The SCP Experience - Dude, Where's My ID Card? | SCP-1212

Episode Date: May 6, 2022

SCP Foundation EUCLID class object, SCP-1212: Dude, Where's My ID Card? This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-1212, 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

Slowly, I opened my eyes. The thick curtains in the room were still closed from the night before, but the small crack of light that streamed through was so bright and painful, I may as well have looked directly into the sun itself. I groaned and tried to bury myself under the duvet, but the waves of nausea suggested I'd be getting up soon. My head pounded. I lay there for a moment longer as I gathered the strength to sit up.

I was still wearing yesterday's clothes. including my white lab code from work. I groaned. Waking up hungover, eh? I really got to get my life together. Dad? Came a voice, the voice of my daughter. The one beautiful and good thing in my life.

It was my week to play house. My ex and I share custody of her. Yeah, baby girl, I croaked. Are you giving me a lift to school? If you're not, I'm going to need bus money. I made some mediocre excuse about her poor old man not feeling well and prayed she wouldn't tell her mom about this. My drinking was one of the reasons we split up. I've made a lot of mistakes in my life, but losing Evie wasn't going to be one of them. The front door slammed. The sound

reverberated through my skull. I was going to be sick, but at least I'd be out of bed then. I staggered downstairs, made myself a cup of black coffee, and tried to remember what happened the night before. Everything was hazy. I used to drink a lot, but after Diane left, and the threat of losing Evie, I all but stopped. Apart from the occasional night out, I haven't touched the stuff for over a year now. And as far as I could remember, none of the guys from work invited me out last night. Javier knows better than to invite me to the bar with the guys.

He was the one who picked me up after I hit rock bottom when Diane left. You know that one work buddy you look forward to seeing? The one that when you see their name on the schedule, you know it's going to be a good day. That's Javier. We work together most days running tests, writing reports, advising the higher-ups on what to do with the anomalies, or SEPs as they're called. We met working in the Department of Spectral Finale. phenomena at the foundation, but now we work across multiple departments. My job is unusual.

I don't usually discuss it with people, mostly because it's classified, but also it just sounds made up. I'm a researcher. I work with some of the greatest scientists the world has ever known. Experts from every field imaginable, quantum physics, chemistry, botany, cryptozoology, Esotericism, the list goes on. We work together to study and contain anomalies, items and entities that do not follow the laws of nature as we know them. The foundation holds secrets that, if unleashed on the general population, would cause mass hysteria. I've been there for almost eight years now. It's where I met my ex-wife, Diane. We were junior researchers together. She got a promotion last year. That bitch. She's my super. supervisor now. I took a seat at the kitchen table and stared into my coffee cup. I knew I should make some breakfast, but my stomach gurgled and churned at the thought. I'd get something from the cafeteria at work. While I sipped my coffee, I racked my brains for any memory of last night. Heck, for any memory of yesterday in general. I recalled arriving at work. I remembered Diane

coming to my desk with the day's assignments. But after that, nothing. How did I get home? I checked my pockets for my house keys. Check. Car keys. Check. My wallet. My phone.

All there. The only thing I seemed to be missing was my ID card. Bit of a problem when you work for a classified organization. But I was sure HR could sort me out with a new one before the day was through. I'd do my best to find it. And if not, I'd take the slap on the wrist. I glanced at my watch. Shoot.

Only 30 minutes until I started work. Why hadn't I checked the time earlier? If I took a proper shower, I'd be late. I made do with a splash of water on my face, a change of clothes, and headed off. On my drive to the foundation, I started to recall a memory from yesterday. It was fuzzy, but something was coming back to me. Something about an assignment for the afternoon. A new SCP had been admitted that morning,

and they needed me and Javier to run some tests on it. I recalled printing off the paperwork and telling myself I'd read it once Javier arrived. The vague recollection of walking down the long, brightly lit corridor towards the containment chamber swirled in my head. I arrived at the enclosure before Javier. Nothing was in the room yet, except a barstool. I had taken a seat and then... Nothing. The memory stopped there. I pulled into the car park. If I hadn't known, I was late already, I would have realized now all the good spaces were taken. I parked at the back of the lot, threw on my sunglasses to hide the dark circles under

my eyes, and headed for the front doors. The foyer was much busier than usual, people bustling and scurrying. Something was going on. I checked the large clock on the wall behind the reception desk. It was just in time. Hi, Erm, so I lost my ID card, I began. a long pause, the receptionist replied with a disinterested, Uh-huh, not looking away from the computer screen.

And I need to get to work. Can I show you some other ID? The receptionist looked me up and down. To her, I was just some anonymous white lab code guy. No ID card, no entry, she replied, equally as disinterested as before, but at least now she was looking at me. I tried to explain that I worked in the research department, and I'd likely left my ID card on my desk. Without breaking eye contact, her hand reached across the desk, pressed a red button and said, I see one in reception, thank you.

I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned and came face to face with a broad-shouldered security guard. His face was stern, his voice like gravel. You'll need to come with me, sir. My eyes wide, I explained again that I definitely worked here. I told him my name and my employee number. If he would just go get Diane, my supervisor, She could sort all this out.

The security guard's grip on my shoulder tightened. He marched me towards the front doors. And then I heard him, Javier, coming to rescue me as always. Nah, he's not an intruder. Abby, come on. Would I lie to you? Of course, Javier was friends with the reception staff. Javier was friends with everyone.

The security looked back at the receptionist. She shrugged, and he released me from his grip. Javier put his arm around me, walked us to the staff. entrance, scanned his ID card, and we waltzed right in. On our way through the building, people were still rushing to and fro, office workers chatting in hushed and urgent tones, trained security personnel relaying messages on radios, and men in black suits walking with purposeful strides. I recognized this scene. Today was a red alert kind of day. To get away from the crowded hallways, we took a route through the staff lounge. A group of employees were

gathered, some crying, around a black and white photo, flowers and cards on the floor and table beneath it. We moved by too quickly for me to catch a glimpse of who it was, but someone had obviously passed away, probably the reason for today's red alert. I asked Javier what was going on, what happened yesterday. My hangover had subsided slightly, but I still felt like death warmed up. I can't believe you're showing your face here after yesterday, whispered Javier. I had no idea what that meant and told him as much. You know, when you speak to Diane, I'd keep my head down if I were you. You really got to get your life together.

He patted me on the back and disappeared down a corridor. I continued towards the cafeteria. Another coffee was in order. On entering the dining hall, I was confronted by the horrifying sight of photocopy after photocopy stuck to the walls. Photocopies of my own bare ass. Stunned, frozen to the spot. I pulled the collar of my lab coat up around my chin.

My sunglasses covered the rest of my face. Not that my face was the thing they'd recognize. The cafeteria staff howled with laughter, debating loudly about which intern lost a bet. A memory from yesterday returned to me. I was drunk, but no liquid had touched my lips. I had stumbled out of the containment chamber where I was due to meet Javier.

Then I found myself in a photocopy room. And for some unknown reason, it seemed like the funniest thing ever conceived by man to hop up on the cold glass of the machine and press the copy button. I cringed at the memory. This was the act of a college student, not a man about to turn 40. What had happened to me in that containment chamber? I left the cafeteria without my cup of coffee and headed straight for my office. It would be quiet at this time of day. On arriving in the office, it was completely empty except for Diane, standing in my cubicle,

emptying the contents of my drawers into a nondescript brown cardboard box. Whatever I'd said to her yesterday, when under the influence, must have been a real doozy as she looked like she was packing up my stuff ready for a dismissal. If only I could recall what I'd said, I decided to take my chances, approach her, and attempt to repair the situation. So, about yesterday, Diane looked up. For a moment, her face was sad, and then on seeing me, confused. I thought you were...

I interrupted. An idiot? Yeah, I am. I'm sorry. I really got to get my life together. I swear I wasn't drinking. Not while I've got Evie at my place. Diane licked her lips before continuing.

No. I mean, I thought you were fired? I joked. Not yet. But you're not going to report me, right? Everyone makes mistakes. Diane nodded in agreement. Yeah, okay.

She gently placed the box of my belongings on the desk and left without saying another word, looking back once before exiting the office. Looks like I dodged a bullet. I emptied the contents of the box onto my desk, rifled through my personal effects for the office. ID card. It wasn't there. I tried the draws, no luck. Considering everything I got up to yesterday, the ID card could be anywhere in the building. I decided I'd take a trip to the containment chamber.

If the card wasn't there, I'd confess my stupidity to HR and get them to print up a replacement. I headed on down to the basement levels of the building. It's where the foundation keeps all the anomalies. Floor upon floor, room after room of white-tiled windowless cells. each containing their own untold mystery and horror. The door to the chamber was locked. I peered through the peephole, and in the center of the room sat a simple brown barstool, the same one I had sat on yesterday.

I staggered back an alarm. The memory of the previous day's antics came flooding back with intense clarity. The chair was the anomaly. I raced back to my office, turned on my monitor, and logged into the foundation's internet. I searched for SCP 1212 and brought up the file.

The following words filled my screen. The anomaly known as SCP 1212 is known to cause effects normally associated with alcohol intoxication. Anyone who sits on the stool is affected despite no alcoholic liquid passing between the occupant's lips. I had to tell Diane. I tried her office, the containment chambers and the cafeteria. I headed to the staff lounge next. She usually takes a lunch break around this time. I don't know whether it was the panic or the effects of the intoxication, but I began to sweat.

What if she had already told HR about whatever I said to her? Maybe she knows the photocopies in the cafeteria are mine? She's seen that part of me a fair few times in the past. I can't lose this job. I can't lose my shared custody of Evie. I threw open the door to the staff room. It was weirdly empty in there. I paused my search for a moment to catch my breath.

I remembered the memorial that was set up in the corner. I wondered who it could be. I took off my sunglasses, the effects of the anomalous chair and the subsequent hangover absent now. The photo of the poor soul who died yesterday, it's me. My own face stared back at me from the photograph. I tried to swallow, but my mouth was dry.

How could this be? I'm not dead. A dizziness came over me. The floor wobbled and twilight. twisted as though made from soft rubber, and for a moment I thought I might faint, and then the memories from yesterday. Everything returned to me in full color. The final pieces of the puzzle slotted into place. I had sat on the chair.

I had felt the full intoxicating effect of the peculiar item. I had photocopied my naked body in an attempt at a schoolboy prank. I had picked a fight with Diane, accusing her of being a shitty mother to Evie. But then, in a drunken stupor, I wandered back to the containment facilities. Barely able to stand, let alone walk, the whole world spinning around me, I had let myself into room 69. The humanoid entity residing in room 69 had watched silently as I staggered in, leaving the door ajar behind me.

I had collapsed onto the tiled floor, cracking my head on the metal-framed bed of the creature. My vision had begun to fail. I recalled the metallic taste of blood in my mouth and the creature standing over me. It's in here, came the voice of Diane. I snapped back to reality and turned away from the memorial, and watched as Diane held the door open to the staff lounge and a team of security personnel entered. Two of them held tasers. Instinctively, I took a step towards them. They're my colleagues, after all. What could they want with me? The man on the left squeezed the trigger on the taser, and then everything went black. I've woken up now. My muscles ache, but I'm okay. I'm in a cell. It's a containment chamber.

There is a sink, toilet, and a metal bed frame on which lies a cheap and thin mattress. The unmistakable stain of spilt blood is smeared across the tiles. I've tried calling for help, but no one has answered. Wait, I hear something. SCP-69 has been secured and contained. It does not appear to realize its inhabiting a a new form and believes it is the employee 21468 who suffered a fatal contusion to the head yesterday. We'll continue to monitor the situation. What? No.

No, I'm not dead. Diane, Javier! Please, let me out! I'm not dead. I'm not the SCP. I can prove it. I fell in here yesterday and I cracked my head on the bed frame. Just come and look at my head.

No. There's no wound. SCP 1212, while not in use, is a simple wooden bar stool. It does not possess any abnormal physical qualities other than the faint odor of alcohol. When any living human, older than 15 years of age, sits on SCP 1212, they appear to experience a full sensory hallucination. They are heard speaking to someone, and it becomes apparent that the occupant has been invited to participate in a drinking contest. The contest begins regardless of acceptance or refusal of the invitation.

Despite no actual liquid passing between the occupant's lips, they slowly begin to exhibit effects normally associated with alcohol intoxication. SCP-69 is a presumed humanoid entity. Through an unknown ability, whenever SCP-69 is left alone with a recently deceased human body, it will take on the appearance, mannerisms, and knowledge of the recently deceased individual. Through extensive experimentation, it has been shown that SCP-69 is completely indistinguishable from the individual it impersonates, matching the original individual's fingerprints and DNA with nearly perfect precision. SCP-69 can impersonate a single individual indefinitely. However, it will

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