The SCP Experience - I Was Rescued From Death Row, But My New Prison is Worse | SCP-1912

Episode Date: June 21, 2024

Want to listen ad-free? Try it FREE for 7 days here: patreon.com/TheSCPExperience SCP Foundation EUCLID class object, SCP-1912. This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-1912 and is released under Creative Commons Sharealike 3.0. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/ Author: Jessica C. * * * 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

Fan of soccer, you could assist at a moment historic. You could get any of the final of the Cup of the World of the FIFA 2006 with Visa. It's just to have a card of credit visa BMO for participate. Inscribe you at BMO.com bar-oblique concourse. The reglements of the concourse is applied. I was just put on death row for the crimes I committed. I was charged for murdering five women. All innocent, trusting girls that I lured into my home for dates.

I wanted to play with them and have a good time, so I chopped them up and store their bodies in my closets. I was caught when someone came looking for the fifth girl and smelled the rotting corpses in my house. I was tried in court, and the jury decided I was disgusting enough to inflict the death penalty on. So I thought that was the end of my story. I'd get my final meal, a sedative to put me to sleep, and the deadly injection to end to every. while I was blissfully unaware. But after the most expensive steak dinner I could get, and the sedative, the injection never came.

I woke up from a sleep that I was never supposed to wake up from, and found myself in a strange facility. I woke up in a small white room that looked like another prison cell. There was a single bed, a toilet, two cameras on the corners of the walls, and a heavily bolted door. At first, I thought I had been placed in solitary confinement. Hey! I shouted, hoping the cameras were watching me.

What gives? I thought you assholes were supposed to kill me. I threw my arms up at the cameras. You want to give me another chance or something? Fuck you! I don't regret anything. The only thing I regret is getting caught. I jumped up from the bed and a chain rattled. I looked down to see that I was chained to the bed.

There was a metal cuff around one of my ankles, which chained me to the foot of the bed. What the hell is happening? I muttered. Hello? It was so silent in the room that I could hear my own heartbeat echoing through my body. I didn't know what else to do, so I sat on the bed and waited. Soon, a little window on the door slid open and a tray of food was quickly shoved into my room, and the window was slammed shut again. I felt too angry to eat. I almost felt like I was being cheated. I was promised that this hell-called

prison would end, yet here I was stuck in a different prison. I lay on the bed, and I don't know how many hours passed as I just stared at the white ceiling. I talked to myself to pass the time and imagined those girls' faces against the plain white surface in front of me. Alyssa, you look so good without your wide neck. I got rid of it for you. Eventually, the lights in the room went off, which I assumed meant it was nighttime. I tried to sleep, but it's hard to get tired when you've already been laying down all day. Then the lights came back on, and I heard the heavy metal door open. I immediately jumped up and ran toward the door, but the chain yanked me back.

Hey, tell me what's going on here. I shouted. Two men in plasticy yellow hazmat suits walked in. The majority of their faces were covered by their gas masks, with a little transparent window in front of their eyes so they could see. One of the men held a baton in his hand, clearly ready to beat me with it if I didn't cooperate, while the other man just held a tiny dropper bottle. They just stood out of reach of my chain. The man with the bottle looked at me. Stay still, he said through his mask. This isn't going to hurt. I looked back at him, and I recognized that look behind the protective screen of his suit.

He wasn't a scientist or a prison guard. He was a criminal just like me. He'd seen shit, and his eyes were hardened from it. He'd done terrible things in his life, and maybe he didn't regret it all that much. His eyes showed me that he didn't want to be here, but he wasn't afraid to do what had to be done. I looked at the second man,

He too was a criminal, hardened by circumstances and by bad decisions. Maybe these men were dragged here from death row too, forced to be pawns to someone conducting some sort of sick experiment. The man with the bottle said to me, Lift up your shirt and turn around. It's always easiest on your back. What are you going to do to me? Just do it. Who made you do this? I want to talk to whoever's running this fucked up experiment.

The man with a baton side. Just put it on his arm. You're not putting shit on me! I shouted back. The man lifted his baton. You want to make this difficult? We stared at each other until I realized that they would make me submit

no matter how much I struggled. There was nowhere for me to go and no one for me to plead to for help. I bit my lip and held out my arm. You better be right about this not hurting. The first man, unsubed. screwed the dropper from his bottle and squeezed the little rubber piece at the top to draw in a clear, syrupy liquid. He held the dropper over my arm, and then squeezed seven drops along the length

of my forearm. The liquid just sat on my arm until my skin absorbed most of it, leaving my skin and arm hair looking a little sticky. I raised a brow. Now what? I asked. It's going to make your life easier if you throw up in the toilet instead of all over your yourself, the man with the bottle said. He screwed the dropper back in. Just let it run its course, and we'll bring you something to pass the time. How about that? They didn't explain any further. They walked out and slammed the door behind them. I stared at the sticky spot of my arm. Did I dare touch it? I lifted it near my face and sniffed it. I was expecting a harsh chemical smell, but it smelled sweet and fresh. It didn't make it. It didn't make it.

make me any less suspicious of it. I knew whatever experiment this was had to be bad. I wasn't dumb. They were using a death row inmate for a reason. I wiped the rest of the stickiness off on the very edge of the blanket and went back to laying down. I stared at the white ceiling, unable to do much else about my situation. About three hours later, a little blister started to form on my forearm. It grew incredibly fast. It only took an hour for it to grow from being a barely visible bump under my arm hair to a shiny nickel-sized mound. It had that disgusting yellowish gloss, like there was liquid and pus growing underneath the surface of the skin. It was excruciating to watch it grow over the next few hours. It just grew bigger and bigger throughout the day.

I didn't think it was possible. It was like someone had attached a water balloon to a drip faucet, and it was gradually filling up and expanding. I didn't know if this was the reaction these people were expecting, or if my body was having the worst allergic reaction in my life. It reminded me of the way that those girls' body swelled and bloated after decomposing in my closet. My head and my stomach hurt all day watching it grow, wondering if this was supposed to happen or not. They hadn't told me a thing, like they wanted to add on some extra mental torture to the whole process. I didn't like the smell of my vomit next to me either.

It actually made me vomit a second time that day, but I was smart enough to dash to the toilet in the corner this time. Eventually, the lights went off again. I don't know how, but I managed to fall asleep. Maybe the stress had made me exhausted enough to finally get some shut-eye, or my body wanted to give my mind a break from the dread. I awoke when the fluorescent lights above me were turned on again. As I lifted the blankets off me, I almost fainted.

The blister on my arm was so huge that I wouldn't even call it a blister. It was like a massive tumor. It covered the entire length of my arm. It made my arm feel heavy and fat. Then I realized it was buzzing. It was fucking buzzing. And then I saw something move underneath my skin. I screamed.

Dozens of tiny lumps began moving in every direction under my skin. and I could feel all of them inside of my arm, like I was a corpse, infested with squirming maggots. I screamed and cried, screamed some more. I violently swung my arm around as if it could fling the entire tumor off. I felt like I was going to have a panic attack unless this thing was ripped off my arm. I felt myself spiraling and spiraling until I threw up.

I vomited onto the floor. Tears and snot dripped from my face as I coughed up the last bits of vomit from my mouth. Something about emptying my stomach was able to help me get that immediate panic out of my system, at least so that I didn't pass out. I was still breathing heavily and still sweating with shaky hands, but I was calm enough to look at the enormous blister again. Whatever it was, it was all still crawling around inside of me.

They didn't seem as panicked as before when I was throwing my arm around, and the man was right that it didn't hurt. There wasn't any burning or stinging. or any physical discomfort. Not on my arm anyway. My stomach still felt sick from just looking at it. And my head was throbbing, and my heart was racing.

God, I was sweating so much. I never knew prison would be this cruel to me. The tumor grew more throughout the day, and then stopped at around evening time. When you were little, you had been braced in school of recreat, always in trying to negotiate and do with exchange. The apply negotiates-titre

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Oh, that also. And profite. Via Rai, the voice that we love that we're able. The blister looked so full and bloated, like it was ready to explode.

I really wished it would explode so I could be rid of this monstrosity. I wondered if I could remove it myself. I tried to use the edges of the chain that kept my ankle connected to the bed to saw off the skin. But the metal was too polished to do anything. And the buzzing didn't stop. I didn't want to hear the damn buzzing anymore. It was going to drive me mad. I plugged up my ears with my fingers, but the buzzing traveled up my arm, through my hand, and right into my ear again.

I screamed and pulled at my hair. I was feeling desperate. I shouted at the cameras, since they were my only connection with the outside world. I don't want to help you with this stupid experiment. Please, just take me back to the real prison. I pleaded with the cameras. I'm supposed to be dead. They were supposed to kill me. 15 minutes later, someone actually responded to my pleas. They threw in a book through the window on the door. I supposed it was the reward to pass the time that they promised me. But I didn't give a fuck about the book.

How could I calm my mind enough to read with this thing on my arm? Instead, I ripped out pieces of paper from the pages, crumpled them up and stuffed them into my ears as earplugs, so I wouldn't have to hear the buzzing. My stomach was growling by now. The food they had given me the day before was still sitting on its tray on the floor, but I didn't touch it. I felt like eating would be giving in to the torture by keeping myself alive and healthy, so that they could continue to torture me.

I closed my eyes when they turned the lights off that night. I was exhausted from all the panic. I shouldn't have got caught, I muttered to myself. Maybe I shouldn't have killed those girls. I shouldn't be here. I fell asleep talking to myself. When I woke up this time, the giant blister was itching. It felt like chicken pox all over again, but five times worse.

I couldn't resist the urge to scratch it, even if it felt so disgusting to touch. I scratched all over the huge blister, and I could feel the bugs or creatures or whatever was crawling around inside of me through my fingertips. I hated feeling them, but I just couldn't stop scratching. I raked my fingernails across the skin until the entire blister was red. I felt like a mad dog, furiously licking a wound so desperately that it only made it worse. Why wouldn't the blister stop itching? I was added for hours, and I was absolutely tearing through my skin. The skin flaked off each time I raked my fingernails across the blister.

I was basically carving through the outer shell of it. My skin powdered the blanket around me like a thick layer of dust. And of course, it still buzzed. Whatever was inside was mad that I was scratching so much. I scratched the blister so much that I finally ripped open the skin. The skin tore open like a zipper, and it popped. A puff of putrid air escaped with a tiny ooze of pus, and the tension made the skin pull back like a peel.

And there was a giant ball of bees inside. I screamed the loudest I've been. I never screamed. I screamed like a banchi! The ball of bees unraveled, and they spread their wings and all flew out of my arm. They flew into my face, and I fell onto the bed while squirming in my panic. The bees evacuated the blister and were buzzing all around me, filling the room with flashes of black and yellow. They crawled all over my arm in my face too, but they were honeybees. None of them stung me, but I could feel so many little legs crawling on me. Soon enough, a man in a hazmat suit opened the door.

He left the door wide open so the bees could find their way out. Most of them left immediately, but others took their time to wander around the room before finding the exit. It allowed me to finally see what was beyond the door. We were on the outer wall of a large dome. It was like a giant round greenhouse. The dome was clear to let sunlight in, and underneath it were green bushes with so many different colored flowers. There were wooden bee boxes scattered throughout the bushes. scattered throughout the bushes. Bees buzzed around inside the dome and flew between their boxes

and the flowers. It would have been an adorable sight had I not known where all the bees had come from. The bees that had sprouted from my own body joined their brethren. They made themselves at home among the bee boxes and the flowers. It was all so confusing, but my body felt purged of its curse. I was left with a huge sack of empty skin on my arm, but it was better than a good. goddamn ball of bees inside of me. Next, to the open door. I saw that there were more doors identical to mine along the outer wall of the dome. There was no doubt about it. There were dozens of other men and women like me, brought from death row or from the dregs of society, locked up to hatch all the thousands of bees that were now buzzing around this dome. And at the very

center of the dome was a narrow pedestal with a single object on top. I couldn't see it from this distance, but it was something small and shiny and silver. I swear I could see something oozing from it in dripping down the sides of the pedestal. All the bees were attracted to it too. They would hover over it and land on it briefly before buzzing away again. I stood up to get closer for a better look, but I was still chained to the bed. What was that silver thing? What were they keeping in this dome? And why were all of us hatching bees for it? I was so busy staring out at the dome that I didn't react fast enough to stop the man in the hazmat suit from jabbing a needle into my shoulder and injecting me with another mysterious liquid. I jumped at first and was about

to grab the man to wrestle him, but then I felt happy. Like I didn't have to worry about anything anymore. Like I wanted to just stare at all the pretty flowers beyond the door and drift to sleep with a smile on my face. Like I could forgive these people for using me as a living bee hatcher. The buzzing from the thousands of bees outside my room actually sounded like a calming white noise. The man who had injected me walked back to the door and said, We'll be back once your arm heals. Think about which body part you want next. And he slammed the door shut. SCP 1912 is a pocket watch from the late 1800s, believed to have taken at least 15 years to complete, and bears a resemblance to those crafted by a renowned watchmaker,

whose identity remains protected. However, components suggest it was finished up to five years after his supposed death. Discovered in the home of a member of a militant environmentalist cult, SCP 1912 constantly secretes a fluid, SCP 1912-A, which resembles nectar, but causes blistering on human skin. These blisters formed over two to six hours, expand over 24 to 72 hours, causing discomfort and a sensation of movement within. After 72 to 96 hours, subjects will scratch the blister, releasing honeybees.

SCP 1912-1 bees will seek human hosts to create new blisters. SCP 1912-1 cannot harvest traditional nectar, and their produced honey, SCP 1912-B shows no anomalous properties. Instances of SCP 1912-1 demonstrate a seemingly limitless ability to sense and locate SCP-1912, prioritizing its retrieval regardless of distance. The watch's complex mechanism has prevented dismantling

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