The SCP Experience - A Life For a Life | SCP-1509

Episode Date: April 22, 2022

SCP Foundation SAFE class object, SCP-1509: A Life for a Life This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-1509, and is released under Creative Commons Sharealike 3.0. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/ Author: Matt Doggett Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/MatthewDoggettAuthor/ Website/Newsletter sign up: matthewdoggettauthor.com 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

Please don't do this. I didn't kill her. Okay, dude? I swear I don't know anything about it. It wasn't me. The tears dripping down Mason Muller's cheeks gave me a moment of pause as I removed the knife from the sheath. He sounded genuinely scared. He looked scared too. His face was screwed up with fear, and his eyes bounced crazily between my face and the machete-like knife I held. He was just a 19-year-old kid, barely able to grow a beard. From a good family, He didn't seem like the type, but nothing else made sense. It had to be him. It had to be. Would you trade your life for hers? I asked him.

What? What are you talking about? She's dead, man. I barely even knew her. I didn't do it. He squirmed. The thick zip ties digging into his ankles and wrists as he tried to break free. I didn't think the zip ties would break. They were the kind law enforcement used. and the anchors I drilled into the concrete floor in my basement wouldn't be coming loose either. Would you trade your life for hers? I said, close to yelling this time. Yes or no? Yes, yes.

I would if I could, okay? But I didn't do it, man. I didn't. I looked at him, his pleading blue eyes, the steady stream of tears, the quivering chin. Kneeling down next to him, I pulled his t-shirt up to reveal his stomach. No, man! He screamed. No, don't do this.

I touched the edge of the blade to his stomach, just above his belly button. He had barely any hair around his navel. He just finished puberty a few years ago. Could this kid have killed my wife? I didn't do it. We'll see, I said, and slid the blade across his skin. My throat constricted as the clerk of the court read the verdict. Not guilty.

I sat down heavily in my seat behind the prosecutor's bench. My vision grew hazy as I looked over to see Mason Muller, Hug his lawyer, a relieved smile in his face. The kid's parents reached over the wooden railing and wrapped their son in a hug next. I'm sorry, Rick, the assistant district attorney said to me. I looked up at her. My thoughts somehow jumbled and completely blank at the same time. I wanted to drink, but the thought of one made me feel nauseous, more nauseous than I already was.

After all, that's what had started this whole thing. It was the reason that my testimony wasn't taken seriously why Mason Muller was now a free man. Nina and I had been fighting a lot in the weeks before her death because I had been drinking a lot. We'd gotten into it one evening just before she was scheduled to tutor Mason, something she did to help bring in a little extra money. She specialized in college algebra, but also tutored in English and creative writing.

As I left our townhouse after a shouting match, I ran into Mason on the front steps. I could tell by the look on his face that he'd heard the fight, but I didn't care at the time. I didn't know anything about him, aside from the fact that my wife had tutored him only a couple of times at that point. I moved past him with barely a glance,

heading to a bar a few blocks away. When I came home three hours later, I caught him in the house. At least I thought it was him. I was drunk, but the man who rushed out my back door certainly looked like Mason. My wife was face down on the floor in the kitchen, a knife sticking out of her back amid a dozen or more stab wounds.

I called the police, the alcohol in my system serving to make the reality of the situation nothing more than a haze. They immediately suspected me, putting me in cuffs and drawing my blood to get an accurate blood alcohol level. I was slurring my words, telling them about Mason or who I thought was Mason. The problem was that my memory was in question during the trial. given my stellar 0.245 blood alcohol level. The defense attorney went to town with that. Additionally, while Mason's DNA was in the house, it wasn't on the murder weapon, nor on Nina's body.

This, combined with the fact that both Mason's mother and father said he was home at the time of the murder, made sure that he wasn't held criminally responsible for Nina's death. But I knew it was him. Even if my memory was fuzzy on the details, I knew in my gut that he did. it. And I knew of a way to find out for sure. Working for the SCP Foundation has its perks. When Nina was killed, I'd been with the foundation for a little over a decade. I'd worked

around lots of different SCPs, but the one I was thinking of was like no other, and it was classified as safe, so getting it wouldn't be much of a problem. A hundred bucks slipped to the right guard in the low security storage area, got me access, and also a few minutes of camera malfunctions. The guard knew me, and I knew him well. He was more than happy to do it. The $100 was just a courtesy. The SCP, a kind of cross between a perang and a bowie knife, left the facility tucked into my pants. It was a little awkward to walk with, but I made it out without any issues. Next was the matter of getting Mason Muller without being arrested. All my plans would go up in flames if I was caught, so I had to be smart about it.

Luckily, Mason was a lot like other 19-year-olds. He liked to go out and party with his friends. I followed him for weeks, watching his habits and looking for times when he was alone and vulnerable. When he wasn't at classes, which seemed to be most of the time, he was usually hanging out with a group of other college-age males. And like other college-age males, it wasn't uncommon for Mason to drive drunk on occasion, which made things easier for me. several hours in my car for Mason to come out of the pool hall was easy. I was close to the

prize, trading his life for Nina's. Any doubts I had about his involvement in her death, I pushed away with preparations and memories of Nina's smiling face and recollections of how it felt when I finally sobered up and realized that she was actually gone. But the one thing I hadn't done since the night Nina died was drink. There were times when I'd wanted to. the end of the trial being among the most tempting, but I didn't. It had taken my wife's death for me to see how much a problem my drinking was, and a realization like that is not something you take lightly. So when I saw Mason stumble out of the pool hall toward his car, I was ready.

I just had to hope that no one came around the side of the building in the next several minutes. But it was a Wednesday, and I knew from my weeks of research that it was the day with the least amount of traffic to the pool hall. I crouched in the dark behind my car, waiting until Mason put the keys in his door, at which point, I hurried across the parking lot. My plan was to sneak up on him and put him in a headlock, applying enough pressure for a couple of minutes to cut off the flow of oxygen to his brain, knocking him out. Unfortunately, I didn't surprise him. He turned his head as I walked up, and when he saw it was me, he tried to run away. I reached out and caught a handful of his shirt in my hand, yanking him back to me. He threw a couple of elbows into my ribs,

but I did manage to get my arm around his neck. He struggled and screamed and punched. It was all I could do to bring him to the ground. Finally, after about four minutes, he went limp. I was exhausted. Even though I had a good 30 pounds on him, it still sapped my energy to knock him out. I bound his hands and got him in the back of his car, then drove to my home, parking in the garage. I didn't have to wait long for him to wake up after I secured him in the basement. I was holding the SCP in my hand, still in its wooden sheath when he woke up. That was when the pleading started. I placed the edge of the blade to his stomach, just above his belly button.

He had barely any hair around his navel. He'd just finished puberty a few years ago. Could this kid have killed my wife? But I knew I wasn't wrong. I knew it. And I knew he'd say anything to save his life. I didn't do it. We'll see, I said, and slid the blade across his skin.

I made sure the cut was longer and wider than three inches to be safe. It wasn't pleasant, watching his skin part and the blood well up. But neither was the sight of my wife dead on the floor, stabbed in the back. He screamed as though I'd plunge the blade into his guts. But when I stepped back and sat in the chair I had nearby, he grew confused. He looked down at the cut and then up at me. He had no idea what was coming. I was pleased to see that the cut didn't bleed very much.

I think this anomaly surprised him, but he kept his mouth shut, probably afraid he'd only served to piss me off if he continued to plead for his life. I took note of the time on the clock I'd brought down from the kitchen, and I sat back to wait. Unfortunately, Mason couldn't keep his mouth shut for long. about an hour passed before he started up again.

What's your fucking game, man? He whined. You're going to torture me or something? You get off on watching young guys bleed? What the hell is this? Tell me the truth, and I'll tell you what my game is, I said. I told you. I didn't fucking do it, dude.

You're a goddamn psycho. My dad's going to sue your ass. You'll go to jail for years. Don't you fucking talk to me about jail, you little shit. I said, lunging toward the kid with a knife in my hand. I wanted to stab him with it, to hack him to bits, but I wouldn't. Even if that's what I wanted to do, I didn't have it in me. What the fuck is this?

He said, if you're not going to tell me why you killed my wife, then I don't want to hear you speak. Do you understand me? Mason shook his head, but he didn't speak. Another hour passed before he started complaining of strange sensations in his stomach. I feel sick, man. He said, there's something wrong. This doesn't feel good. I think I'm going to be sick.

I smiled down at him. What did you do? Did you poison that knife or something? What kind of fucked up shit is this? He cried out in pain, convulsing, trying to double over, but unable to because his legs and feet were still bound to the four metal anchors. I turned my attention to the wound on his stomach. When I saw it move, bulging out slightly as if something was pressing, tentatively

on it from the inside, a ball of excitement blossomed in my stomach. Make it stop! Mason cried as something pressed on the wound again. Then his words left him. He continued to scream whenever he was able, but coherency had abandoned him. The wound split several inches, growing wider as it opened from the inside. A blood-slick bulge about the size of an adult human head appeared slowly through the wound, some unseen force pushing it out.

Mason's wrists and ankles were now bleeding profusely, where he'd stripped off the skin on the hard plastic zip ties and his convulsions. The shoulders came next, emerging impossibly from the wound on his stomach. It was clear to me that the figure was covered in some kind of slimy, opaque membrane, concealing its features. I wanted to grab hold of the figure and pull it out, but I couldn't. I had to be patient, so I sat, and I watched. An hour and a half after it started, the human figure emerged fully from the wound. Mason was either dead or passed out at this point, but I didn't care. What I cared about was the person under that slimy fluid.

Grabbing a towel from a stack I'd brought down to the basement, I leaned over the figure and wiped away the goo coating its head, and I saw the beautiful face of my wife, Nina. Until that moment, I hadn't realized how much I doubted what I kept telling myself I knew. My memory of the night was hazy, and so I had been second-guessing myself the entire time, during, and after the trial. But the fact that I had her back told me that I was right. The SCP doesn't lie. Mason had been the one there.

He had killed her, and I had seen him running out of the house when I got home in a drunken stupor. Nina's eyelids fluttered open and looked up at me. Rick? She said, her voice sending a wave of emotion through me. Where am I? What happened? Nothing, baby, I said, cradling her to my chest, making sure she didn't see the dead or dying mason behind her.

Nothing happened. Oh, except for one thing. What's that? She said in a sleepy voice. I quit drinking. SEP 1509 is a bladed weapon, similar to an Indonesian perang. It is approximately 63 centimeters in length, with a steel blade of 48 centimeters in length. The anomalous effects of the item only manifest when it is used to cut a human.

Depending on the type of wound inflicted, one of two anomalous effects, referred to as effect 1509-1 and effect 1509-2 will occur. Small wounds of 7 cm or less will cause a number of pharaoh ants to appear from the wound. This is effect 1509-1. Effect 1509-2 occurs when the item inflicts a wound on the torso or so, neck, upper arms, or thighs greater than 7 centimeters. Blood loss from the wound will be significantly lower than what would normally be expected of such a wound. However, within three hours of being cut, the subject will begin to feel nauseous,

complaining of unpleasant sensations of movement from within the wound. Over a period of between 20 and 180 minutes, an instance of SCP-509-2 will force its way out of the wound. Instances show anomalous levels of flexibility during the process, being able to pass through wounds that should not be able to accommodate their size. Effect 1509-2 is universally fatal to the subject. If the subject survives the massive trauma caused by the process, they will quickly lapse into unconsciousness, followed by death. Each instance of SCP 1509-2 is indistinguishable from a deceased person, familiar with the subject who has died within the past 30 years, for reasons other than old age. If a wound is made using SCP 1509,

on a subject who was committed murder, manslaughter, or who has otherwise been directly responsible for the death of a human being, the instance of SCP-19-2 produced is typically one of their victims. Lazzangue sur-gillet, puissance-molyne for 15 minutes.

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