, smooth skinned humanoid with no facial features at all. It’s limbs are long and multijointed, and its abdomen is highly distended. The skin is exceptionally durable and tough, and though SCP1500 has no visible sense organs like ears or a nose, it still appears to possess senses that are roughly equivalent to an average human’s. The entity is incapable of speech, owing to its lack of a mouth, and it has not shown a need to eat, breathe, or sleep at all. In addition to the strange appearance of SCP1500, its primary anomalous effect is the impact it has on any human that comes within its line of sight, or rather what would be its line of sight if it had any eyes.

Those that do find that they will soon begin experiencing headaches, nausea, and an overwhelming sense of dread. These symptoms will increase over the next several minutes, with the headaches becoming more and more debilitating, and the feelings of nausea and fear growing until eventually, the subject passes out. They will remain unconscious for roughly 15 seconds, after which they will awaken, and claim to have no memory of ever being exposed to SCP1500. But something else strange also happens to the subject after waking. When asked to describe the creature known as SCP1500, they will no longer remark on its faceless head or long twisted limbs.

Instead, they will describe the creature as being an average looking caucasian male. Even stranger, is that to them it now has a name Zachary Callahan. In further interviews with subjects exposed to SCP1500, it became clear that many of their memories had been reshaped to now include the entity in its human looking, Zachary Callahan form. They would often describe him as a close friend from childhood or early adulthood, and one that played a significant role in their lives. They also claim that they are perfectly capable of communicating with Zachary Callahan, able to carry on conversations with him, while all the observing researchers will see is an apparently onesided conversation between the subject and the featureless gray skinned creature.

While Foundation personnel have found that they are able to remove the false memories from the subject’s minds through the use of amnestics, they have yet to be able to reverse the effect that causes the subject sees SCP1500 as a human being, and everyone who has been exposed continues to see the entity as Zachary Callahan forever more. It is still unknown what kind of long term effects this exposure may have or how dangerous to their mental or physical health it will turn out to be. Even more concerning, is that evidence has emerged that SCP1500 may be able to affect more than just those in its immediate presence.

Recently, a United States Senator was giving a televised speech on a rather uninteresting topic. The speech started out normal enough, but then the senator began to relay an anecdote about a childhood fishing trip he had taken with a friend. You won’t be surprised to learn that according to the senator, the friend’s name was none other than Zachary Callahan. Investigations into the senator’s background concluded that there was no person by that name of the appropriate age in the area where he grew up. It was also discovered the senator had suffered an especially bad migraine at a dinner party the week before the speech.

Further research into SCP1500’s memory altering effects have also revealed that they might just be more intrusive than first believed. Rather than simply appearing as an old friend, subjects exposed to 1500 have begun to report that Zachary Callahan actually played a much more prominent role in their lives, either as a close relative, a parental figure, or even a former lover. In each of these cases, the subjects described their feelings for Zachary Callahan as ones of adoration, and that he made them feel protected and loved. Most troubling of all, is a recent addendum to the SCP1500 file, which describes the very latest research on the anomaly and its effects.

It is now estimated that as many as 23,000 people all across the world have been affected by the creature, with the idea of Zachary Callahan implanted into their memories. It is unknown why it is trying to spread its influence so far and wide, but one clue that may point to a nefarious purpose is that it seems to be disproportionately targeting political and military figures, as well as SCP Foundation personnel. Following these new developments, classification of SCP1500 to keter was requested and granted. Due to the risk that SCP1500 poses through its anomalous effects, and its powerful ability to influence those in positions of great power, it is permanently kept in a modified humanoid containment cell at Site17.

No personnel are allowed to enter into its containment chamber under any circumstances, nor are there security cameras in its cell. A false containment document describing a human male with an anomalous plantlike effect was placed in the database in order to deter further investigation into the real SCP1500, and any personnel who experience painful, persistent headaches are immediately transferred away from Site17, while any who attempt to breach containment are immediately terminated. Is SCP1500 planting the seeds for something big by infiltrating the minds of some of the most influential people on earth? Or is it merely looking for a connection as it takes on a form that it wishes it could have in the only way it can, inside an imagination.

Perhaps one day, we will know the answer.. the car screeches to a halt the door swings open and the doctor tumbles out he lands on. his hands and knees in the dirt and throws up the few remaining drops of stomach acid. left in his system he's put his hand in something sticky he can feel an insect wriggling under. his palm behind him the door slams and a pair of boots walk around to his side of the car. the translator accompanying him does not offer a hand to help him up it had been a long car. journey with many similar stops fortunately this was the last the doctor gingerly gets. to his feet and takes in his surroundings he finds himself in a small village hidden. amongst thick trees he's not sure what time it is anymore the flights time zones and car. journeys wrought havoc on his circadian rhythms he knows he is in china somewhere very remote.

And very rural he tried to look it up with the maps on his phone during the journey but. he'd lost signal a long time ago one thing is clear however it is the middle of the night. the car's headlights are the only light source in the village no one comes out to greet them. the doctor brushes himself off and turns to his translator the man nods towards a small. hut near the back of the village just beyond the headlight's reach his translator is a. man of few words both ironic and deeply unhelpful the doctor does not know a word of mandarin. himself in silence the two men approach the hut the doctor reaches out to knock but his. translator has already pushed the door open inside there's just the dim light of a lamp. almost everything is covered in shadow it is almost dark enough that they can't see. the cobwebs almost silken strings drape themselves over every surface wall and item in the little.

Hut it's impossible in places to even see what item of furniture is hiding beneath all. of the webs the translator reaches out to touch one of the webs in fascination but the. doctor grabs his hand shaking his head he hands the translator a face mask and a pair. of disposable gloves annoyed the translator takes them but does not put them straight. on choosing instead to walk deeper into the hut after a second the doctor follows only. he can't help the feeling that something's not right something's missing here says the. translator it is the first word he said in hours he's standing behind a little curtain. looking down at something as the doctor joins him there and almost wretches from the stench. lying in the bed is an emaciated man he looks like he hasn't eaten in days his wrists and. ankles are bound tightly to the bed so tightly in fact that his circulation has been cut.

Off the doctor can see right away the telltale signs of gangrene spreading across his palms. but they're too late the man isn't moving his bony chest isn't rising or falling worst. of all he must have been dead for a while now there are sheets of spider webs draped. over his sallow skin like some kind of deathly funeral shroud the translator mutters something. in mandarin it doesn't take a phd to pick up on the evident frustration in his voice. a whole night of driving out to the middle of nowhere for nothing the translator kicks. over a wooden stool the sound is muffled by the thick layer of cobwebs as he storms out. of the hut but something is wrong here the doctor can't walk out just yet toxicology. that's his field poisons toxins infections bites but that's the thing there are no bites. anywhere on this man's body head to toe under the layer of spider silk there are no welts.

Bruises or puncture marks the only darkened veins standing out are on his fingertips as. they rot away from stagnant blood nothing to do with poisons but there's something else. too a hut holding a dead body full of spiders webs but yet no spiders a scream fills the. hut the bed rocks violently the doctor looks down in horror to see the dead man is not. as dead as he'd appeared he thrashes this way and that straining against the ties on. his limbs the doctor calls out for the translator who appears at his side almost immediately. the translator shouts something in mandarin trying to be heard over the dying man's screams. but it's no use the man throws his head this way in fact trying to bash his chin into his. own chest or hit the top of his skull against the nearest wall it is no use the man opens.

Cloudy eyes that stare wildly around the room searching for something anything that could. help him break free from his restraints without thinking the doctor grabs the man's head and. holds it steady he peers into the man's weeping eyes bizarre if he didn't know better he'd. say they almost looked as if they had spiders webs built up beneath the eyelids clouding. out the man's windows to see the world small silvery balls of thick liquid gather in the. corners of them too dense too murky to be tears from somewhere beneath the haze the. man's pupils find the doctors in an instant his body falls still it is almost as if he. relaxed completely a guttural murmur comes from the man's throat the doctor looks to. the translator for help free me the doctor looks down at his patient this is the part. of medicine he had always hated the most at what point do you let someone go at what point.

Do you say it's too late is it even right for him to make that decision looking at the. man lying in front of him a wave of sadness washes over him his initial assessment had. been right it is too late even if he could treat the gangrene in the man's limbs with. amputation there's still starvation and dehydration to deal with and then the apparent venom from. the spiders except there are no signs of venom perhaps it isn't too late after all with the. right treatment there may be a chance to the man's wrist snaps becoming a loose glove of. broken bone that's easily pulled from the restraint a foul stench of exposed rotten. flesh hits the doctor like a slap in the face he reels back in horror as the man pulls his. other decimated hand free too unbound by his bed the man lets out an animalistic roar sitting.

Up in the bed he tips his head back and starts pounding at it with what is left of his hands. jagged wrist bones barely housed by paper thin skin slam repeatedly into his forehead. harder and harder with each hit the doctor is frozen to the spot staring as the man smashes. his own head skin splits revealing white bone bone cracks then with one last effort that. seems to take every remaining morsel of the man's energy he turns and crunches his fractured. skull against the wall caving the front half of his head in like a deflated basketball. silence more terrifying than any sound fills the hut the doctor stares at the body an almost. comical image pops into his head the head looks like just a red plastic bag that someone. had left on the floor full of shards of broken pottery he almost smiles but then the spiders.

Appear just one at first then 10 then a stream then an eruption spewing out of the gaps in. the man's head like water shooting out of a collapsing dam the tiny pink spiders flood. the room shooting up the walls into every crack and crevice writhing and rippling around. their feet that breaks the doctor's paralysis he and the translator sprint for the door. they crash through it and cover the length of the village in seconds grabbing the door. handles they haul themselves up into the 4x4 the translator slams it into reverse and almost. crashes into a tree as he turns them around and back onto the dirt trail they drive all. through the night not talking the doctor gets control of his breathing but his heart does. not stop hammering the whole time he cannot shake the images that fill his head spiders. tiny pink spiders everywhere the sun is just rising when the driver suddenly pulls over.

Sharply his eyes are wide his face deathly pale he doesn't say a word as he sits forward. reaches down the back of his shirt and pulls out one tiny pink spider the doctor yells. in shock and hurriedly grabs a sample pot for the man to throw the spider into the two. men sit there in the front of the car in the warm morning light staring through the glass. at the arachnid it looks soft that's the most bizarre thing about it rather than having. a hard dark exoskeleton like other spiders this one looks fleshy no that's not quite. right it looks fatty looks squishy like parts of the body that get exposed in traumatic. crashes wrinkles and folds of pink mushy cells with fatty deposits except it cannot be made. from those kinds of things it's a spider as they watch the spider seems to recognize their. attention stands up on its back four legs and raises the remaining ones in the air it.

Looks almost as if it is doing some kind of mating dance for them it turns its back to. them revealing a pattern of brightly colored dots across its abdomen the doctor drags his. eyes away from the dance the sun is gone night has fallen again his stomach stabs at him. in hunger but that can't be right it was sunrise only a few seconds ago the headache had started. as he sat down on his flight now five hours in and somewhere over an ocean he knows he. is not going to sleep tonight he can't get the image of all those spiders out of his. mind he needs to report this and he will definitely but not yet a spider crawls up the seat in. front of him his heart stops and he sits back violently in his seat eyes wide on the floor. of the plane pink spiders everywhere they're not real they're not real just his imagination.

He needs some rest that's what he needs he'll fly home wait for the headache to pass then. he can call someone but right now he just feels too groggy to do any of that the adrenaline. of his hallucination passes as quickly as it had come he can feel the glass pot in his. pocket tapping occasionally begging for his attention his head aches he runs a hand through. his hair that can't be is he really growing gray hairs already in frustration he reaches. up and taps at his forehead much to his surprise the headache disappears almost instantaneously. if anything it feels good he sits there for several minutes drumming a couple of fingers. against his forehead and before he knows it he's fast asleep all his fears and anxieties. long behind him only they are not behind him once he touches down he goes straight home.

To his apartment no spiders to be seen why not shouldn't there be more spiders he certainly. wants more spiders his headache comes back he drinks water takes a medicine goes for. a nap and turns off all of the lights but nothing seems to work even the tapping stops. working more spiders a call lights up his phone screen an international number he takes. a long time to answer it it's his translator the man's voice is shrill panicked far beyond. what the doctor had ever heard before even when they'd been running from the spiders. the translator is not making much sense his words are slurred and his sentences stop and. start seemingly at random none of it makes sense the doctor turns the volume on his phone. down it's too loud for his headache way too loud government knows should have worn gloves. too late the pain the pleasure using a hammer none of it makes any sense the doctor looks.

Down at his phone screen the call is gone his phone is dead hadn't it been on full a. moment ago what time is it and where are the spiders he punches himself in the head a smile. spreads across his face he's in bed now something red around him his pillow it is soaked red. could that be from his head the sample pot sits on his bedside table only now it's empty. how did that happen wasn't he standing in the kitchen a moment ago he's losing time. he runs a hand through his hair webbing clings between his fingers he sits under his desk. with a hammer in his hand euphoria washing over his body just once more eight more times. he hits the hammer against his forehead endorphins flood every cell of his body so powerful he. almost passes out as the pleasure chemicals crawl inside of him oozing silk through the.

Pores of his skin webs hang all over his apartment now just one more hit eight more hits that. feeling it's just so his wrists his ankles how many limbs four not enough that light. where is he figures crowd around him it is hard to see them something's in his eye everything. looks blurry and far away the pain the pain is back his head someone please he screams. and pulls against the bindings on his limbs the pain it's it's impossible he needs to. make it stop just one hit just one more hit from the hammer that'll be enough something. is behind his eye he can feel it something crawling on the back of his eyeball but that. doesn't matter none of it matters except getting his pain to stop no more headaches just one. more hit that's all he needs the hospital staff have never seen anything like this before.

They're out of their depth here in the dead of night they arrange for the doctor to be. transferred to a specialist facility in the back of an ambulance it is a challenge to. get him out of his bed as the spider's web secreting from his skin have all but tied. him to the linen as fate would have it a drunk driver gives the doctor his final wish not. seeing a red light the driver plows full speed into the side of the ambulance sending it. spinning off the road and down a hill killing everyone inside including the doctor when. police arrive at the scene in the early hours of the morning they find the driver sitting. on his own staring at some small insect by the wreckage the driver is unharmed by the. incident his only complaint as he spends the following night in police custody is that. he feels a mild headache coming on anyone experiencing that headache is likely already.

Too far gone from their exposure to scp630 an anomalous species of cognito hazardous. arachnids nicknamed intrusive arachnid thoughts unconfirmed reports of mysterious spider colonies. have been springing up across asia particularly in rural china for several decades in connection. with this anomaly in 1972 the population of an unnamed town in the anhui province were. found to have been almost entirely wiped out an entire town of corpses each with their. heads caved in brain matter missing with 106 dead with 23 injured this case is to this. day the deadliest confirmed scp632 breach strange as it may be physiologically speaking. scp632 could be considered their bodies are squishy in texture bright pink and are in. fact made up of human tissue brain tissue to be exact coated in a layer of protective. fat as happened to our unfortunate doctor scp632 reproduces parasitically within the.

Human skull the exact mechanics of this process remain unclear it is believed that scp632. infects its human host through a selection of sensory triggers those infected have each. testified to having been exposed to the following firstly viewing the pattern on scp632's abdomen. exposed during the dance that the spiders often do under observation secondly making. physical contact with scp632 and lastly through exposure to as yet unidentified chemical compound. secreted by the older scp632 instances this is where luck was not on our doctor's side. he was smart enough to wear gloves during his encounter with scp632 in china which. may have been enough to protect him from being infected however upon his arrival as he fell. out of the car his hand landed directly in an scp632 web housing a solitary live spider.

If he had remembered his car sickness tablets this could have all been avoided within three. hours of initial exposure to scp632 the subject will start to experience mild headaches followed. by an uncanny sensation that their skin is growing silk during this period mri scans. have found that small filamentlike structures start to form within the host's brain tissue. as these filaments multiply and spread throughout the brain the subjects report developing an. obsession with spiders the brain tissue steadily deteriorates leading to changes in personality. and mood as well as irrational behavior over the coming days the headaches grow more severe. as the filament cells press against the blood vessels lining the inside of the skull subjects. find that they can relieve this sensation by tapping or hitting their forehead replacing.

It with a pleasurable feeling as the filaments release endorphins upon impact this is part. of the sinister final act of scp632's reproduction after six to seven days as the host's headaches. worsen they find they have to hit their skull harder and harder to alleviate the pain and. get that chemical high eventually driven mad by the pain inside their head they cracked. through their own skull at this point all the gestating spiders that have been forming. within the filaments in their brain estimated to number between 80 and 200 can escape through. the opening because of its unique containment difficulties caused by its cognitohazardous. properties scp632 has been given the euclid object class there is currently one live colony. of scp632 stored in the biological containment wing of site-52 the colony is housed in a.

Small enclosure measured 20 centimeters by 40 centimeters by 20 centimeters and sustained. on a diet of insects and water supplied through a vacuum chute all personnel that work in. proximity to scp632 are regularly screened physical contact with any scp-632 is strictly. prohibited and all personnel are required to wear protective equipment and respirators. at all times while handling live or deceased specimens they keep a close eye on anyone. developing any symptoms especially headaches the feeling of silk on the skin or intrusive. arachnid thoughts. 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 a 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 12:03pm. 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 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 10year-old boy. has for a normal life. If 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?". "Nah, 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 reel in shock, making retching 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 watch 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. But 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.

What do you 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, cherryred coloring, and small white speckles on its skin, it looks. unlike anything they've ever seen before. Actually, not unlike anything they've 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 retches in disgust. There is 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 is 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 kinda 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 is not happy about what his friends have done to him today. He is 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. It 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 really 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, thudding 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 even 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 is 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, and the doctor looks at his notes in apparent confusion.

Apparently, over the course of the night, the Soy has suffered a 72% 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 Xray to see a scan of the boy's chest cavity. It doesn't look so bad there is 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 Xray. "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 Marylebone Road, eyes darting frantically in all directions. He may have a concussion, and he 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 St Mary's Hospital before it's too late.

The bike careens 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 would be able to do this with no problem, but with his head injury, he can see the lights 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 his system. He can't look at his watch; he can't check the time. He just has to find this Boy.

Operating Theatre. 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 the heart in it, panting heavily. It's the moment of truth: is he too late? The doctor looks shellshocked, not at the biker's arrival but clearly at 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 can 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, SCP839, 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 SCP839. Whether they are of manmade or other origins is yet to be determined. That is not to say the SCP839 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, SCP839 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 cherryflavored 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 appleflavored 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, SCP839 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 lowpriority entity in the broader scope of the Foundation. There are no known cases as of yet of any SCP839 infections leading to death or serious chronic illness. Therefore, any instances that are captured by the Foundation are sent to Storage Site 8391, 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 SCP839 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 boy screams as his body transforms. His 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, and 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 shuteye before their exhausted parents notice,. wake them up, and rush to get them to school before the firstmorning 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. and 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 soup aisle. She reaches for her usual goto 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.

She starts to reach for chicken and rice instead, when she spots a colorful label on the top. shelf, depicting a chicken, vegetables, and noodles. She stands on her tiptoes, just barely. reaching the lone can. It's not a brand she's ever heard of before, not a label she's ever. seen, but it's chicken noodle soup. There's not really a way to get it wrong. She takes. the can over to the selfcheckout machine, not wanting to waste time standing in line.. She scans the barcode, and the machine's screen suddenly freezes.. 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 boy is at home raiding the pantry for snacks to sate his notat-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 on 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 is 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 pained 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 91-1 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 brighteyed 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 mouthit doesn't look like a mouth anymore. It's pointed, and hard, and his lips click together when he speaks, or rather, clucks. His bare feet are scaly and red, with claws protruding from his toes. He flaps his wings frantically, eyes wide and wild, clucking 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 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 seventeen 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 one hundred and three cans.

Of SCP2057, 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 had hoped. to hear about the improvement of their conditions 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" SCP2057 consists of ninety-two 318 ml cans of condensed chicken noodle soup. Each can is covered with a brightlycolored label depicting images of noodles, 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 pulltop lid for easy opening, and is printed with a set of nutrition facts, ingredients, and instructions for heating.

The Nutrition Facts are as follows: Calories, 95, Fat, 3.17g, Carbohydrates, 2.2g, Protein, 13.48g, Vitamin W, 2.00g, and Mother's Love, 10.00g. The SCP 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 analyzed soup samples.

The Ingredients are listed as: "Ultralicious™ chicken stock, enriched Chinese egg noodles,. finest cooked chicken breast, "farm fresh carrots, crispycrunchy celery, sweet Vidalia. onions, no paint thinner, fresh mountain spring water, Vitamin W™. Contains less than 2%. of the following ingredients: a pinch of salt, a smidgen of chicken fat, sprinkle of spice. extracted from rare plants, a dash of highquality unicorn tears.". The Instructions for Heating read: "Hey, Kids! Feeling sick, icky, or downright yucky? Just. pop open a can of Dr Wondertainment's Ultralicious™ 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 mass of egg noodles shaped like an egg. When water was added, and the contents of the can were heated to a temperature of 70 degrees Celsius, the noodlebased 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 SCP2057-1. As the Foundation researchers continued to heat the broth to a higher temperature, SCP2057-1 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 85g, and resembled a miniature adult chicken.

At a temperature between 35 and 70 degrees C, SCP2057-1 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 SCP2057-1 revealed that its insides were made up of soup ingredients, including celery and onion bones, cooked chicken breast muscles, carrot beak and legs, and chicken broth blood. When SCP2057-1's temperature dropped below 35 degrees C, it stopped moving and collapsed into the soup. At a temperature below 20 degrees C, 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 C, 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 wellbeing. This especially applied to test subjects with a case of influenza, measles, or the common cold. Following consumption of SCP2057, 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 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. served 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% 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 upsidedown 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. DClass 45782 was selected as the test subject for this particular experiment, and was instructed to reheat a bowl of cooled SCP2057-1 in a microwave on high for two minutes and thirty seconds. Then, he was to consume the reheated soup and report his experience to a camera placed in the room with him. As instructed, D45782 microwaved the bowl of soup. As it heated in the microwave, it emitted unintelligible vocalizations in a deep voice.

After removing the bowl from the microwave, D45782 noted that it was gelatinous-looking,. with blackened burnt bits around the edges. He took three bites of the disgusting, hotand-cold,. at the same time mixture before spitting it out onto the floor and refusing to eat another. bite. Fifteen minutes after tasting the reheated soup, D45872 began to exhibit significant. distress, clucking angrily into the camera. Five minutes later, D45872 became more difficult. to understand, clucks and other chickenlike 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,. D45872 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 sixteen more minutes passed, D45872 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% of his skin, and his face had begun to change drastically. His nasal area was elongated and hardened, joining with his lower jaw in an appendage resembling a bird's beak. His upper lip had disappeared into his nasal cavity. Only five minutes later, D45872 suddenly stopped moving, and collapsed to the floor.

Dead.. Following D45872's death, an autopsy was performed. These were the findings:. "Autopsy revealed D45782's cause of death was due to extreme and sudden physical change. of internal organs, resulting in shock and cardiac arrest. 93% of the subject's skin. was covered in feathers. Physical changes in the face resulted in a beaklike alteration. of the nose and mouth. Loose skin under the neck and on the top of the head resemble a. wattle 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. SCP2057-1 were incinerated after testing and autopsy.". Whenever not being used for approved experimentation, all cans of SCP2057 must be stored in a standard. largevolume storage locker in Containment Area-27, and kept at a temperature of 25 degrees.

Celsius. Because SCP2057 is in limited supply, all experiments must first be approved by. at least two personnel with 21103 clearance, as well as receiving the go-ahead from Dr.. Applegate.. There are still fortyone 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 at 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 pickme-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 decide to 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.

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