The SCP Experience - A Case of Bad Gas | SCP-4032

Episode Date: December 15, 2021

SCP Foundation SAFE class object, SCP-4032: A Case of Bad Gas. This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-4032, and is released under Creative Commons Sharealike 3.0. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/ DISCLAIMER: This episode contains explicit content. Parental guidance is advised for children under the age of 18. Listen at your own discretion. #drscp #scp #scpfoundation #doctorscp #scpencounters #securecontainprotect #scpstories #scpexplained #whatisscp Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Welcome to aboard Via Rai. Embarked and profite. Embarked and celebrate. Rigolet. Publiere. Savoyed. Admirate. And profite.

Viarai. The voice that we love that we have. I got the call a little after five in the afternoon. A couple weeks have gone by since my recruitment and abduction with the foundation. I spent the time reading up on their, or I guess, our mission statement, and different containment. procedures, at least the ones I have access to. This organization is built upon secrets upon secrets and need to know is their mantra. I could probably work here my whole life and never get

access to all of the anomalies they've come across. Guess I'll find out because I'm pretty sure this is a lifetime appointment. Book, my faithful miniature mutt, strolls along at my feet as I follow one of the white coats out to the van in an underground garage. The white coats are the only ones that have something resembling a uniform. I guess the whole point of a secret organization is to blend in. Still, most of the staff have a sort of semi-formal wear, khaki pants and button-up shirts, the kind you would expect to find at a bank. I stand out in my Blink 182 shirt and jeans. If they want me to dress nicer, they're going to have to get me some more clothes. The only outfits I have are the ones that were in my suitcase the night the foundation jumped me.

While everyone blends together, it's easy to tell which of the three foundation departments everyone belongs to. The security members are all former military or law enforcement, standing at strict attention or with chips on their shoulders. When they shed their white coats, The researchers usually look into tablets or stare off into space. The investigators generally pass their time looking at everyone and everything. It doesn't take long to recognize a familiar face. Minnie looks pretty much the same as when they scooped us up. Her knuckles and ankle have healed since I last saw her.

She wears a sleeveless blank tank top and cargo pants. She breaks away from the crowd and walks over to me. How you settling in? I ask. To my prison cell? She swears something under her breath and a language I don't know. I'm guessing it's time-based on her surname. Her accent is all-American, though.

The typical hard-to-place Midwestern you hear on most network sitcoms. Minnie has a story, but she hasn't been willing to share a word of it so far. She frowns at me. How are you handling this so well? Same as our little interview. I don't see any other option. A kneel down. and scratch book behind the ears, and he starts panting happily.

At least the company's nice. The security staff comes to attention as another white coat walks toward us, tall and lanky. The doctor swagger's forward covered in the usual allotment of freckles that accompanies those who naturally sport blazing red hair. He looks us over, and his annoyed look grows stronger. I'm Dr. James Logari. He begins as if we should know who he is.

and it has fallen on me to supervise the training of new recruits. This is also the most insignificant and annoying of my many responsibilities. So the sooner we get this over with, the better. Minnie and I exchange a look at each other. Is this guy for real? Safely concealed behind one of the beefier new security recruits, Minnie closes her fist in an obscene gesture and pumps it up and down. I stifle my laugh.

Many might not have been a journalist like I was, but all of the military vets I know aren't strangers to jerk off supervisors. We've intercepted a distress call, he continues, not noticing Minnie's quick assessment of his personality. Some idiot discovered wild berries growing near his property. Naturally, he ingested them and proved Darwin's theories. This is probably nothing more than a simple case of food poisoning. However, Our superiors think it's a possible but unlikely anomaly due to the unfamiliar description of the ingested fauna. If nothing else, and that is likely the case, it will serve as a training exercise for those newly recruited. Kidnapped. Minnie corrects him under her breath.

Based on his frown, he at least understood the spirit of Minnie's comment, if not the words themselves. Everyone, load up. We all have places we'd rather be. so let's get this over with as soon as possible. Everyone climbs into the van, and I get in line to do the same. Before I can, Dr. Legory stands in my way. Agent Hale. His eyes glance over my clothes before meeting mine directly.

Just where do you think you're taking that animal? The word agent takes me by surprise. I guess it's my official title, but it's the first time I've ever been addressed as such. I suppose it's to make a son. sound official, since the foundation doesn't officially exist. However, since we're traveling by what looks like a commandeered airport shuttle and are dressed like an office carpool, it makes me feel more like we're playing make-believe. I glanced down at book and then back up to the doctor.

To the van? And then presumably to wherever the van's going? Is pale skin reddens? No, you're not. I scratched my head. So we're not getting in the van? You might want to tell everyone else that. Many snorts from the open doors, and Dr. Ligori's skin does its best imitation of a tomato. You are not bringing that animal with you. Leave it here. These animals are called dogs, and this one's called book, and he's coming with me, or I'm not going. Dr. Ligari freezes mid-turn.

His fingers tightened around the tablet he's holding. Apparently, he's not used to being challenged or being told no. I stare at him, meeting every ounce of his hatred with stubborn indifference. Two weeks ago, they had Minnie and I explore a hallway that manifested our darkest fears. The third guy with us nearly suffocated, and, last I heard, he was still being held for observation. Like hell, I'm going to leave my dog alone in a place this creepy with a bunch of morally deficient scientists as his baby. visitors. Excuse me, Dr. LaGari?

The White Code who led me here squeaks. But Director Griffith has given the animal asset status. It's clear for field work. He shoots the researcher with a death glare meant for me. He doesn't say a word and heads to the passenger side door. Figuring it's as close as he's going to get in giving me permission, I scoop book up in my arm and climb into the seat next to Minnie. I pet book's head and coo loudly at him.

an asset you are yes you are I'm rewarded with minnie's grin a wag of books stumpy tail and Ligari fuming silently in his seat we pull up to the green vine farm about an hour later it's named after the owners Anthony and Marsha green that and the fact that it's a vineyard growing grapes and other preserves they make jams jellies preserves and a wine that won a contest at the county fair all this information Information is supplied in a foundation dossier that we've all been given. Dr. Ligari doesn't even open his. I have to admit, the foundation can throw together a lot of information in a short time frame.

It makes me wish I had access to their researchers back when I was a reputable journalist, but I'm sure this is a case of wanting your cake and eating it too. Anyone who could get a job working for the general public wouldn't be with the foundation. The van rumbles across a long gravel driveway. It pulls to a stop at a simple two-story, rustic but well-maintained cottage. Each of us files out of the car and follow Dr. Ligari's lead. He walks up the steps at a clipped pace and wraps against the door. Mr. Green, no answer.

Mr. Green. I peer through one of the porch windows. Inside, someone's on the living room floor but isn't moving. His hands are around his stomach. Minnie stands close to me and sees the same. She doesn't wait for orders. She shoves Ligari away during his third night and kicks the door in. The stench hits all of us at once and sends book whimpering and scampering off the porch.

I raise my shirt over my mouth and nose and cough. Minnie isn't quite as lucky, taking the full brunt of the stench to the face and leans over the porch and gags. She's one of the lucky ones. More than a few recruits bend over and toss their lunches into fresh-reaking puddles onto the ground. It smells like someone blended dirty gym socks with rotten eggs, guzzled the whole thing down, and shit it right into the air.

Ligari finishes puking, wipes his mouth, and dons a face mask. One of the researchers offers some to the rest of the staff. Most are too busy puking. But many and I recover enough to accept one. and a pair of gloves. We follow Dr. LaGari inside. The man on the floor matches the picture of Anthony Green and the dossier, right down to the same beaten pair of overalls. He's unconscious, and his breathing is shallow and weak. Dr. LaGari leans over and presses two fingers down on his

lower abdomen. A loud fart reverberates beneath the man, and the smell is a fresh assault of the earlier stench clawing at the boundaries of our face masks. Dr. Ligari lifts his hand up in disgust and heads to the kitchen with Minnie and I close behind. He lifts up a pot on the stove, revealing a full pot of brown beans. The next one contains bubbling green cabbage leaves. A jar of grape jelly rests on the kitchen table. Its label is simple and homemade, bearing the words, green vine preserves. Ligari frowns at the counter.

Resting atop it is a plate of circular breeder. brown on the top and white on the inside. A large chunk has been ripped from the bread and dumped in a glass of milk. Cornbread, I say, and he turns and frowns at me. What? You didn't know what dogs were earlier. Thought maybe you weren't familiar with the hallmarks of rural Americana. Ligari swears and pinches his brow. I have three PhDs, and they diverted my attention away from the mysteries of the universe to supervise a case of bad gas. He slams his fist on the cornbread, knocking the plate over and shattering it to the ground. Someone call an ambulance for Mr. Green.

No sense in referring him to one of our facilities for such a mundane cause. That's it? I say. You don't want to use one of those PhDs to help the man writhing in pain in the next room? He rears on me. His posture goes rigid. Do you have a problem with the... way I conduct operations, Agent Hale. Everyone made it to the kitchen, crowding around us.

Dr. Ligari is fuming, and I let out a sigh of annoyance from behind my mask. If this turns into a pissing contest, the doctor will order us back into the van just to show that he's the one in charge. Time to play things a bit more diplomatically. Look, this is a training opportunity, right? Everyone here hasn't seen daylight in weeks. Give us ten minutes. Let the suit. Let the superiors. security folks stretch their legs, give the techies a chance to try out some of their doohickeys, and let me poke around some. What's the harm? Enough red drains from his face that I know Ligari sees reason, but not enough for me to get everything I want. You have five minutes?

Shrugging my shoulders and keeping my mouth shut, I walk away and leave those more qualified to deal with Mr. Green to their jobs. I exit through the kitchen screen door and walk down the steps to the backyard. The door closes again behind me, but I'm already halfway toward the grapevines near the small barn. It doesn't take many long to catch up with me. You know, she says, you're pretty good at pissing people off. Would have been a pretty shitty reporter if I wasn't. As we walked through the farm, I noticed it wasn't too different from the one my grandfather used to own. You know, I hate cornbread. What? Cornbread. Ain that shit. Eater. Eater. Eater. Eight that shit. every day as a kid. Can't stand it. She frowns. So why'd you eat it every day? Because we couldn't

afford anything else, I say, my suspicion's growing. Cornbread, beans, cabbage, they're cheap country staples. Either the greens have three taste buds between them, or they've fallen on hard times. We stop at the edge of the vineyard, where the forest began, wild black grapes grew everywhere. Most of them were already picked over. This must have been what Mr. Green ingested. They looked like black pebbles of death on withered vines. I hear a familiar whimpering from the barn behind us and step inside. Book stands in front of a couple bushels of the same poisonous wild black grapes.

The barn walls are lined with shelves that sit mostly empty, except for a couple of familiar jars labeled Green Vine Preserves. A box of purple food coloring lies discarded, next to an out-of-place desk. On top of the desk is a ledger filled with several orders. My eyes widen as I see the addresses. Fuck! He put the poisonous berries into his products and already sent them out. We hear the roar of the van's engine. That son of a bitch doctor is already leaving. I snatched the ledger off the desk and spin around.

Minnie, get everyone back here, now! She doesn't ask questions and exits the barn at a full sprint. I make my way back to the house when I remember something. The dossier said Mr. Green ran this farm with his wife. So where is she? I walked through the halls and quickly find their bedroom. A shriveled old woman lies unmoving on a bed beneath a quilt. I check her pulse, but find none. The sounds of a scuffle echo from the end of the hall.

I whistle, dragging Dr. Ligari in a tight headlock. Several nervous researchers and security guards trail in her wake. She lets him go, and he opens his mouth and leaves it open at the sight of the dead body. I shoved the ledger into his chest and grabbed the radio clipped on his belt. Field team report. Confirmed outbreak. Full containment protocols in effect for Greenvine Farm in the surrounding township. The rest of the security protocols go blank in my mind, so I stick with the facts. Whatever Green found in the woods, he mixed it with his jams and sold it.

Customers include a local grocery chain, farmers market, and elsewhere. Elementary school. Hurry. It's after midnight when I finished typing up the after-action report. I haven't seen Dr. Ligari since I took his radio. From what many said, Director Griffith read him the riot act. I spin in my chair and see the devil himself. He walks in, limping on his cane, and sits in the chair next to me. We were able to intercept the tainted goods before they were sold.

Only Mr. Green and his wife were infected. Good catch today, Agent Hale. Lucky you mean, I rubbed my eyes. Could have easily gone the other way. It almost did. Yes. The director looks on impassively and twirls the top of his cane. I'm afraid this sometimes happens in our line of work.

We see things that defy expectations, that temper the rules of reality itself. Sometimes we get overwhelmed with the extraordinary. We forget that much more ordinary things are equally unexplainable and also pose a deadly threat to people. I reach for my third cup of coffee. Like deadly fart berries? He lets out a deep sigh and slumps in his chair. As the agent who discovered the anomaly,

the responsibility of naming it falls on you. But I implore you, Cody. Please think of a better name. Too late, boss. I close my laptop. Reports already been filed. SCP 4032 is a wide, mounding, deciduous shrub producing a small, round, brown fruit designated SCP-432-1.

When an animal or human consumes SCP-4032-1, it produces extreme gastrointestinal distress. One hour following consumption, the affected individual will form an excess amount of flatulence containing elevated levels of hydrogen sulfide and a smaller but dense. noticeable amount of methane gas. Due to an anomalous effect, this flatulence will continuously be produced until the affected individual is deceased. Fasting and dehydration do not affect the flatulence, and endoscopy has discovered no identifiable source of the anomalous flattice.

An affected individual in an area with improper ventilation will, over time, experience severe symptoms caused by hydrogen sulfide poisoning, including conjunctivitis, respiratory irritation, loss of smell, pulmonary edema, and death. Lazzang sur-gillet, power powering, on 15 minutes. Oh, you'd say that's the lojo? Preete the pleasure with Leo Jo! The casino in line that proposes the most recent machine-assed and games of co-ofes.

Profite of 50 tours gratu on Big Bas Bonanza, without exigance of misisance and with the payments instantane. Hey, I've got gained! Woo-hoo! Sentire the pleasure. 18-8-and-plus, 1st5-d4-depoos only, exclude in Ontario. 50 tours-grat on the machine-soubeck-bas-Bonanza. Depo minimum of $10.

Veye, I'm going to be a fashion responsible. The conditions apply.