The SCP Experience - Bad Day Sunshine | SCP-2022

Episode Date: July 8, 2024

Want to listen ad-free? Try it FREE for 7 days here: patreon.com/TheSCPExperience SCP Foundation SAFE class object, SCP-2022. This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-2022 and is released under Creative Commons Sharealike 3.0. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/ Author: Jake B. * * * DISCLAIMER: This episode contains explicit content. Parental guidance is advised for children under the age of 18. Listen at your own discretion. #thescpexperience #scp #scpfoundation #scpencounters #securecontainprotect #scpstories Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Here we are, parole officer Jordan says, as we sit in his car and study the dilapidated house that matches the last known address of my target. Lisa Corvel. She married Simon Corveld the day she turned 18. He sniffs loudly. He was 33. Did she ever visit him in prison? I ask. How would I know that? Jordan replies. I'm her parole officer, not the prison warden. You think I have the sign-in sheet memorized for every prison in the prison in the tri-state area? As long as she reports each week and passes her piss test, I don't give a flying fuck where she goes or who she visits. I turn and give him a withering look. I've worked with plenty of civilians in my time as a field agent. This guy? useless. The estranged husband of one of his parolees has escaped, and he acts like I told him that his neighbor's dog got out of the

fence. Not that Corvall escaped from an actual prison. The foundation had him as a class for months, using him and others for jobs that are only for the expendable. That is until some moron in testing decided to use the SOB as a test subject for sunlight pills. Now I'm looking for a guy that even the cameras at the facility couldn't pick up anymore. So that's a no? I say. A shrug is his first response. Did she ever mention she has or was going to visit him? I ask. Did he ever come up in normal conversation? normal conversation. The guy loves, and he's not laughing at what I said.

He's laughing at me. I hate this guy. She's a junkie and a whore. There's no normal conversation. When a woman keeps saying she'll suck your dick for 20 bucks while you're trying to type up that week's intake. And did she? I asked.

Did she what? He replies. He's not laughing anymore. Did I take her up on it, you mean? He shakes his head and narrows his eyes. But he doesn't answer me. What's all this about again? He asks.

Her estranged husband escaped, I begin. But he holds up a hand and waves it in my face. Nah, I don't buy it, he says. Why don't you have the marshals with you? Fugitive on the loose is the U.S. Marshal's jurisdiction. This case is different, like I told you, I say. Bringing the entire Marshal service into this would not be prudent. But bringing me in is?

He laughs again. definitely at me. Buddy, if my boss hadn't told me this was mandatory, I'd kick you to the curb right now. I smile at him, then turn back to the house. Fuck this guy. When this is all set and... Hold up, I say. Got something.

It's dusk, and the sun has almost set, which makes the bright light in the front window even more obvious. She turned on the light, Jordan says, bored. Wow, what a break. I guess we know she's home. I don't need a spectrometer to tell me that the light seeping through the dirty, crusty curtains isn't coming from an incandescent or fluorescent bulb. Alligen? Bright enough, but the wrong color.

Looks like she has one of those full spectrum lamps, Jordan says, leaning past me to look out my window. He smells like cheese gone bad. My mother has one of those because of S-A-D. When I don't respond, he continues. Seasonal effective dis, I know what sad stands for, I say, and not so gently push him away. And that's not it. I open the passenger's side door and step out.

Stay here, I say. Shouldn't I come with? He asks. That's why I'm here, right? She's my client. I can ease her into any questioning. Like she's ever going to give this idiot a straight answer. Nope, I say, and pull out my phone.

I waggle it at him. I'll call you if I need you. you. Whatever, man, he says, and relaxes into his seat. I'm happy just to be an Uber for the day. Gets me out of doing paperwork. That part I can commiserate with. The mound of paperwork waiting for me, after this op, makes my head hurt, especially since this has been dubbed my last chance, but I'll worry about that later. Right now, I have to alert the team. At Corvell's wife's house, I text. Anomalous light emanating from front interior area of house. Engaging now, stand by. Standing by, the responding text says. I tuck my phone into my pocket and withdraw my pistol

for inside my jacket. An HK45 tactical. Ten rounds. The light inside is getting stronger. Not a good sign. I rack the slide, check the chamber, and walk up the porch steps to the front door. I pound my fist against the peeling paint, then take a step back, my pistol hidden behind my back. No answer. I pound again and wait. Still no answer. I glance over my shoulder at Jordan, but he's engrossed in his phone. From the multicolored lights that flash around the interior of his dark car, I'm guessing he's playing a game.

Hopefully, he doesn't strain himself. I'm betting even a simple game like that can be taxing on his car. less than stellar intellect. I hear a scream from inside, and my attention whips back to the front door. I try the handle. It's locked. Another scream, I take a step back and kick right next to the door. The door flies open, the jam being nothing but rotted wood.

Corvel! I yell as I hurry inside, pistol up and sweeping back and forth. I'm in a short hallway with a closed door to my left and one to my right. A staircase is directly in front of me, leading up into the front of the door. leading up into the darkness of a second story. Light burns brightly from under the door to the left. I move quickly to the side, grab the handle, and wince. It's burning hot. What the hell?

Using my jacket sleeve, I try again and manage to turn the knob and push the door open. The light that spills out is blinding. I snagged my sunglasses from my jacket's inside pocket and put them on. That eases things a little, but not much. Corvail! You can't run! I shout. and move into the room. The light is coming from the couch. From a woman. The light is the

woman. The woman is the light. And she's not in trouble or anything. She's just having herself and, uh, good time. Alone. Miss Corvelle? I asked. My head turned slightly to shield me from the intensity of the light coming off of her. Also, she's stark naked, so there's that. Where is your husband? Where is Simon? Her eyes are golden, and they shift in my direction. She grins wide, and I have to wince. Three teeth are all that's left behind her lips, and those three aren't looking so great.

They are just brown nubs. Miss Corvell? Lisa, I say, and she blinks at me. Then she arches her back and screams, and it's not a scream of pain. I'm slightly embarrassed by what I'm witnessing. It's a little more intimate than I like on Anang. But I've seen weirder and I've seen worse.

Lisa, where is your husband? I ask, moving slowly closer. Her golden eyes lock onto mine and flare as if flames are coming from them. Fuck you, pig! She snarls, then closes her eyes and screams again. My phone buzzes. Status, the text says. Subject's wife has been using, text back. Trying to ascertain subjects' whereabouts now.

Secure wife, the text says. Or eliminate. Get things moving, agent. I hated when MTF operatives try to pull rank. Their job is to support me, but they don't always get that. All they see is a target to be brought in or brought down. I swear, every mobile task force I've worked with always has one operative who only sees the latter as an option. Handling it, a text back.

await further instructions. We're five mics out, the text says. I nearly throw my phone to the ground and stomp on it, but I don't. All of this bullshit happens within seconds, and within those seconds, things take a nasty turn. Lisa's screams turn from self-pleasure to actual pain. Her eyes snap open, and they are no longer golden. They are bloodshot, and the blood seems to be moving. Oh, God!

She cries. and I see her hands shove at her legs. Except they don't connect with her body. They stop about a foot from her thighs and meet resistance. Holy shit. He's right there on top of her. Simon Corvel, by order of the foundation, you are being taken back into custody.

I shout. Do not move. Lisa continues to cry and scream. Her fingers claw at her cheeks and break the skin. But instead of blood welling up and rolling down her cheeks, bright sunlight streaks out of the gouges. Her screams become terrified. Lisa?

A man's voice asks. I rush forward and thrust a handout, grasping for the source of the voice. My hand hits flesh, and it is burning hotter than the doorknob was. I yank it back and hiss at the pain. My shirt and jacket are plastered to my skin as sweat pours down my back. I'm not sure how much more of this I can take. The heat is growing exponentially.

Simon Corvel, I shout. Show yourself and surrender. Lisa's screams grow. I have a team standing by. I say. We can help. Bullshit! A voice bellows that I'm flying backward.

I land on my ass and skid until my back slams into the wall. My gun is knocked from my grip. I scramble for it, but before I can get to it, it lifts into the air on its own. Then it takes aim right for my head. Fuck you, pig! The voice roars. Simon, I can help. I say.

The gun fires and a bullet. cracks the plaster next to my head. I hate? But before Corvel can finish, bullets are flying in every direction as the pistol explodes. Melted metal and plastic pepper my skin, and I barely manage to protect my eyes from the shrapnel. Son of a bitch! Corvel shouts. Lisa screams one last time, before her entire body is engulfed in, what I can only describe is plasma.

It's like watching a mini-sun being born, and I have to squint until my eyes are almost closed to keep one going. blind. I crawl my ass to the door, but I'm knocked aside, is what I guess is Corvel's foot connects with my shoulder. I hear his footsteps echoing in the hallway, then the front door slams against the wall as it's yanked open. The heat behind me is excruciating. I can feel the rubber soles of my shoes start to burn and melt as I keep crawling. The walls are blistering, the floorboards are buckling. I'm pretty sure most of my hair has been singed off. All I see before me is the open front door and the coolness of the early night. Jordan is still oblivious in the car.

Jordan! I yell as I make it to the front porch. The cool air hits me, and it's like I'm given a second life. I kick off my useless shoes and stumble down the porch steps, hurrying to Jordan's car. Then his door is pulled open, and he screams as his face and hair catch fire. His skin melts, and he keeps on screaming and screaming. Then he's tossed aside under the street, and I can barely make out a side of a side. slight halo in the shape of a person as it slides into the driver's seat.

Then the car races away from the house. Civilian down, I text. I'm in pursuit of the target. Calling it in is the response. One mic out. Isolate civilian. Do they need medical assistance? I limp over to Jordan and wince at the side of him.

Bag. I text back. Civilian is deceased. There's no doubt about that. His skin is so melted that I can see his skull behind the scorched bits of fat and flesh that slowly drip from his face. The smell is horrendous, but I've smelled worse. Jordan's car takes the corner at full speed

and nearly slides off the road into a neighbor's less than white picket fence. I could wait with Jordan's corpse as I have been ordered to do, or I can chase down the target and make sure the shit I'm in doesn't get worse. If the MTF take over, then the report will put all the blame on me for everything that has or will go wrong. I don't need that crap. again. I take a deep breath and look to my right. Then I'm sprinting between Lisa's burning house and the neighbor to the left's house. It doesn't take long for me to realize I'm not wearing

shoes, but I ignore the pain. It'll be way worse if this op fails. A dog barks and snarls from inside the neighbor's house and follows me from window to window until I'm past the house and into the neighbor's backyard. Only right there! The man yells at me from his back porch, a pump-action shotgun in his hands. He racks the shell and takes aim. One more step and you're dead. I freeze and wait. He eyes me then steps off his porch and comes closer. It never fails. The hubris civilians feel when they wield firearms is so predictable. What in the hell do you think you're doing? The man asks, jabbing the shotgun in my direction, like he's conducting some redneck symphony. Did you set that house on fire? No, I'm trying to catch the guy who did.

I can show you my badge. I slowly reach inside my pocket. He puts the shotgun to his shoulder and glars at me. Here! I say and toss the wallet over to him. I'm a field agent, hunting an escaped prisoner. That's so! He asks, and kneels down to retrieve my wallet.

I let him. No need for sudden movement. Or any movement, really. I hear him squawk, and there's a thud as his body falls. I open my eyes and he's on the dead grass, the shotgun next to him. His eyes wide open and drool coming out of his mouth.

I snag my wallet, recharged the amnestic stun pulse in my badge, then tuck my wallet back into my pocket. He won't remember anything from the past four hours. Hopefully, he doesn't have anything on the stove right now. When I retrieve his shotgun for my own use, I hear a huge crash of metal, and then a creaking and another crash. I look up just in time to see a fireball explode up into the sky

about three blocks southeast. I start to run that way, then look down at my feet. Then I check out the drooling neighbor's feet. We're about the same size. My phone is buzzing like crazy, but I don't have time. Corvel has already taken so many pills that he's gone invisible. His body able to bend and reflect light, because it is quickly becoming nothing but light.

I quickly scramble to get the guy's shoes off his feet and onto mine. Unless I stop Corvel, the next phase of his transformation is a small suit. The moron that thought a Class D with albinism would be a good test subject for the sunlight pills didn't do their homework. Now I'm cleaning up that mess and going to get blamed for it all. I run my ass off, hopping fences until I'm on the next street over. Front doors are being opened by curious and wary neighbors as I race down the street toward the burning car with the telephone pole lying across it. Corvel must have lost control and crash. His body is getting more unstable by the second. Get back inside.

I yell. Toxic chemicals are in the trunk. Most of the door slammed closed. I'm sure eyes are now peeking out of the windows, since there's no way to stop humanity from being humanity. But at least I won't have to deal with civilians getting in my way. Hey, I'm calling the fire department. A man shouts from his front porch.

They're already on their way. I yell. Get inside, or you will be arrested for obstructing an official investigation. I swing the shotgun in his direction. He dashes inside and locks his door. A pump-action shotgun is better than a badge any day. I shove the thought of how my paperwork load is getting exponentially larger with every interaction. Later. That's for later.

I get as close as I can and circle the car. There, smoking footprints. I may be ten yards from the car when I hear the sirens. Shit! Someone actually did call the fire. department. I was bluffing with the guy. My phone buzzes, then starts to ring. I press the earpiece of my left ear. I'm busy. I shout. My supervisor's voice says, yeah, because I'm in pursuit of the target, I responded. The MTF can secure the site and start working the neighborhood. There'll be a few

witnesses that need amnestic treatment. How did you lose control of this situation? My supervisor asks. He's gone invisible, I say. And they were both taking the pills. She's why the house is burning down. My supervisor says, and I can hear the restrained fury in his voice. I have this. I snap and press my earpiece again, cutting the call off. I have shit to do. I follow the burning footprints through underbrush and trees,

over two fences, and through two backyards, before I see the outline of a body smoking on the ground next to a mound of blackberry bushes. It's July, so the fruit is ripe and sweet. I can tell by the smell as the berry. cook and pop. Corvel? I ask cautiously. The shotgun aimed at the outline. The man is so hot, he's literally burning his silhouette into the dirt. I can feel the heat from where I stand, and I'm a good 20 yards away. Pine needles on the ground flicker into flames as the heat rises.

Shit! He's going to set the woods on fire any second now. I press my earpiece. How certain are we that death will stop the transmutation? I ask. Busy right now. response, asshole. I need Intel now. I shout. He's got to be 30 seconds from going supernova. The voice replies. Fucking hell, man. I shout. Give me an answer. The voice says, and there's about three seconds of silence. Three seconds I can't spare as everything around me begins to smolder, then flame. The shotgun in my hands is getting too hot for comfort. The voice finally says. I take aim and fire. There's a loud yelp, and the outline in the dirt changes.

The blackberry bushes burst into flame. I fire again and again. I empty the shotgun into the area around the outline. Then I see him. Simon Corvel materializes right before my eyes as the life leaves his scorched body. I stopped him just in time. I retreat from the burning woods and make my way back to the road. I have no idea what road it is, but it's a road that isn't on fire.

so it'll do. A black van pulls up next to me and the side door whips open. Six, black-clad operatives jump out, followed by two techs and a man that belongs to the voice on the other end of my earpiece. You really cocked this one up, Blacker.

Team lead Norman says. Fuck you, asshole, I say. I stopped him. That's what matters. Is it? Norman shakes his head. I called in two more teams to go door to door and conduct a full area memory wipe. Good on your.

you taking the target down, but the mission was to do so quietly without alerting locals. He nods at the woods. Or set everything on fire. Shit happens in the field, I say, and move towards the van. He blocks me. You aren't riding with us, he says. You found your own way here, and you can find your own way back. Are you kidding me with this crap? I say. My adrenaline is still pumping, and I gripped the shotgun. He looks down in my hands, then back up to my eyes and grins. You may be trained, but not like me, he says. That dotha just went through your head?

Burry it and forget it ever occurred to you. That's how you walk away from all. It's not him! A tech with a large birthmark across his right cheek comes rushing back from the woods. A trail of fire suppressant wafting behind him as the operatives get the blaze under control. What do you mean, it's not him?

Norman snarls. The tech with the birthmark hurries to Norman and shows him a tablet. Norman studies the tablet, and then turns to me. Explain this, he says and points at the tablet. I thought you got it. I did, I say. I mean, I couldn't see him until now.

I think back to the house. I had no way to identify him because he was invisible. I never actually confirmed it was Corvelle. But I'd heard recordings of Corvel back at the foundation. I listened to his intake interview in order to get a sense of... Shit! I say. The brother.

He was my next stop if the wife didn't pan out. I ball up my fists and press them to my temples. It was never him. Makes sense, the text says. The genetic readings are close enough for a family member. Could be the brother back there. Then where the fuck is Corvelle, dumbass? Norman shouts at me.

I have the brother's address. I say I'm not at the van. Can I catch a ride now, asshole? You're a dead man walking and don't even know it. Norman says, moves aside. I hurry into the van and, Grab a seat. I take my phone out as I look up the brother's address. You! Norman says to the tech.

Make sure the team secures this whole area. I want every scrap of evidence accounted for by the time I return. Yes, sir. The tech says. Lasagne sur-gillet, Pucance-molyne for 15 minutes. We're like it's their dojo. Prere to play. Vive the pleasure with Leo Jo.

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and hops in the driver's seat. He then points at the passenger seat. I ain't no chauffeur. He snaps. Get your ass up here and navigate.

I stumble up into the front seat and check my phone. Three miles east, I say. Pine Barron's bungalows. What the fuck is a Pine Barron's bungalow? Armin asks. He hits the accelerator, and the van speeds down the road to the next intersection. He blows the intersection, and I hear honking. He doesn't even twitch.

Looks like some cabin-style motel, I say. Individual bungalows for rent daily, weekly, monthly. Lovely. He whips the van around corners, blows more intersections and gets us to our destination in record time. Pine Barron's bungalows has seen better days and those days may have been in the 70s. Norman tears into the dirt parking lot and we are both out of the van, weapons up, scoping the area for threats. I'll talk to the desk clerk, I say as I sprint to the

bungalow with the office sign over the door. No one is behind the desk when I burst through the door. I move past the desk and look in the back room. No one is there either. Hello? I shout. Nothing. I checked the desk, but the computer is locked, and I don't have time to crack the passcode. I run out of the office and catch up to Norman as he approaches the first bungalow.

So? He asks. No one was there, I say. The computer was locked. Norman laughs and shakes his head. Sucks to be you, Blacker, he says, and steps up to the door of the first bungalow. He doesn't bother to knock and kicks in the door. A man and women are going at it and both scream, then roll off the other side of the bed.

Norman hurries around the side, then shakes his head at me. Not him, he says. We don't bother with apologies and explanations. We're off to the next bungalow. No knock, just another kick. The smell hits us before we are through the doorway. Jesus! Norman says.

It's like barbecue left out of the fridge for a week. You're a poet, Norman, I say. They move cautiously into the bungalow. The bed is made, and there's no sign anyone is staying in the bungalow. If it wasn't for the rotten meat smell, I'd move on to the next bungalow. I'll check the bathroom, Norman says it moves swiftly past me. I crouch and check under the bed. Nothing there.

No. Wait. I reach my arm under the bed and stretch. My fingertips just barely touch a small case. I stretch more. My shoulder jams up against the bed frame. Then I have it. I pull the case out, and it's a battered toiletry case.

I unzip the case and pull out the pill bottles. Hey! Norman shouts from the bathroom. In here! I get up, bring the case and bottles with me, and walk into the bathroom. Yeah, the smell is for sure coming from here. Norman nods at the tub. Wow!

is all I can say. I'll call the team and have someone bring the tech here to verify it's him. Norman says, and holsters his piece. pistol so we can bring out his phone. I study the corpse. The man is crulled up into a fetal position. All of his skin is scorched and black, with long pieces hanging down in strips. Those pills must make you feel amazing if you're willing to end up like that, Norman says, pocketing his phone. Team is five mics out. Look at that, I say, and lean over the corpse. See? By the right ear. I give Norman room, and he studies the spot.

I indicated. Then he pulls rubber gloves from a pocket, slips them on, and rotates the head so he can see the other side of the skull. The skin and flesh crackle and tear as he moves the body's neck. I hold my gorge. Gunshot, Harmon says. He was executed. Shit, I say.

What's that? Armin asks. What's what? I reply. He nods at my hands. Oh, I found this under the bed. I say in hand of the case. and bottles. Looks like we got them all. He reads the labels, looks at me, then reads the labels again.

Did you read these labels? Norman asks. He shows me the bottle. The name Maldives is printed clearly on the label just like the rest. I know what it says, I say. He stares at me for a minute, then growls low in his throat. I knew I should have skipped this up, he says. Damn it, we aren't supposed to see this shit. loves the case and bottles into my hands and leaves the bathroom. I follow right behind him. Norman is already halfway to the van. I have to sprint to catch up with him.

What is your problem? I snap. I hold up the case and the bottles. We retrieved the pills. Four bottles missing. Four bottles found. I gave them a shape. A little lighter when they left,

but we don't have to guess where the pills ended up. The brother was sleeping with the wife, and it looks like they double-crossed Corvel for the pills. Yeah, dumb ass. That's obvious, Norman says, and starts stripping off gear. He's throwing his body armor, his weapons, his belt, everything into the van, until all he has on are his boots and his black jumpsuit. What are you doing? I ask.

You don't get it, Blacker. Norman says, as he rummages about in the front seat. He comes out with a bottle of water, opens it, downs it, belches, and tosses the empty aside. Then he fixes me with a hard stare. Read the labels. I do. Maldives, I say. I hold up one of the bottles.

So? That brand isn't on the list, Raman says. Bora Bora, Seychelles, and Bahamas are the brands the foundation has secured. Maldives and Haiti have never been recovered. Oh, shit, I say. Then how did Corvel get his hands on this? Or did someone intentionally put these bottles in his hands? That is the better question.

Norman says. What? Like a setup? I ask. For who? Norman stares at me. Me? You?

Us? I ask, confused. Now, you're getting it, Norman says, and pulls his phone from his pocket. He drops it and grinds the phone into the dirt. Ditch your shit and run, Blacker. That's our only option.

Only option? I snap. Are you high? I'm not running. This is my last chance. I screw this up and... It's already screwed! Norman shouts.

This wasn't the last chance. This was punishment for fucking up your last chance. The foundation used you. They used me. You need to get the fuck out of here now. He looks around and starts jogging away. Shit. No way he's right.

He can't be. I was told that I had one more shot. This is my shot. I lean into the van and retrieve Norman's pistol. Stop! I say firmly. Norman is about 30 yards away already, heading for the road. He doesn't slow down or even act like he heard me.

I squeezed the trigger and put a bullet in the dirt ahead of his feet. He skids to a stop and slowly turns to look at me. What are you doing, Blacker? He asks. By order of the foundation, I am taking you into custody, T.L. Norman, I state. As foundation employees, we do not decide when our employment ends. The foundation decides for us. Blacker!

You dumbass, do you think this is going to help you? He laughs. No wonder they set you up. You are useless. On your knees, Norman, I say. He's wrong. If I bring him in, a team leader who is quitting without authorization, then I have a shot at clearing my record and getting back into the good graces of the powers that be.

I have no idea if Norman is right. But I do know that if he bails, then that's going to be on me. I can't let that happen. Blacker! Norman says, still standing. Think it through. This was a shit off that was meant to fail. But we didn't fail, I yell.

We tied up the loose ends of the wife and the brother. I found the bottles. You found Corvel. The op is a success. With half a neighborhood having their memories wiped, Norman says. Not to mention the firefighters that'll also need to be conditioned. That's not a success by the brass's standards, Blacker. No, no, I say and shake my head.

This op is... They knew that the bottles were Maldives. Norman shouts. Which means they knew we were going to see what we weren't supposed to see. What does the foundation do when you see something you aren't supposed to see? I shake my head. Come on, Blacker, he says. Think for fuck's sake.

No, this is my chance. There was no chance, he says. There never was. man shut up I say run or let the foundation do what they are going to do he says shut up I shout I killed a kid Norman says two ops back I've killed kids before we have to in our line of work but this was the wrong kid that's why I'm here that's why I'm just as fucked as you shut up shut up shut up I mutter then I take aim shut up shut up I fire Norman looks down at the blood blooming on his chest, then looks up at me.

You dumbass! He says wait before he collapses. I stand there for a few seconds before I slowly approach. He's not moving. His chest is still. Vans whip into the parking lot, and I'm surrounded in seconds as operatives swarmed the area. What the fuck happened? An operative asks.

He was quitting the foundation without permission. I say just as the tech with the birthmark hurries up. to me. I turn to him. The body is this way. I lead the tech back to the bungalow and show him the corpse in the tub. He scans it, and after a few seconds of processing, his tablet beeps. That's Corvill, all right, he says. His eyes move to the case I'm still holding. Are those the pills? Yeah. I say, and start to unzip the case. No, he says. Keep them in there. I don't want to see them. I cocked my head and study him. He looks nervous.

terrified actually then his eyes are drawn to something over my shoulder who is that he asks i look back but there's no one in the bungalow who is i start to ask as i look back at him but a flash of light distracts me and the room is freezing cold that's my first thought as i come too i open my eyes and look around i'm in a large room filled with cots at one end is a door at the other end of a row of stainless steel toilets against a brick wall. Men and women in orange jumpsuits are getting up from their cots, stretching and yawning like they just woke up. I have no idea what time of day it is.

I also have no idea where I am. Good morning, a voice says from behind me. I spin, and a man with a large birthmark on his right cheek is standing there with a tablet in his hand. Who are you? I ask, then it hits me. Wait, who am I? You are now a member of Class D, he says, and the tablet scans me.

A very important personnel classification here at the Foundation. Foundation? What's that? I ask. He checks the tablet when it beeps and smiles at me. Oh, don't worry, he says. Everything will be answered eventually, he shrugs. Or not? Then he walks off, leaving me with the other orange jumpsuit-clad people.

They line up single-fileged. in the center of the room. I join them. Where are we going? I asked the man in front of me. Chow! The man replies. My stomach growls. Good. I guess I'm hungry. Then a memory hits me. Or more like the ghost of a memory. No, not a ghost of a memory, but a ghost of a smell. As long as it's not barbecue, I say to the man. I don't think, I don't think I like barbecue. Thank you. The line starts moving and I follow. SCP 2022 consists of a variety of pharmaceutical drugs, collectively called sunlight pills. These include 5,000 blister packs, 775 drumliners labeled with different brands, Seychelles, Borah Bora, Bahamas, 31 plastic containers for experimental subjects, and 90 bags marked, warning, unrefined materials.

The capsules emit electromagnetic energies similar to sunlight and contain unknown ingredients, including lumen and Kelvin K. When ingested, one dose supplies vitamin D for up to 16 months and produces sensations of tropical environments. The effects also include improved bone health, skin, hair growth, and reduced disease rates. But overuse can lead to severe adverse effects like burning sensations, photosensational, photosensitivity, bioluminescence, and various forms of cancer. People with darker skin or albinism exhibit reduced adverse effects, but albinos may experience invisibility and other anomalies.

SCP 2022 was created by the defunct sunset laboratories in France. Discovered during a raid on an abandoned pharmacy, the lab had no remaining documents, and an investigation continues.