The SCP Experience - Better, Faster, More Resilient | SCP-150

Episode Date: September 16, 2022

SCP Foundation KETER class object, SCP-150: Better, Faster, More Resilient This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-150, 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 New Book Releases: https://www.amazon.com/Matthew-G-Doggett/e/B08FD5378Z 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 #scpexplained #whatisscp Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Welcome to aboard Via Rai, Embarked and Profite. Embarked and celebrate. Rigolet. Publié. Savoy. Admirate. And profite. Villaray, the voice that we love that we love.

The appliance delivery men stare at me. Mouth is open and eyes wide. Come on in. I say again, gesturing with my left hand. The two young men, who look like brothers, watch my hand move as if their dog. and I'm holding a tasty treat. Strange. They're in their early 20s, with high and tight haircuts and clean-shaven jaws. They both have the same green eyes and wide noses.

Come on in, I repeat with more force. Uh, right, the taller of the two says, shaking his head. Like the other one, he wears a black and green uniform shirt over khaki pants. When I first opened the door, he said his name was Perry. He introduced. the other man is Joseph. When Joseph doesn't snap out of it, Perry reaches across the dryer they're delivering and hits the man on the shoulder. They share a look, then avert their eyes as they turn the dolly around and prepare to back the dryer through the door. It's a second-hand appliance, but it looks brand new. It was a good find if I do say so myself. I moved back into the house to let the men work, but I still have to show them the way to the laundry room,

so they can hook the dryer tube up and test it to ensure it's working. I don't know what could have shocked them so much. As soon as I opened the door all the way, after Perry introduced them both, it was as if they went into a trance. But for the last few days, people have been acting strangely around me. I have no explanation for it.

A coarse, wet coughing sound erupts from the staircase down the hall behind me. I rush over to look up the stairs. My mother is coming down from her bedroom. She's been feeling under the weather lately, and she looks strange in a way I can't quite place. It's as if I can't bring her fully into focus. Her arms in particular. Her pale pink nightgown hangs off her body from bony protrusions.

What are you doing, Ma? Go back to bed. I'll get you whatever you want. Mother coughs violently for a few long moments before gathering herself. I heard the doorbell, she says. Who is it? It's just the dryer I bought, Ma.

Just the delivery guys. Excuse me, sir? Perry says from behind me. He's stepping forward, bringing the stairwell into view. I turn to address him just as he looks up at my mother. His face goes ashen as he sees her. For a moment, I think he's going to vomit. My mother falls into another coughing fit.

and the delivery man flinches, stepping back and raising a hand to his mouth. Are you okay? I ask him. His eyes focus on me, traveling slowly down my left arm. Then he looks me in the face again. Where's your laundry room?

He says, voice cracking. Let me show you, I say. One second. I turn around and tell my mother to go back upstairs. She coughs some more and then turns around to head to her bedroom. I lead the two men to the left. laundry room and tell them I'll be in the kitchen whenever they're done. Ten minutes pass,

during which time I hear the men speak in low, fearful whispers. I can't make out what they're saying, but I know something has spooked them. I just don't know what. The two men stepped to the kitchen doorway. We're done, Perry says. You're all set. Great, I say, standing up from the table to show them out. Uh, sir? Perry asked. Is your mom okay? She's a little under the weather, I say. She certainly has a nasty cough. The two men share a look.

She doesn't look too good. You should probably take her to a doctor. I smile at the two men. I'll consider it. Thank you. And, uh, maybe get yourself checked out too. I pause before answering. I'm fine, thank you.

I appreciate your help with the dryer. Job well done. Now it's time for you to leave. The two men turn to leave, pushing their dolly. When they're outside, I produce a $20 bill and hold it out of my left hand. A tip. Both men look at the bill, then back up at me. No thanks, Perry says. We're good.

They head back to their truck. I look down at the bill in my hand. For a moment, I think there's something different about my left arm. Something strange. But then the notion floats away like wispy clouds on a windy day. I closed the door and pocket the bill, shrugging. Their loss. Maybe it's company policy that they can't accept tips.

As I moved back into the house, toward my home office, I remember the terrible itch I had on my left arm for several days. It was like a bug bite, swollen and red and endlessly itchy. But then it went away. Before my mom developed her cough, she'd been experiencing something similar, but on both arms. Strange. I sit down to my computer and get back to work. My left hand had been giving me trouble until today.

It just wasn't very coordinated. It slowed my typing down considerably. But now it seems fine. Better even. I'm making up for lost time now. I've been working for a couple of hours when the doorbell rings. As I approached the door, I hear a man's voice. Police department, this is a welfare check.

Welfare check? Did those delivery men call the police? Why would they? I feel a surge of anger. They think I can't take care of my own mother? I've been doing it for years. I opened the door about a foot, standing with my body in the gap, arms hidden from view. Yes?

Hello, sir, the policeman says. We got a request for a welfare check at this address. Do you live here? Yes, I live here. My name is Sean Douglas. I live with my mother. What's the problem? Do you mind if I come in?

Yes, I mind. I'm in the middle of work right now. Did the appliance delivery men call this in? I can't tell you who called this in. I just want to make sure everything is all right. Is your mother here? What is it? Why are the police here?

I hear my mother call. Her bedroom window faces the street. She's opened the window, and she's calling down from behind the window screen. The policeman walks a few paces out into the yard and looks up. Sorry to bother you, ma'am. Just wanted to make sure everything was okay. I'm a little under the weather, she says. But we're okay.

Thank you, young man. The policeman glances at me, then nods and heads back to his cruiser. I slimmed the door and lock it. I'll be giving that appliance shop a poor review, that's for sure. Days pass. My mother's cough goes away, but I develop one. I joke with her that she just transferred it to me. Since we're both under the weather,

I get groceries delivered, so I don't have to go out. The grocery delivery woman reacts much the same way the two appliance delivery men acted. Fear drains the blood from her face, and she can't wait to get back into her car and leave. After I carry the groceries inside, I head to the downstairs bathroom and look into the mirror. Everything is as it should be. I look a little pale, but that's all.

I don't really like my hair cut, but it's not that bad. I'm no Brad Pitt, but I'm far from the elephant man. Sure, my left arm is different from my right arm, but so what? It has always been like that, hasn't it? I look down at my right hand, twiddling my fingers. Then I look at my left hand. Only, there's no hand there, not really. It's a tarsus with three tough, hook-like digits.

Beyond the tarsus, in the forearm area, there's the tibia. It has little whitish spikes protruding from it. Then there's the femur, which features the shoulder-like joint known as the trichenter. While my right arm is fleshy, pale, and hairy, My left arm is tough, whitish-gray and hairless. It's better, faster, and more resilient than my right arm. I wish I had two of them, or more, eight of them maybe. I don't understand what the problem is.

My people are giving me strange looks. Everything is as it should be. I head back out to the kitchen and put the groceries away. Then I start on dinner. After mom and I eat, and I've put her in bed, I start getting ready for bed myself. I cough occasionally, but it's not that bad. It'll pass.

As I head to the back door to ensure it's locked, I find it standing open a crack. I open it all the way and look out into the backyard. Nothing out of the ordinary. I shut the door, lock it, and turn around. There's a man standing there, a baseball bat raised over his shoulder. He's wearing a respirator mask,

but I can see the top of his head, his eyes, forehead, and hair. It's one of the appliance delivery men, the shorter one, Joseph. His eyes are wild above the mask. He swings the baseball bat at me, but my left arm deflects it. Still, it knocks me to the ground. What did you do to him? The man screams from behind the mask, bringing the bat up for another strike. Who?

I shout. I didn't do anything. You did? He's changing. You informed. I realized he must be talking about the other delivery man, Perry. I shake my head, sliding along the floor until I'm pressed against the closed back door. You're a fucking freak!

He shouts, slamming the baseball bat down. Once again, my left arm comes up to block it, but it's not strong enough. It crunches as the metal bat hits it. Pain shoots through the limb. He swings the bat down again, hitting me in the head. The resonating thump of the teeth shattering ends, of the teeth-shattering impact feels like a car crashing into my head. He looks down at me, shock on his face.

Blood dribbles down the left side of my head. Backing up, the delivery man lets the baseball bat hang from his right hand. His crazy eyes are wide, bloodshot. I try to stand up, only to stumble, sprawling forward onto my stomach on the kitchen floor. Thousands of tiny insects pour out of the wound in my skull, scattering on the floor. on the floor. I grunt, trying to speak. What the fuck? The delivery man says, watching the bugs pour out of my head. The insects are whitish-gray with oval bodies and eight spiky legs, much like my left arm. The man seems to come to his senses, getting over the initial shock of what he's

seeing. He steps forward and raises a foot to crush the insects. I try to move, to keep him from killing me. But my body isn't responding. A large insect leg appears over the man's right shoulder. It moves quickly across his neck, then jerks down and back. The little spikes on the tibia dig into the soft flesh at his throat and then rip it open in one quick motion. Blood spews out of the wound. The man puts his foot down, barely missing a group of the tiny insects on the floor.

He drops the baseball bat and puts his hands up to his throat, ineffectually trying to keep the blood in, Attempting to keep to his feet, he stumbles away and falls down, making awful wet choking sounds. My mother stands behind him, her two insect arms held slightly out from her body. The right one has blood splatter on it. I put my head to the floor and let the spilled insects crawl back inside my skull. As they make their way back in, I slowly regain control of my limbs. My thought process has come back to normal, as the insect's

Sexes take their places, allowing synapses to fire correctly once again. Thank you, I say to my mother. She nods, looking over at the dying delivery man. My arm is broken, so is my skull. But they will heal. I'm much better than I used to be. Ever since I had that strange insect bite, I've slowly become better, faster, and more resilient.

Never mind the cough, that will be. What a terrible appliance delivery man, my mom says. Just terrible. SCP-150 is an obligate parasite that resembles a type of tongue-eating louse, but is adapted to form conjunctive symbiotic relationships with humans. Upon contact with a human subject, SCP-150 embeds itself deeply in the flesh of its host. Over the course of approximately seven days, the parasite will burrow into the host. and affect numerous physiological alterations.

The most glaring alteration is the gradual conversion of the limb nearest the infection site into a chitinous appendage. As SCP-150 consumes the host's flesh, it excretes tissue that replaces and augments the functionality of the host's limb without causing transplant rejection. It is suspected that SCP-150 is able to secrete anesthetic and immunosuppressant substance to prevent the host's body from responding to the change. Furthermore, the nervous tissue excreted by SCP 150

is able to interface with the host's nervous system. By the time the process is complete, the host will be able to control the affected limb with no loss in mobility and often with improved strength, reflexes, and resilience. For a period of one to two weeks, SCP 150 will reproduce, feeding on nutrients from, and depositing eggs into assimilated blood vessels. The eggs are deposited throughout the human body

via the bloodstream. While the vast majority of them die off, enough survive to begin colonizing and altering the rest of the host's body. SCP 150 reproduces during this assimilation process. As the lungs are assimilated, more eggs are produced and spread by the patient's coughing. Although as many as 10,000 eggs may be produced

during this time, it is estimated that only 1% of them find their way into another host, of which 1% survive the host's immune response and implant successfully. Although SCP-150 inevitably results in the assimilation and alteration of the central nervous system, including the spinal cord and brain, the host's consciousness and behavior are seemingly unaffected. Subjects aware of the infection exhibit little to no negative feelings, and often express positivity towards it. Lazangue sur-gillet, puissance-moyerned for 15 minutes.

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