The SCP Experience - INCINERATION | SCP-081

Episode Date: November 15, 2021

Dr. SCP brings you SCP Foundation EUCLID class object, SCP-081: Incineration Author: Matt Doggett Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/MatthewDoggettAuthor/ Website/Newsletter sign up: matthewdoggettauthor.com This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-081, 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

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Inscribe you at BMO.com bar-oblick concour. The reglements of the concourse so plighted a yawn as I sat down at my desk, setting my cup of coffee down with one hand, and my bacon, egg, and cheese breakfast sandwich down with the other. Having a tough time waking up this fine morning? My partner, Richter, said from where he sat at his desk.

Since we were partners, our desks were pressed together, facing each other in the wide open detective squad room. Just one of those weeks, I said. They just don't make coffee like they used to, either that or I'm getting old. We're all getting old, Richter said. But I think you need to worry about getting round more than aging. Maybe start skipping the breakfast sandwiches. I grunted.

sipping my coffee and gearing my brain up for another day on the job. Coming from anyone else, the crack about my weight would have been strange. But Richter and I had been working together for five years, so I shrugged it off. I was always given him grief about his expensive suits and his drinking habits. None of us are saints. Beringer, Richter, come in here, please. Captain Shelley called from her office. Richter and I shared a look and then got up.

Morning, Captain. Richard said to Shelley, a thin and bony woman of advancing years, who couldn't have been anything else but a cop. She had a kind of weary politeness about her that seemed always on the verge of snapping, and she looked particularly vexed this morning. Come in, Shelley said. Sit down. She motioned to a small table in her office, opposite her desk. Above the table was a flat screen TV affixed to the wall. There was a frozen black and white image on it of a sparse room with a rather large woman in it, lying on a small twin bed. Richter and I sat down at the table. It wasn't business as usual. We never got called in by the captain unless something was awry. This video was sent to us a few

hours ago, Shelly said, hitting play on the small remote in her hand. The screen came to life, and the large woman, she must have been nearly 300 pounds, started moving around the room in fast motion. She banged on the walls, fanned herself, and then began yelling, although we couldn't hear because there was no sound. Can you stop fast forwarding? I asked. I'd like to hear what she's saying. I'm not fast forwarding, Shelley said. The video is edited this way. There's no sound. Just keep watching. The camera angle gave a view of the entire room, except for the area directly under the camera, the only place the door could be. The room looked strikingly similar to a prison There was a small twin bed and a basic metal toilet with a sink basin directly above it,

as if the two were made as one stainless steel unit. There was a date and timestamp in the corner of the screen. The date was from a week ago, and the minutes sped by as we watched. The woman used the toilet, sat on the bed, banged on the walls, cried, and paced inside the tiny room. Then the footage slowed to a normal time as a large tray of food was pushed into the room from some kind of latch in the door just below the camera. The woman pounced on the food, which was mostly fast food burgers and processed pastries of the kind you buy at gas stations.

It took her less than five minutes to clear off the tray. I felt the grumblings of hunger as I watched the woman inhale the food. I thought about my breakfast sandwich, sitting abandoned on my desk. My stomach growled. Once she was done with her food, the footage sped up again, and we watched more of the same for a fast two hours. Then her behavior changed. She began to bang on the walls and shout nonstop. Her face turned from sad to angry as she spent a fast three hours doing nothing but banging on the walls in the door. Once again, the time slowed to normal as another tray of food was delivered. The old tray taken away from where it had been left by the door, the woman devoured the new food just as quickly as the last time. I expected the footage to speed up again, but it didn't.

We watched in normal time as the woman leaned her body against the bolted down metal bed. Then she started fanning herself, as if it had grown hot in the room. She took off her large t-shirt, but it didn't seem to help. Then she stood up and started fanning herself vigorously in calling out, although we still couldn't hear what she was saying. She paced back and forth in the tiny room, fanning herself with her shirt. When her skin began to change color, I thought there was something wrong with the footage, but as I watched, the horrible reality of what was happening dawned on me. The skin on her abdomen changed first, turning from a ghostly white on the colorless screen to a spreading black. The spots were small at first, but they grew quickly.

And as they grew, the woman screamed. She put her hands on the area, but then pulled them away as if the black spots were hot, it didn't take me long to realize that hot was exactly what they were. Black spots started appearing all over her, as if her flesh was disintegrating from the inside out. As the spots increased, I noticed smoke coming off of them. The woman was now running around the small room, hysterical and clearly an immense pain. She slammed into the wall by the toilet, and by the time she turned around to run toward the door to her prison cell, her whole body was on fire. It was then that I realized that the black spots that now covered her entire body weren't just discolored spots on the skin. They were burns. The woman was catching fire from

what looked to be the inside out. The flames were now large enough to see on the black and white footage. Richter Shelley and I watched in horror as the woman collapsed, writhing in terrible pain on the floor of the cell. After a few minutes, she stopped moving but continued to burn. She burned down to a pile of black smoldering ash. What in the name of God? Richter asked quietly. It's not over, Shelly said. Keep watching.

The footage sped up again, and we watched as an hour passed in only a few minutes. Nothing much happened on the screen during the hour, except for the fact that the ashes stopped smoldering. The footage slowed down again as a figure in a full hazmat suit came into the room, carrying a metal bucket and a small shovel like you use for gardening. The figure had the movements and the build of a man, but I couldn't be sure. He, if it was a he, was careful to keep his back to the camera as he worked, shoveling the woman's ashes into the metal bucket.

Once he got all he could and the bucket was nearly full, he backed out of the room so as not to show us his face. Although we probably couldn't have seen much of it through the protective mask he wore. As soon as the figure left the room, the footage went black. and then the number 55 and a percentage sign flashed on the screen five times. Then the footage stopped and queued up at the beginning, ready for another viewing. This is legit? I asked. Although I knew she wouldn't be showing us footage that hadn't already been checked.

The tech guys say it hasn't been tampered with, no visual effects. What about a digital fingerprint? Richter asked. None that leads anywhere, Shelley said. Whoever did this is good. What's with the 55% thing at the end? And why show us him collecting the ashes? I asked.

He could have just ended the tape after she burned to death. He's trying to tell us something. He put something in her food to do that to her, Richter said. You ever heard of anything that can cause spontaneous combustion? It's not spontaneous if he did it to her, I said. You know what I mean. Either of you ever heard of anything like that? I shook my head.

Shelly did the same. 55%. I said to no one in particular, burning from the inside out. I hate to say this, Richter said, but I think we need to involve the feds in this one. This smells like terrorism to me. No way, Shelley said. No goddamn way. This is a homicide until we know it's not.

Just because the guy was wearing a hazmat suit doesn't mean anything. He's probably trying to get us excited, and you're falling for it. What about the whole 55% thing? Richter asked. He could mean 55%. percent of the total population, or New York City's population. If this is a new kind of biological warfare, we're in over our heads. No, I'm telling you no, Richter, Shelley said in a tone that brokered no argument. You're both trained and overpaid detectives. Work this as a homicide. If and when you

bring me something that spells terrorism, we'll discuss contacting the feds. Shelley gave us a thumb drive with a copy of the footage on it and sent us back out into the squad room. Is it hot in here? I said, sitting down and digging into my now-cold breakfast sandwich. I was starving. No, Richter said, but we did just watch a woman burn to death. So some sympathetic hot flashes are normal, I'm guessing. Something about hot flashes tickled the back of my mind, but I pushed it away. I'm going to call my friend in the bureau, I told Richter.

If there's something out there that can make people burn to death from the inside out, he'll know about it. Richter nodded and looked relieved. It was a start. My FBI buddy Vasquez answered on the third ring. Hey, you old so-and-so, he said. How's homicide treating you? Ready to come up to the big leagues?

I laughed. I doubt I could pass the physical at this point. Now, I'm calling for a work thing. Sure, I'm all ears. I gave him the rundown of the video and asked if he knew anything that could cause that kind of reaction. He got quiet for a long moment. Let me put you in touch with a guy I know from the foundation.

He said, finally. I think he'd be the one to talk to about this. What's the foundation? Some kind of non-profit or something? No, far from it. The SCP Foundation. Kind of hush-hush stuff. Most of it's above my pay grade,

but something like you're talking about is what they specialize in. Stay by your phone. I'll have them call you. All right. Thanks, Vasquez. Richard looked at me. What's up?

He's going to have a guy from the SEP Foundation call me. You ever heard of that? Richter shook his head. We both lapsed into silence, thinking about the case. My stomach rumbled. I was starving. I decided to head over to the vending machine to get a snack. But before I could act on the impulse, Shelly called for us again. Something in her voice put me on edge. Whatever she was about to tell us wasn't good. She didn't wait for us to come to her. She rushed over to our desks. Her phone held in one hand, a look of genuine terror on her face. It's on the internet, she said,

turning her phone around so we could see the screen. It was a short video, taking only a few parts of the longer version we'd just watched. It showed the obese woman burning to death and then jumped to the figure collecting the ashes. Then the words, New York City, 55% flashed on the screen. That was it. It was the whole video.

It had been posted less than an hour earlier, and it already had over 100,000 views. Well, we have no choice but to involve the feds now, Richter said. They're probably all over this thing already. My phone rang, and I picked it up absently, still thinking about the implication of the new video. This is Beringer, I said. Hey, Detective Beringer, said the voice on the other end. This is Joe from the SCP Foundation.

Baskets said you're working on something interesting. What do you have? I ran it down for him, including the video that I just watched on YouTube. Listen, where are you? Joe asked, his tone all business. I told him, Stay there. We're sending a team out. I'll see you soon. Wait a minute, said. At least tell me what you think this is. I need something to go on here. Joe seemed to think for a minute before answering.

Fine, he said. It's known as SCP-81. It's a disease that feeds on body fat and eventually causes combustion. We don't understand exactly how this happens, but it does. It happens when the person reaches over 55% body fat. That's what the 55 is about. If this disease gets unleashed on New York City, it? Well, it sure his shit won't be good. And it's resilient. Those ashes the man in the video was scooping up, those are contaminated.

That's why he was wearing a full hazmat suit. My mind was reeling. I felt panic rising. But even more prominently in my mind was another feeling, one of hunger. And it was growing by the second. The last time I'd been to the doctor, I was at over 40% body fat, and I'd gained weight since then.

What are some of the symptoms? I asked, barely able to keep the panic out of my voice. Sounds like you saw some of them on the video. When they kick in, which takes about a week, they manifest as tiredness, hot flashes, and a nearly uncontrollable urge to eat. Essentially, when it gets bad enough, you eat until you burn to death. Is there a cure? Do you have a cure? No, there's no known cure. I dropped my phone onto the desk.

I'd been getting hot lately out of nowhere, but I'd paid it no mind. Richter looked over at me. There's another video just published, he said grimly, turning his phone so I could see it. On the screen, the GoPro-style footage showed two gloved hands dumping ashes into a wide canal of slow-moving water.

When the bucket was empty, the camera tilted up to reveal what could only be a water treatment facility. The date stamp in the bottom corner of the screen read six days ago. Just one day after the woman burned. The screen went black, and a message popped up on it in bold white letters. Under 55% body fat equals life.

Over 55% equals a painful death. Good luck, piggies. Oh God, I said. Oh no. My stomach rumbled. I was starving. SCP-81 is a contagious human-specific virus that is spread by rats who act as passive carriers. SCP-81 can also be spread through sexual intercourse, exposure to infected blood, and exposure to the ashes of a deceased carrier.

SCP-81 infects adipocytes and leukocytes, inducing both to absorb nutrients at a vastly accelerated rate. As the nutrients are absorbed, infected B cells produce and secrete large quantities of a modified human antibody. Adipocytes expand and proliferate, and the organism's caloric intake increases. Once the subject reaches 55% body fat, the urge to eat will stop. Those subjects report increased instances of hot flashes. Soon afterward, the body will go through an extremely violent version of widespread cell lysis. As cells burst, the modified antibodies catalyzed the ignition of fatty compounds through unknown means. The body is incinerated from the inside out via the wick effect,

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