The SCP Experience - Blue Lady Cigarettes | SCP-013

Episode Date: September 20, 2021

SCP Foundation SAFE class object, SCP-013: Blue Lady Cigarettes. This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-013, 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

I'm a researcher at Biosite 66. I've never been part of the most important stuff. I've never been one of the big shots. L. I don't know what the most important stuff is. It's not my clearance to know. But that's a comfort, not a curse. I have gotten the faintest inklings that it's better not to know. We die in the dark so you can live in the light up stuff. Well, I like to die in the dark with at least a flashlight in hand, so to speak. So that's why it doesn't bother me when I get assigned to the small stuff. It's what I'm good at. The pay is amazing, and I get a fair bit of downtime, too. I was between things when they assigned me to skip 13. I always expected the lower numbers to be more important, so when the errand boy slid the little

pack of cigarettes and its associated paperwork onto my desk, I got a little nervous. But when I read it over, my concerns were eased slightly. They were straightforward little things. I played with one or two in my hands and looked them over. Apparently, all they did was make the smoker start to think of themselves as a woman, not just any woman, but a blue woman. With blue hair, blue lipstick, blue dress, the whole shebang, a simple perception affecting anomaly. Hell, it was basically a more specific psychedelic, harmless, suspiciously so. You get a healthy helping of paranoia working at the foundation, no matter how close to the bottom you are. I wondered what the hell my task would be with these silly little cigarettes. I looked over the attached memo to find my answer. When I finished reading it,

I laughed out loud. They wanted me to smoke them. It was an obvious answer. No one else on the team smoked, so it was clear why I was chosen. The notes said to smoke them at whatever pace I preferred, and return a self-evaluation to the Skip 13 research team upon the depletion of my supply. Oh, and to take plenty of notes on the progression of its effects. Of course, why not? I was probably an unknowing guinea pig to any number of unidentified cognito hazards on the site already. It was about time it was made official, and I got a pay bonus for it. Fine, I thought to myself, I might even enjoy it. So I leaned back in my chair and decided to begin the process promptly. I retrieved my trusty lighter, flicked it on, and brought the white paper to my mouth,

pulling in a deep drag of the hazy blue smoke, and what a nice feeling it was. Smoking on company time in my office. Hell, the taste wasn't half bad either. I looked at my fingers, I looked at my chest, my legs, my feet. I pulled out my phone and looked in its reflection. Hmm, I thought to myself. I guess it doesn't work that fast. I turned on my phone and typed a note that read, first pull, no effects. That was my Friday. After that, I packed my things, said goodbye to the few co-workers who mattered to me, and all along the drive home, I fondled the new toys in my pockets. I've never been the modest type, so I liked my property to match my income. After stepping out of my car, I was in essentially the middle of nowhere. When you're a part of the foundation,

it pays to not have neighbors to worry about, or connections in general. I walked past my front yard's fountain and fished the keys out of my pocket. When I unlocked my door, I stepped inside. The temperature dropped several degrees. This was it, my house. It was broomy, two stories, and the foyer had a chandelier. I had very little furniture other than some cat towers here and there for my pets to play around on. They were the only other residents in my manner. I liked it that way. Dogs were too attached at the hip for my liking. Missy came up to me and started weaving between my legs, but I ignored her. I had one weekend and one pack of anomalous cigarettes. I was going to have to get through all of them. I walked through the dining room, past the kitchen, and up the

cramped staircase that led me to my room. My room was rather plain. A queen-sized bed took up nearly a quarter of it, and the rest was graced only with a desk, a closet, and of course the door to my bathroom. I decided to pull my chair over to my window. I opened the thing, sat down, and made it my goal to smoke until I noticed something. Should be easy enough, he thought, and took my second long, drawn-out pull. It took a few minutes of sitting and puffing to go through a whole cigarette. I was slow and methodical with it. All throughout it, I was repeating my process, looking first at my hands, then my chest,

and my legs, just to see if anything had changed. By the end of that first cigarette, I wasn't noticing anything. My hands were still mine, my body was still mine. I had remained unchanged, so I pulled out my phone. went to take a note, and that's when I saw it. My reflection on the black screen, it was different. But with the glare of the sun coming through the window, the specifications on that difference were lost to me.

I stood up with more than a little excitement and made my way to my bathroom to get a nice look in the mirror. Oh, what a look it was. They weren't lying. She was so blue. So blue it attacked the senses. Her bright blue lipstick, her hair, her nails, her dress, Her eyes, too, blue from top to bottom, except for the hue of her skin, which was this pale, pale white.

Her hair and dress made me think she wouldn't look out of place in the roaring 20s, that, and her posture. The way she favored one foot, and now she held her cigarette in such a fancy, seductive way. But then, I realized, I was doing that. I quickly corrected. Right, that was my reflection, even if it looked different. I held my hand out in front of me. No, in the real world, my nails weren't painted. In the reflection, however, my movements were copied exactly by the lady.

I let out a laugh. What could I say? It was novel. I took out my phone and opened my notes. Chuckling again as I saw her long Azure nails whenever the screen turned black. First full sig, I wrote. Reflection looks like her. Her.

I paused at the word choice. Looking back up at the mirror and leaning over my sink, I got a good look deep into her eyes. Who was she? Did she exist at some point? Maybe, maybe not. With Skips, it was of equal likelihood that she could be a ghost or an invention. Maybe these cigarettes were supposed to be some kind of work of art.

Who knows? That wasn't my job to know. My job was just to test it out. I walked out of the bathroom and took the cigarettes with me down the stairs. I opened my front door and decided to take a short stroll around my house, just walking through my mismanaged gardens I'd let overgrow. Suddenly, for some reason, I decided that I didn't want to be cooped up in that place. There was a feeling I was trying to ignore, and I thought maybe a change of scenery could make it go away. I took out my phone and made a

note. Woman feels familiar, beginning second cigarette. I lifted the thing to my mouth and took a pull. The blue smoke that came out of my nose dissipated into the late afternoon sun, which was soon to set over the trees, making the shadows long and the air chill. Her, I thought again. The documentation never specified any emotions that subjects felt towards the Blue Lady. Was this an entirely personal experience? It was strange. With stress tinting my thoughts, I began to instinctively bring the cigarette to my mouth.

Familiar. She seemed intimately familiar, which was odd, because I definitely didn't know any blue women, nor was I very versed on the 20s. So it must have been something else. Something in her face then. I caught myself looking at her face and the reflection on my phone. Yes, that was it. She faintly resembled someone I used to know.

A crush, actually. From high school. I was a sophomore in high school when I first developed feelings for her. I knew I needed to approach her. After school one day, I decided to go for it. I saw her behind the gym hanging out with a couple of her friends. When I glanced in her direction, she pulled out a pack of cigarettes. I was surprised that she smoked.

I wanted to impress her. I wanted to infiltrate her group. And you know what they all did? They smoked. I figured this was an easy solution to my issue. When I finally mustered up the courage to ask her out, she said no, of course, because I was some weird short kid who she didn't know at all.

Or maybe she was just mean. I don't really have the energy to reason that out. She moved, and then sophomore onward, I just smoked. I still smoke now. Habits die hard, or something like that. Looking at her reflection, it wasn't even an uncanny resemblance. They were different people, certainly, but wasn't it a strange coincidence that the woman who made me smoke looked like the woman I was smoking?

It bothered me. So I put the phone away. I raised the cigarette to my mouth and puffed. Someone more reasonable than me might have been self-conscious about smoking in the first place, but I've never felt particularly upset at the self-destruction. Now, what bothered me about smoking was that it never felt like me. It always, inevitably felt like her. That was one thing I truly appreciated about working at the foundation, the privacy of it all.

Hell, I barely interacted with other human beings entirely. They were nearly cut out of my life. Paperwork and high risk for good pay sounds like a deal made in heaven even now. It began to weigh on me as I rounded the corner in my house that I had just unknowingly committed to a weekend of reminders. I pulled out my phone. Second cigarette, no noticeable difference. We'll update when something changes. I ended up circling around to this old fountain that was on the property. It was full of water, but it wasn't running, because it, like the rest of my house, was left relatively

un-maintained since I purchased it. The stagnant water had some little fish in it, and I was always slightly curious how they survived. I raised another cigarette to my lips, but no. I tucked it back into the case and pocketed it. Usually, smoking calmed my nerves. This particular day, things were different. I stood up, went inside, and went to bed early. I think, in retrospect, that might have been a bad idea, because that night I had my worst dream in a long, long time. Mind-affecting anomaly, and the time when your mind is at its most vulnerable, it seems so obvious looking back. It's been difficult to sleep ever since. I'm shocked, excuse me, but I don't want to talk about it.

Besides, you're likely more interested in what happened next. I woke up, as people often do from nightmares, screaming. Sweat was so thick my clothes were sticking to my body, except I couldn't quite tell where my clothes were, or what I was wearing exactly. I could just feel that horrible sticking to skin feeling. Moisture had collected everywhere along my body. In my half-awake state,

I found myself on all fours, hands straddling my skin. pillow, knees behind me. As I looked down, all I could see was the barely moonlit darkness of my room and the smudges on the pillow. When I regained consciousness, things were better, if not okay. I, uh, I reached my hand over, and I pulled my phone off of my nightstand. I couldn't help but turn the flashlight on, and on the pillow, I saw ash, little bits of ash, all around my bed and, uh, stains. Blue. of blue lipstick. I wiped it my lips instinctively, and I accidentally, I, uh, God damn it, I accidentally scratched myself with the nails, right? I had, she has such long nails, right?

Thank God I lived alone, because I couldn't handle it. The file said that a full, uh, that a full transformation would take, like, well, I don't remember, but this was fast, so much faster than I was expecting. So I wasn't thinking straight. And the first thing I do when I'm not thinking straight as I take a smoke, because that's just the kind of guy I am. So I grabbed the cigarettes, scrambled for my lighter, and flicked the flame on. I flinched and dropped the cigarette, because in the reflect, in the, sorry, in the reflection, the face I saw wasn't, uh, it wasn't, well, it wasn't her exactly, but it wasn't me either. It wasn't, well, it was her in me. I was her, and she was me. So that first scratch? I, I guess I exacerbated it, didn't I? She has such long nails,

you know, such long nails. Every time I look in the mirror, she's there. Pristine. It's just my face, my skin that's gone. I'm still her in a way. I hate smoking because she made me do it. Every time I bring that thing to my mouth, I'm just reminded, reminded that if she hadn't smoked, I wouldn't have smoked. Reminded that if my dad never had cigarettes, I wouldn't have had cigarettes. That if my mom didn't tell me to wear polos, I never would have. If my teacher hadn't told me how to do math equations, I wouldn't know. Well, there is one good thing that's come of this. You know, smoking, terrible habit, right? Well, now, I can't even look at them. Isn't that crazy? Just thinking about them makes me nauseous. So that's a good thing, right? Self-improvement or something like that.

SCP-013 is the collective designation of 242 cigarettes which display similar anomalies. The most common external detail between instances is the presence of the words blue lady, handwritten on each cigarette in blue ink. Subjects who consume the contents of SCP-1-3 through inhalation will begin to perceive themselves as a specific unidentified woman. Subjects have described the woman to be aged between 25 and 35 years old, standing approximately 1.6 meters tall, with an estimated weight of between 50 and 55 kilograms. Additional recurring details include cropped, dark hair, blue eyes, and bright blue lipstick. SCP 013 was found with the following note. I see her everywhere.

That sad blue lady. I feel like I used to. Should know her, but I can't remember. I love her, but I don't know why. She's so beautiful and sweet and clear, but I don't know anymore. Where did you go? I miss you. Lazzangue surgelley, puissance-moyance-moyance-moyne

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