The SCP Experience - Bad Blood | SCP-790

Episode Date: January 12, 2022

SCP Foundation EUCLID class object, SCP-790 - Bad Blood Author: Matt Doggett Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/MatthewDoggettAuthor/ Website/Newsletter sign up: matthewdoggettauthor.com This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-790, 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

Lazang sur-gillet, Puisance-molyne for 15 minutes. We'd say that's the dojo. Prere to play. Vive the pleasure with the Ojo.

The casino in-line that proposes the most recent machine-as-soo and the money to do you on Big Bas-Bonanza. Without exigance

to miss and with the payments instantane. Hey! I've gained! Woohoo! Scentire the pleasure Play-O-Jo!

18-10 and plus, 1-Depo SOUK in Ontario. 50 tours on the machine-a-Bass-B-B-B-Banza. Depos minimum of $10. Veillethe's going to be in a fashion responsible. The conditions apply.

I turned off the siren as we pulled into the mall parking lot, stopping the ambulance right up against the sidewalk. People were streaming out of the mall entrance, running into the parking lot, as if away from a ticking bomb. Josh, my young partner and a new EMT, hopped out at the ambulance with a trauma bag while I grabbed a respiratory bag just in case.

It was a strange call. and I didn't know what to expect, but I had learned a long time ago to bring more than what you might need. If you had to run back out to the ambulance, it could mean the difference between life and death for your patient. I hustled around the front of the ambulance, dodging around one man who was running away from the mall.

His eyes were wide, and it looked like he had bits of vomit on the front of his shirt. Josh looked to me for guidance as I stepped onto the sidewalk. Even he knew this didn't seem right. Normally, the passenger attends, and the driver takes a supporting role. But I decided to take the reins on this one. The way these people were running away, I almost expected it to be an active shooter,

but the call hadn't said anything about that. Dispatch just said it was a man in shock, suffering from severe lacerations. If you hear shots get to cover, said to Joss just in case. A woman ran up to us, waving her hands as if trying to dry them in the air. He's in there, she called to us, pointing behind her at the entrance. Ma'am? I called. Is it safe? What's going on in there? I don't know, she said, running past us.

So much for help from Good Samaritans. We approached the entrance, the wall of the glass doors reflecting the bright afternoon sky behind us, making it impossible to see into the ball. Josh opened the door for me, and I stepped through, slowing down to look around the second row of doors. Once inside, I saw the food court in front of me. I noticed that all the tables were empty. Many of them still had food and drinks sitting there, abandoned. In the middle of the seating area, I could see a man with his back to me.

He was just standing there, seemingly frozen in place. I couldn't see his hands, which were held in front of him. I gestured Josh forward and then opened the door. The smell of Chinese food, pizza, pretzels, and Mexican food hit me as I stepped into the mall. I looked around for anyone else, scanning the tables and floors around the food court, searching for our patient. But I always kept the man with his back to me in my peripheral vision. It seemed he was the only one there.

Josh and I pulled our gloves on as we made our way toward the man, who was still a good 20 yards away. He was wearing a long brown cloth raincoat that was stained with dark spots here and there, spots that looked like blood. Oh my God, Josh said. I turned and looked at him. He raised his right hand and pointed at the man's feet.

I looked, gasping at the pool of blood that I saw there. Sir? I called out. Are you all right? I'm a paramedic. I'm here to help. The man turned around slowly, his dark shoes causing swirls in the puddle of blood as he moved. What the hell? Josh whispered in awe. The man had cuts all over his body. There were small ones on his head and neck, and larger ones on his chest, which was bare under the brown cloth coat. If his nearly soaked ragged slacks were any indication, he also had severe lacerations on his legs. All outward appearances, aside from the bleeding cuts, were normal. He was Caucasian, average height, and weight, had short messy hair, and had a few days' growth of facial hair.

But as he turned and looked towards us, I could see that his eyes shone with the kind of shock that accompanies serious injuries. But his mouth was telling a different story. The grin on his lips didn't reach his shocked eyes, which made the contrast disturbably. He held his hands out, palms up, like he was participating in some kind of religious ceremony. How is he still standing? Josh asked me. I shook my head. The question hadn't escaped me. There was so much blood. He must be on something, I said. Go around behind and get ready to subdue him. I'll try to talk him down. If he keeps bleeding like this, he'll die. Josh looked at me with a refusal in his eyes.

but he moved off in a wide arc around the tables to get behind the man. What's your name? I said to the bloody man. He made no reply, except a small shake of his head. The strange expression on his face hadn't changed, but I noticed that he was now bleeding from his nose. Sir, I said, stepping toward him, closing the distance slowly. I'm here to help you,

but I'm going to need you to sit or lie down so I can stop the bleeding. Do you understand me? Again, he made no reply. Josh was coming up behind him, and I signaled for him to wait. He stopped about ten feet behind the man, setting the trauma back down on the floor next to him. I'm going to have my partner there pull out a seat for you to sit in. Will you let us help you? The blood pulling around the man's feet started vibrating, like he was moving his feet up and down quickly.

But I saw no movement from where I was. I took a step closer, holding both hands away from my body. The respiratory bag hung from my shoulder by its strap. When I was sure the man's attention was fully on my face, I signaled to Josh to approach. My plan was to have him grab the man from behind while I helped get him on the ground from the front. Josh was two paces away

when a tendril of blood shot up from the pool at the man's feet. It seemed to solidify as it reached out, grabbing it Josh, who was backpedaling in horror. The tendril of blood latched onto Josh's arm and yanked it, dislocating his shoulder with a popping and tearing sound that echoed around the cavernous room. He screamed and tried to pull away, but more dark red tendrils shot out of the blood.

One grabbed Josh around the waist and lifted him off the ground while the other yanked again on his arm, ripping it completely off his abdomen and a spray of blood. The rope of blood around Josh's waist slammed him down on a table face first, destroying his facial structure. It picked him up again, and I could hear the rattle of broken teeth as they fell out of Josh's ruined mouth and onto the tile floor. It brought him down on the table again, snapping his neck as the back of his head folded

back to touch between his shoulder blades. The tendrils then threw Josh's body one way, his arm another, sending them crashing into tables and chairs on either side of the food court. The whole thing took about 15. seconds. I had stopped moving forward as soon as I'd seen the blood shoot out the first time. I stood, mouth open, heart hammering, eyes, unbelieving, about three yards from the man. He hadn't so much as turned around during the ordeal. I took a slow step back, hands up in front of me. I was getting ready to ditch the bag and run when blood snapped out at me, grabbing me by the

leg and yanking me off the ground to hang upside down as if from a snare. As my world turned upside down, the feeling of the animated blood gripping me above the ankle drew my attention. It was as if the blood was somehow wet and hard at the same time. It felt as if it were shifting around my skin while still gripping it. And as it brought me closer to the man, I got a good glimpse at the cord of blood where it stretched out from the pool to hold me in the air. It was moving, flowing, at what looked like an incredible rate, like a miniature river of blood that could move itself in any direction it wanted and into any shape. I prepared for the pain, for the thing to rip my leg off and to bash my brains in on the hard tile floor, but it didn't. It brought me in close

to the man, our faces a foot or so apart, mine upside down and his right side up. The man opened his mouth, and blood poured out, running down his chin for a solid five seconds before it slowed to a trickle. It likes you, the man said in a scratchy whisper, You've been chosen. No, I said, although I didn't know what he was talking about. Please, no. He closed his mouth and smiled again.

Only this time the grin reached his eyes. But as it did, his left eye seemed to float. like he was going cross-eyed. Then it popped. His eyelid deflating as blood streamed down his cheek. The right eye followed. I found myself hanging upside down, looking at a man whose eyes

had just popped like small balloons filled with blood. Yet the smile remained on his face. I screamed. The sound bouncing off the domed skylight ceiling and coming back to me changed, morphed and distorted. A sharp pain in my ankle caused me to convulse, bending at the waist to look up at where the blood was holding me. My pants around the

tendril were now soaked with blood, and the stain was expanding. The pain continued, and I soon became aware of another sensation. It didn't take me long to identify it. The blood had cut me, and it was making its way into my body. I screamed again, and reached up toward my leg, trying to make it stop, to keep it from getting inside me. Three more strong, wet tendrils shot out of the slowly shrinking pool of blood, each one grabbing one free limb. They'd pulled me into an upside-down spread eagle position, and then the pain and the filling sensation quickly followed.

I could do nothing but watch as the puddle of blood around the man's feet shrank, the liquid there flowing up the tendrils and into my body. I felt my skin stretch, my veins and arteries bulging as they tried to accommodate the new blood in my body. but that feeling didn't last long. Cuts opened up on me, the incisions coming from inside rather than out.

There was pain there, but very little. The feeling of my clothes soaking up the blood was unmistakable, and after a couple of minutes, the warm liquid trickled down my head and dripped off my scalp onto the floor. The tendrils put me down as the process finished up. I stood up, feeling very strange, and looked at the mystery man.

The blood around his feet was now gone. The only blood on the ground was the small puddle that had come from my own wounds. His wounds were still evident, but they were no longer bleeding. There wasn't a drop of blood on him. The wounds were the pink and white of fat and tissue. The strange smile was gone from his face,

and his body seemed to sink in on itself as I watched. He crumpled into a grotesque pile of furrow. flesh on the tile floor. A chill rolled down my body as a voice spoke in my mind. Only it wasn't a voice like any I'd ever heard. It was a form of communication I'd never considered, a combination of feeling, imagery, and whispers from some place deep down below the world as I knew it. There was a power to it, an intoxicating supremacy that spoke of a life started before the formation of matter in the universe. Somehow, this voice came to me from inside, but it wasn't mine. It was close, like the echo was close, but not mine. It was changed, morphed, distorted, yet familiar.

Hungry, it said in its strange way. I knew without thinking that transferring from one body to another made it hungry, and I knew what it wanted to eat, and for some reason it didn't. It didn't. bother me. After all, it was me. I was it. There was no difference, really. It was hungry. No, I was hungry. I turned my head and looked at Josh's mutilated body where it had come to rest among a clutter of chairs. Hunger rose in me like a tsunami, overpowering all else. The power, my power, thrummed through the cuts on my body and vibrated the small pool of blood at my feet. I propelled myself through the air, landing effortlessly next to Josh's body. Time for lunch, I thought, and what an appropriate place for it.

SEP 790 is animated human blood that emanates almost constantly from its host's pores, tear ducts, salivary glands, and several deep wounds and scars that have been. cover the host's body. These wounds are believed to be produced by SCP 790 itself. It systematically attacks the cells of its host's tissues and skeletal system, converting them into fresh blood cells, hence the constant flow of blood from the injuries. Despite being positively identified as human blood, SCP 790's activities constantly suggest otherwise. Not only is it sapient, but exposure to air does not result in clotting and drying. It is also demonstrated intelligence and crude sentience. However, SCP 790 does not appear interested in infecting other subjects, at least not at this time.

Nonetheless, it will react violently should it be handled carelessly or harshly. Attacks on the host are responded to with lethal force. It is currently believed that SCP 790 will stay in one host at a time until the body is so degraded, It can no longer support the constant blood generation that SCP 790 requires.