The SCP Experience - Fear the Miraculous Worms | SCP-8047

Episode Date: September 23, 2024

SCP Foundation HAZARDOUS class object, SCP-8047 This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-8047 and is released under Creative Commons Sharealike 3.0. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/ Author: Matt D. * * * 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

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as I settled into the abandoned break room. The floor had been as quiet as a graveyard at midnight for the better part of three months since our last containment breach. When coming down from the ninth floor, where I worked, I passed signs of the destruction while on my way to a brief respite from the bullshit.

There were cracks in the stairwell walls that had not been deemed enough of a structural threat to warrant repairing. The door from the stairwell still opened a little cock-eyed, and it screeched in protest each time. There were bullet holes in the wide hallway walls, scorch marks on the acoustic tile ceilings, and missing linoleum tiles from the floor. Farther down, asked the break room, was more destruction. Sections of walls were missing from where the skip had broken through. Shattered glass swept to one side of the hall.

Broken computers and surveillance equipment were in piles. on the other side. At least the O5 Council had allowed for the overtime to clean up the blood and body parts that had been scattered around during the breach. That was something. But for all the grim reminders of what had transpired here, we'd still made it our own. In a way, I was happy that the foundation was too goddamn cheap to fix up the floor for now. It gave us a place to escape to, a place of our own, like kids in a treehouse. The door from the stairwell screeched as someone opened it. Listening to the click-clack of footsteps coming down the hall,

I guessed it was Morse coming. A moment later, she came into view in the breakroom doorway, proving me right. Elena Morse stood a petite five-foot-four without heels. Underneath the standard white lab coat, she wore stretchy black trousers and a tan-colored blouse. She had bright green eyes and a slightly lopsided smile that made her stand out from a crowd.

Crosby stills and Nash, Morse said, when she saw me leaning back in one of the breakroom chairs. You look like a pile of fresh D-class shit, you know that? What's Morse code for eat a bag of dicks? I asked. We smiled at each other as she set her own coffee down on the table and stripped off her white lab coat,

draping it on the back of her chair with military precision. The screech of the stairwell door sounded again, the third member of our little group was coming. A moment later, Asparza walked in, looking like he belonged in a Wall Street high-rise with his designer clothes and huge glittering watch. Like the rest of us, he wore a lab coat with an ID tag hanging from it. His obsidian hair was slicked back,

his black goatee clinging to his jutting movie star jaw. Dot, dot, dot, dot, dash, dash, dot, dot, dash. Isparza said to Morse. I'm asking if you still have that stick up your ass in Morse code. Morse made a face at him. You guys can't come up with anything original. Every time, it's something about Morse code. Well, shit, I don't know.

Asparza said, as he set his can of Rockstar down and pulled his lab coat off. That's the only thing that makes sense. What the fuck else is Morse but a name? How about you're one morose piece of shit? I tried. Both my friends looked like they saw. smelled a broken sewer line. Moros,

Moore said. Seriously? I shrugged and turned to Esparza. You're one to talk. What the hell rhymes with your last name besides? I don't know. Larva? Or some sarah?

Saul waved a hand. Whatever, shut up. We're wasting time. Whose turn is it? I dipped it down and grabbed the grocery bag from next to my chair. Okay, I've got two kinds of Oreos for you guys. One is strawberry cream, the other is red velvet. I brought out the two small boxes of Korean Oreos and set them on the table.

Dib's on the red velvet, Asparza said, snatching the box up. There's enough to share, dipshit, Moore said, reaching for the box as Asparza kept them playfully away. I sat back, proud that my discovery had created such animation between my two friends. We each took turns, trying to find weird or limited edition, to bring for our little breaks. It was a tradition started by one of our recently deceased friends and co-workers, Lucy Whitaker. Back then, before the eighth floor had been abandoned, we had still gathered here. Whitaker had worked on this floor.

She was the one who had befriended us all what seemed like a century ago, when we were all junior researchers. She'd been the glue that held our group together. Then, the containment breach happened on her floor, and she'd been given killed. Not only was coming down to this familiar break room, a way to spend some time on our own, it was also a way to remember our friend, to keep her involved in some small way. Once Morse and Asparza were done messing around, and before we started eating our treats, we had our moment of silence of remembrance. This was how we did things, five days a week.

We always had a moment of silence. Then we usually busted out the dice and played a a game called threes for a small pot of money until our break was over. Then we went back to our respective floors to finish out the day. Our little meetings were miniature stress relievers, where we could just act like goofy kids again. Once the moment of silence was over, Esparsa and Morse dug into the red velvet cookies while I chomped on a strawberry cream one. It wasn't very good, but I didn't mind. That wasn't really the point. I read. I read reached for a red velvet one when a concussive boom swept through the building, shaking the floor under our feet. The alarm started a second later.

We all froze and looked at each other for a long moment before shooting up from our chairs and running out into the hall. Morse was first, with Asparza in the middle and knee behind as we reached the stairwell. With the eighth floor out of commission, we had to get to the nearest safety area, which was one floor down on the seventh. But another teeth rattling boom shook the building, just as Morse opened the stairwell door. The first chunks of concrete toppled down, but they were small ones, belting Morse in the shoulders and head. She kept running. We all did. We didn't have enough time to reflect on anything. Our momentum was too great. So when the chunk fell and cracked as far as the skull opened, I saw it happen, but I couldn't stop my

forward movement. His legs went out from under him immediately and I tripped over him. Our legs tangled and I went down, falling on top of him and then tumbled down the stairs even as more chunks of concrete fell. Morse, on the landing between floors, turned around as the chunk that hit Esparza clattered against the wall with a chalky thud. I followed soon after, coming to rest at her feet. She helped me up, and we both rushed up the stairs to grab Isparza and pull him down before he could get hit again. A second chunk fell from the underside of the stairs overhead and crashed into Asparza's left ankle, crushing the joint before bouncing off. He made no sound, not even a grunt of pain.

That's when I knew just how bad it was. Only when we dragged him into the seventh floor hallway did we get a good look at the wound on his head. I thought I could see brain, and there was blood everywhere, trailing behind us as we dragged him down the hall toward the nearest safety area. Head wounds bleed a lot, Morse said. She was trying to sound calm, but I could hear the doubt. in her voice. And that told me everything I needed to know. Medic! I shouted as we dragged him along.

Medic! Several people came up and helped us carry as far as down the hall and into the safety room. We had to use a security code to get into the room, which was just a large, deep space with pads lining the border on the wall for sitting, and several reinforced cabinets that were affixed to the floor and wall so they wouldn't topple over and hurt someone. Once an emergency was triggered by the first one into the safety, safety room, the timer would start on the metal cabinets, only opening to reveal the food and water inside after a certain amount of time it passed. The room was packed with people, many of them sitting on the pads against the walls.

Others were up and talking. Everyone looked at us as we came in, their eyes immediately going to Esparza. We put him down on the floor as Dr. Linley, a graying woman in a gray skirt and black blouse, rushed over. She was a psychiatrist, and so she had attended. medical school. Grab the first aid kit, she said. A guy nearest the big kit, affixed to the wall, yanked the box out of its housing, and ran it over to us. But before Linley could really get going, a couple of foundation medics came in with a gurney.

They moved us aside, put bandages on his head, and then loaded him up on the stretcher to take him to the infirmary. I followed them out of the room, eyes fixed on my friend. Sir, we'll take it from here. One of the medics said as they wheeled the girl. down the hall. I'm coming with you, I said. You won't be allowed into the infirmary, not during the middle of a containment breach.

What? Since when? I asked. New directive from the council. The second medic said. This is bullshit. I'm staying with my friend. The two guys shared a look, but said nothing more, as I followed them down the hall to the infirmary doors, where two armed security officers stood guard.

Both guerrilla-sized officers tensed as they saw me following behind the medic. following behind the medics with the gurney. Sir, you can't come inside the infirmary, one of the guerrillas said. New foundation rules. They can fire me for all I care, I said, not slowing, expecting the doors to open automatically on our approach, as I'd seen before. But they stayed closed, preventing the medics from entering with Asparza. We all stopped, and the medics turned to look at me.

Something was hidden on their faces I couldn't quite read. What the hell is this? I said, you won't let this dying man in because of me? That's right, Gorilla 1 said. So if you want your friend to get medical attention, back away from the doors. Fine, I said, raising my hands and backing away. Fine, just fucking help him. Once I was 15 yards down the hall, Gorilla 2 finally slapped a button on the wall.

The doors opened, and the medics rushed in. I caught only a glimpse of the area beyond, seeing that the infirmary wasn't over. flowing with people. In fact, it looked pretty calm in there. Apparently, the containment breach wasn't so bad. The doors closed, and I walked back up to the security guards. What is this bullshit? I asked. Why did they suddenly change the rule that were not allowed inside? Sir, go back to your designated safety room until you get the all clear, Gorilla One said. This was so typical of the foundation, and it got my blood boiling. They had been too cheap to fix the stairwell, well, and this was what happened. People got hurt, killed maybe. And now, there was this bullshit

rule about not accompanying our friends into the infirmary. It wasn't like I wanted to stand and watch what they were going to do to him. I just wanted to be nearby in case, in case it was really as Spars' last day on earth. Of course, it wasn't the security guards' fault. They were just doing what they were told. But I wasn't in the mood for logic. I was pissed, and I kept seeing that gash in my friend's head. That huge gash that could have been prevented. I got up into Gorilla One's face and pointed a finger at his nose. What the fuck? I doubled over and gasped as he punched me in the stomach. He grabbed me by the neck and lifted my face to his. Go back to your designated safety room until you get the all clear, he said through clenched teeth. He shoved me away

from the infirmary. I stumbled, but managed to keep to my feet. As I walked down the the hall, back the way I'd come. I glanced over my shoulder. Gorilla One was smirking. I shook my head and headed back to the safety room to tell Morse what had happened, and to wait for news on our friend. I've got a little bit of a headache, but otherwise, I'm all good. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. Asparza sat in a bed in the infirmary, looking as lively as ever. His color was good, and his smile was as dazzling as it had always been. Hell, he even looked like. He even looked like. he'd had a recent shave, although that was probably my imagination. The only things that indicated he'd been injured at all were the bandages wrapped around his head and his propped-up ankle.

Since the breach was over, anyone was allowed to come into the infirmary, but there weren't many people around. At least, not on this one. There was an infirmary every three floors, so I was sure that the one nearest where the breach had happened was probably loaded with injured people. We hadn't received any news on casualties yet, though. Dude, we thought you were dead for sure, Morse said from the other side of the bed, where she held S. Bars' hand. Yeah, I said. Like Whitaker.

I immediately regretted saying it, killing the previously jovial mood. Hey, Morse said gently. What we do here is important. Really fucking important. I know, I said, I want to keep doing it. it, it's just, don't you feel like the foundation could do more to keep us safe? I get the feeling they don't give a shit about us. I mean, Asparza could have been killed because they were too cheap to fix the damage from the last containment breach, you know? It's stuff like that, over and over all the time. Both my friends nodded. Then a figure approached from the

infirmary entrance. I turned and saw the site director, Armand Waller, coming toward us. A slender and serious man with jutting cheekbones and a huge Adams apple. Waller had always given me the creeps for no good reason that I could discern. His demeanor was that of a funeral home director. Maybe that's why I didn't like him. I always got a whiff of death when he was around. He stopped a few feet away from us with loudly clacking heels. I think you've been visiting your friend long enough, he said. Time to get back to work for now. You can come back after working hours. Are you serious right now? I said, surprising myself with my tone.

I'd never talked to Waller like this before. He nearly died, and we can't spend ten minutes with him? Waller looked up at a camera in the middle of the room, then back at me. I'm afraid so. Esparza is fine as you can see. Time to get back to it. Our work is important. So I keep hearing, I mumbled.

I don't want to reprimand you, Crosby, but I will if you. you force my hand. Fine, I said. Fine, I'm going back to work. I turned to Asparza and gave his arm a squeeze. Glad you're okay, Larva. That earned me a chuckle as Morse and I followed Waller out of the infirmary. I had to read the email twice, and even then, I still didn't believe it.

I picked up my desk phone and dialed Morse's extension. She picked up on the third ring. Morse. Hey, I said. Did you see the email from Asparza? Look now. Read it. I'll wait. I heard some background noises as Morris got on her computer to access her foundation email. After a few moments, she started talking, reading the email.

Asked for and received a transfer to a different facility, working with low-risk anomalies. Unfortunately, this transfer is effective immediately, so I cannot say goodbye in person. I'm truly sorry about this. I will miss our afternoon breaks together. Maybe, once I'm feeling better and over my injuries, I'll request a transfer back. Until then, take care. Saul Esparza. Morse paused. I waited.

What the fuck is this bullshit? She said. Exactly. Bullshit is exactly right. Esparza didn't write this email. Have you talked to him today? No. Morse said.

Not since we last saw him in the infirmary. When he said he was granted a three-day leave of hours. absence for his injuries. I haven't seen him since either, I said. Something's not right here. Something's fucked up. What do you mean? What are you thinking?

I mean, he seemed fine when we talked to him. Yeah, he did. That's what I'm saying. You ever heard of someone getting their skull cracked open and being just fine an hour later? Because I haven't. What the hell are you saying? Morris asked.

I don't know, I said. I'm just saying that something isn't right. So what else is new? I'm going to find out what the hell is going on. Morris paused. She said, Don't step over any lines, Crosby. I wanted to say, fuck the lines.

But I thought better of it, because I was certain our conversation was being recorded. All of them were, all the time. The foundation looking out for us, keeping an eye out for anomalous behavior, protecting us. Yeah, right. I sighed into the phone.

I know. I'm just frustrated. frustrated as all. I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation. I'll see you this afternoon, right? My break room this time? Yeah, Moore said, sounding wary. See you then. The alarm claxons sounded, jerking me out of my post-lunch stupor and immediately sending my adrenal gland into overdrive. Another containment breach. It had been two months since the last one. Two months since I had last talked to my friend Esparza. After his supposed transfer, we hadn't heard one word from him. I had even gone over to his house, which was a big no-no. We weren't supposed to fraternize

outside of work. However, I found out that his place was up for sale. I knew the foundation had done something with him. I just didn't know what, but I was determined to find out. And I had a plan to do just that. Lurching up from my desk, I rushed out the door and down the hall, going the opposite direction as the flow of my coworkers, who were headed to the safe room. I grabbed one of the junior researchers that often worked with me and said, What floor? I don't know. I heard someone say 12.

I let him go and rushed down the hall while he shouted after me, asking where I was going. As I reached the stairwell door to the 12th floor, a woman burst through, screaming as she looked down at her missing hand. It had been chopped off by something, and the nub spurred it up. blood with her heartbeat. She rushed past me, down the stairs, holding her injured arm up. I wondered

why she wasn't heading for the infirmary on 12, but I didn't have to wonder long. As I stepped through the door and into the wide 12th floor corridor, I glimpsed a spindly, naked man with four legs, walking like a spider through a haze of smoke at the end of the hall. He, or it, was walking away, which was lucky for me. The creature turned right at the hallway intersection. Gunfire sounded from that direction, and I saw the creature run left across the corridor, heading away from the security officers chasing it. A man lay on the ground nearby, a brutal injury to his chest. I ran to the man whose rib cage had been ripped open.

I could see his internal organs still working away, albeit weakly. He was delirious, covered in blood, muttering something about someone named Patricia. Medic! I shouted. Medic! While I waited, I held the guy's hand and told him. him he was going to be okay. Not that I believed it myself, but it was what I would want to hear in his position. Two minutes later, a pair of medics came trundling down the hall with a gurney.

Here! I shouted. I studied the men and determined that one of them was the right size. The two guys stopped next to the injured man as I stepped up and away to give them room. I waited until they had the guy as stabilized as he was going to get before stepping up behind one of them and elbowing him in the side of the head. What the fuck? The other medic said. Then he shouted, security! As I rushed toward him.

I tackled him to the floor and got my arm around his neck. He elbowed me in the ribs as I choked him out. But I kept the pressure on his throat. I wasn't trying to kill him. I only wanted to knock him out. I'm sorry. I whispered just before he went on him. I worked fast, taking off his foundation medic overalls,

and pulling them over my clothes. Then I got behind the gurney and rushed the injured and unconscious man down toward the infirmary. The two security guards at the door didn't even look at the ID card clipped to the breast pocket. If they had, they would have seen a picture of the real medic's face staring out at them from behind the laminate. They let me in, and I rushed toward the nearest person of authority. Here, I said. Woon to the ribcage. The woman, a doctor, I guessed, looked at me for a moment like she was about to admonish me.

Maybe I wasn't up on the lingo, or I had messed up the protocol, but she decided not to say anything. She looked down at the man on the gurney instead. After looking at him for just a few seconds, she shook her head. He's not going to make it. Take him to the back. I don't know what I expected, but it wasn't this. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I figured there was some kind of compound they gave dying people to heal them. What happened after that?

I had no idea. and I wasn't sure why they wouldn't just try their best to save critically injured people in the first place. It must have shone on my face because the doctor grabbed my arm and pulled me close. Do it! She said harshly. If he dies because of your hesitancy,

I'll have no choice but to tell the counsel it was your fault. Right, I mumbled. Sorry. I wheeled the gurney and the dying man in the direction the doctor had indicated. There was a set of double doors at the very back of the infirmary. I wheeled him through and down a short corridor to a T-junction. To the right, another pair of double doors stood closed with the word morgue across them.

The double doors to the left weren't labeled. I turned right, but only made it a few feet before someone shouted at me from the left. Hey, where are you going? The voice was muffled, but it belonged to a man. I peered over my shoulder at a man in a hazmat suit who'd just come out through the double doors to the left. This way, he said. Come on, hurry up. Changing direction, I wheeled the gurney toward him as he disappeared through the doors.

Once on the other side, I found myself outside a containment cell with a large viewing window. The hazmat-suited man said, I got him, as he took the gurney from me and wheeled it into a small room with a grated floor. He shut the door, leaving me to look inside the containment cell. Moist dirt covered the entire floor of the chamber. But it wasn't the dirt that caught my attention. It was the mangled bodies lying in the dirt. One of the bodies, a woman with half her face missing,

lay near the window as if dumped in the dirt. I saw movement, but at first I couldn't place it. I leaned toward the viewing window and squinted, realizing that the movement was her face growing back. The sinewy strands of muscle and tendon that made up her jaw muscles grew, seemingly out of nowhere, until the previously severed strands joined. Her eye had been badly damaged,

but it, too, was growing back as I watched. At this rate, I figured her face would be back to normal within an hour or two. A second man in a hazmat suit went in to assist his partner in carrying the injured man I brought in. The two hazmat-suited men carried him to a free spot in the chamber and set him down. Then they left him and went about checking the other regenerating bodies.

I watched carefully what happened next. It took about 30 seconds before I saw movement around the injured man I'd brought in. Small white worms worked themselves out of the soil around him and slithered up his clothes toward the wound in his chest. The worms were about six inches long, each about as thick around as a piece of uncooked spaghetti. I counted eight of them, watching through the window as they disappeared into his gaping wound.

I stared, expecting to see his wound, mending itself, but nothing happened. He remained unconscious, and the wound remained horrific, blood spilled out of it with each heartbeat. Ellis Crosby, a voice said from behind me. I spun around to see site director Armand Waller standing behind me, flanked by two security guards, one of which I recognized from the altercation outside the seventh floor infirmary. The security guard smiled as he whipped his telescoping baton out and cracked me in the head with it. He probably expected me to go down.

Hell, I expected me to go down, but I didn't. Something snapped inside of me, and all the years of abuse at the hands of the foundation, all in the name of important work, came flooding into me. My boss, Armand Waller, the creepy guy with the jutting cheekbones and the oversized Adams' apple, was the face of that abuse. And it was a face I wanted to smash at that moment. My head whipped sideways from the baton blow, but I whipped it right back to the same. as I lunged at Waller.

This took all three men by surprise, but it was all I needed. I tackled Waller to the floor, smacking his head into the concrete with all the force I could muster. Then I gripped his head with my hands, bringing it up and then sending it back down into the hard surface.

The first blow had only been a solid thud, but this second one was a wet crack, like a giant egg breaking. Blood started to pour out from around his skull. Before I could smash his head down a third time, both security guards were great, grabbing me, throwing me off. The one who'd hit me with the baton stomped on my head several times,

while the other guards shouted for him to stop. But he didn't stop. He only changed attack, slamming the baton into my face until my left eye ruptured and my skull fractured. He hit me so hard I couldn't even lift my hands to ward off the blows, and he kept hitting me until I lost consciousness. At first, the smell of rich soil made me think I was dead and in a grave.

The fact that I couldn't move my arms or legs seemed to support this notion. But when I finally managed to open my eyes, I saw that I was very much alive, although the grim reaper seemed to be looking over me. Armand Waller peered down at me from the middle of the soil-covered containment room. He had his hands on his hips and was dressed in what appeared to be silk pajamas. Finally awake, he said. Good. The time fast approaches. You only have a few minutes to say goodbye to this world.

I put my chin to my chest, seeing that I was dressed only in dirt-smeared underwear. My legs were bound at the knees and ankles. My hands were bound in front of me at the wrists. I blinked, remembering the pain of the beating I'd taken. There was no pain now. My face was intact, undamaged. Of course, I knew why.

The worms. They'd fixed me. And by the look of him, they'd fixed Waller, too. What's going to happen? I asked. You'll see, Waller said. He looked grim, but he always did. Still, there was something in his demeanor that hadn't been there before. Sadness, maybe, regret? I struggled into a seated position against the wall and looked around.

Only Waller and I were in here, just the two of us. A look at the viewing window told me no one was watching. at least not in person. There were cameras recording this whole thing. You're wondering why, Waller said. I'm not so sure I should tell you. Maybe I should let you die without knowing. Die?

I feel fine. Waller threw his head back and laughed. Is Adam's apple looking like it was about to break through his skin? When he was done, he said, Yes, as do I, Crosby, as do I. But we won't feel fine for life. I'm just glad I managed to convince them to put you in here first yesterday. They put me in about two minutes later.

It was a good thing too, because I was almost dead from the swelling in my brain. I wanted them to put me in later so I could watch you die. It's a small consolation for what you did to me. You're a murderer, Crosby. I want you to know that. You murdered me, so I just want to know one thing. Why do you hate me so much? I swallowed and looked away.

Down at the soil. I didn't see any worms. What happened to Asparza? I asked. If I tell you, will you answer my question? I nodded, still not meeting his eyes. Waller sighed and then sat down in the dirt in front of me. He wore comfortable slippers with his silk pajamas. He looked like he was getting ready to go to sleep. Maybe he was. Maybe we both were.

I met his eyes now. These worms, he began, batting the soil. They are remarkable at fixing us when we're injured. But they don't do it out of the kindness of their many hearts. They do it for a very specific reason. What's that? I asked. Just let me tell it my way, he said. I nodded.

Do you know how much your work suffered after your friend Lucy Whitaker died? He asked. What? My work? Your productivity went down by nearly 14%. Did you realize that? Productivity? I asked. Are you fucking kidding me?

Did you know that each facility experiences an average of 3.9 containment breaches each year? And that, following those breaches, which inevitably result in the deaths of foundation workers, productivity drops significantly. The O5 Council determined that we could. used the worms for good, to keep productivity high even after the most severe containment breaches. I studied his face, starting to put it together, but I still couldn't believe the ridiculous cruelty of it. So you're saying Asparza's dead, I said finally.

That's right, he said. But if you hadn't been such a little snoop, you wouldn't have known that. You would have thought that he had just been transferred, like we wanted you to believe. Sure, you may have thought something else was going on, but you wouldn't be able to prove it. You just couldn't leave it alone, could you? I shook my head. So you bring fatally injured workers back to life so they can, what, talk to their friends, tell them they're going to be transferred to another site?

That's right. If your friend hasn't just died, but has instead made a miraculous recovery and then was transferred to another, safer location, you can focus on your work, don't you see? Jesus, you're sick. That's fucking sick. And it didn't even work. I didn't believe that email was from Esparza for a minute. Yes, well, we're still working out some kinks. We just started this program after all. I shook my head again. This is crazy. We do important work here. If our people don't do their jobs, then the world could actually end. I swallowed and looked up into Armand's eyes. I wanted to say something. But I couldn't find the words.

After all, he was right, but he was also wrong. So very wrong. Now that I've answered your question, I want you to answer mine. Why do you hate me so much? I thought about that for a moment. As I opened my mouth to answer, a world of pain erupted throughout my whole body. Instead of speaking, I screamed, feeling like my bones were melting from the inside out. Riving against the wall, I looked down at my bare arms and saw the skin ripping open.

Little white worms were squirming out from flesh that seemed to melt like heated wax. My legs ripped open, and more of the worms appeared. Next came my stomach. My scream stopped as my throat ruptured, and I could feel the little worms squirming around in there, working their way toward the light and the air. Before my eyeballs ruptured, I looked at Armand, who was grinning like a clam. But at the last moment, I saw his hands rip open as the worms started to come out of him. I died to the sound of his screams.

SCP 8047 designates a species of anomalous organisms vaguely resembling what is commonly known as the white worm. SCP 8047's anomalous properties become evident when an instance is presented with a living human subject, with a marked preference for subjects that are heavily injured and near death. When this occurs, instances will burrow into the subject's flesh using their concealed teeth. During this process, instances will secrete a form of anesthetic, preventing a pain response. Once inside of the subject's body, they will rapidly move throughout the bloodstream before ceasing observable activity 32 minutes later.

The presence of SCP-8047 inside of a host organism has a number of beneficial and anomalous effects on the subject. These include rapid tissue regeneration, recovery from other anomalous conditions, reduced incidence of cancerous cell growth. Following a dormant phase of approximately 22 hours, the SCP-8047 instance will resume activity. It will travel rapidly throughout the host's body, laying as many as 62,000 eggs as it does so. All attempts to arrest or delay this process have failed.

Following this, the eggs will hatch simultaneously, releasing a large number of juvenile SCP-8047 instances. These subjects will secrete a caustic fluid from their mouths, aiding them in breaking down the body of the host organism as they consume it for nutrients. In all observed cases, this has resulted in the subject's death.