The SCP Experience - Killing Is What I Do | SCP-682

Episode Date: May 8, 2023

SCP Foundation KETER class object, SCP-682: Killing is What I Do This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-682 and is released under Creative Commons Sharealike 3.0. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/ Author: Matt Doggett Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/MatthewDoggettAuthor/ Website/Newsletter sign up: matthewdoggettauthor.com New Book Releases: https://www.amazon.com/Matthew-G-Doggett/e/B08FD5378Z 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 #scpexplained #whatisscp Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

I'm still waking up as I move through all the crazy security protocols in place to make sure I'm not hiding some atrocious SCP up an orifice. Or that I haven't been brainwashed by one of the too many to count cults that worship the various demigods in foundation custody. Or that I'm not a shape-shifting demon bent on eliminating the foundation so I can let chaos reign supreme as I enjoy the sounds of screaming humans as the cities of earth crumble into killing fields where the blood flow. like wine. Anyway, this is what working out the foundation does to your brain. And besides, I'm just waking up and I'm hung over. After security, I board the elevator with a small group of other non-shap-shap-shifting demon co-workers and zone out for a minute. As the elevator doors open, the ding sends a spike of pain into my brain. Not so loud, I tell the elevator, before remembering it's an inanimate object.

I can feel the other people who rode down with me staring as I get off and walk down the hall on sub-level 9. It takes me a moment to register the flurry of activity on the level. People are talking excitedly here and there, while others hurry around, carrying boxes of files and other supplies. I step into the break room, the smell of coffee at once tantalizing and disgusting.

Jeb and Martina are in the room, chatting and clear-eyed like they're already awake and ready for the day. Damn heathens. Grunting an acknowledgement, I grab a mug from the cabinet. Looks like you're doing well this morning. Jeb says when he sees me. Yeah, Martina says, getting in on the fun. How do you always look so good in the mornings? I'm super jealous.

I ignore them, pouring coffee into my mug while squinting against the fluorescent. lighting in the room. What's everyone so worked up about? I ask. Seriously? Jeb says. You don't remember? I attempt to search my memory for anything that would account for the buzz on sub-level

9. But the part of my brain responsible for such a Herculean task gives me the finger and rolls back over. Like I said, not quite awake yet. Take pity on me, I say. Just tell me what's going on. Wolf Savage is coming today, Martina says. It all comes rushing back to me.

Oh, right, I say. I forgot. The way everyone's running around here, you'd think it's Rex Manning Day or something. Jeb chuckles, but Martina looks confused. Who's Rex Manning? I shake my head. Damn, zoomers, don't get my 90s pop culture references. Sipping my coffee, I look at the pair.

You really think he'll be able to kill it? I do, Martina says. If anyone can, Wolf Savage can. Jeb shrugs. I think so. What about you? No way, I say. I don't think it's possible. Just as Martina is about to say something, there's a shout from down the hall.

He's coming down. Everyone get ready. Get ready for what, I say. We're supposed to greet him when he gets off the elevator. Cheb says. What is he? The Pope. I asked, following my two co-workers out into the hall. Everyone who works on the floor is getting lined up on either side of the hallway near the elevator. Dr. Wilson is at the front, looking back at us from behind his horn-rimmed glasses.

Get lined up, he says. Orderly now, orderly. He points at me. Munson, get lined up. The elevator dings behind him. Maybe it's just me, but I think the doors open slowly like they're parting for some rock star. making his grand entrance on stage for the first song. I half expect to see fog pour out of the elevator.

Instead, it opens on a tall, wiry man dressed in a cowboy hat, a fancy silver suit, and alligator-skin cowboy boots. He has a bushy-gray mustache in the face of a man who was born into the wrong era. He could double Sam Elliott and a Western, no problem. He's carrying too long, heavy-looking cases in his hands, and the elevator is full of other cases. As he steps off the elevator, he stops and looks around. Eyes squinted like he's looking for hostels on the horizon.

Everyone in the hall is quiet as Dr. Wilson steps up to him. Welcome, Mr. Wolf, Savage. The guy looks at him and says, Savage. Right, yes, I'm Dr. Wilson. He holds out his hand to shake. Savage lifts one of the heavy cases and puts it in Wilson's hand. The scientist is nearly yanked to the ground.

The case is so heavy. I need help with the rest of my things. Savage says. Yes, of course. Wilson says, still struggling with the case. His eyes go up for volunteers. I press myself against the wall, hoping he doesn't pick me. But, of course, he does.

Munson, Jebediah, give Mr. Savage. your hand please. Sying, I hand my cup of coffee to a smirking Martina and head over with Jeb to haul the cases down to the 682 observation room. As we put the stuff down, I glance into the containment cell at 682. The massive lizard creature sits in the cell, soaked in the acid that is constantly pumped into the room. It's a nasty looking one, with sharp claws and sharper teeth in its long, alligator-like mouth. Its bones are visible here in the there as the acid dissolves its thick, leathery skin. But the skin is constantly growing back due to the creature's regenerative properties. The acid really only serves to keep the thing

from breaking out of containment and killing everyone, which has happened way too many times over the foundation's history. Pretty much every method has been used to try to kill the reptile, but none have worked. As I stand, looking down into the cell, Savage steps up next to me, peering down as well. Mm-hmm. He says, nodding. You really think you can kill it? I ask him.

Killing is what I do, he says without looking at me. So how come you've never tried before? Boy, you know how long my waiting list is. The foundation is my main client. But I take the job as they come from the various containment facilities around the world, which means I'm booked up years in advance. I nod. Well, I wish you good luck.

I don't need luck. I've been preparing for this job since I agreed to take it. I studied all the other attempts and developed my own methods, perfected by years of killing. I'll have that there giant lizard dispatched by end of day. You mark my words. I'm a professional. You know what that means?

No, I don't think so Because your generation has it easy Bunch of lazy bastards Haven't worked a day in your life Wow, I say Okay, great, what a pleasant conversation Can't wait to do it again I back away and head out of the room with Jeb

While Savage Mumbles curses at me As Jeb and I step into the hall We look at each other You still think he can do it? I ask He seems pretty much, confident, Jeb says. Okay, hundred bucks says he fails. Deal, Jeb says. The rest of the day passes quickly as I focus on my work, analyzing data from all the previous attempts to kill the thing. Whether 682 dies today or not, the work still needs to get done. Plus, my hangover has

finally gone away, which makes everything so much easier. It's an hour until quitting time when Savage makes his announcement, telling us he's ready. He requested the help of a couple of D-class people to set up his equipment, and as I step into the crowded room overlooking the cell, I glance at one of the CCTV monitors. There's a torn orange jumpsuit dissolving in the acid, and there's blood dripping down the creature's jaw. Some poor bastard had to die,

so Savage could get all his junk in place. But as far as junk goes, it's all pretty impressive. There were already catwalks in place above the creature, But it looks like Savage has installed a series of contraptions along the catwalk railings. There are a couple of things that look like futuristic guns propped along the railings, along with something that looks like a rocket-propelled grenade launcher, with some kind of strange bulbous rocket attached. Shouldering my way through the crowd, I make it to the front so I can look through the window

instead of watching one of the CCTV monitors. I see Jeb there and make a place next to him. Wolf Savage is out on the catwalk. He looks through the window and seems satisfied with the size of his audience. Watch and learn, people, he says. He pulls out his phone and navigates to an app. Then he presses a series of buttons. The acid drains from around 682.

The creature looks up at Savage, seeming to smile as it does. Savage grins down at it. You're one ugly son of a bitch, he says, and presses a button on his phone. The contraptions affixed to. the railing shoots streams of white foam down onto the lizard, covering its body with the strange substance. Savage presses more buttons on his phone, and the contraptions stop with the white foam. Then they belch what looks like to be green powder down on the creature. The foam and powder immediately begin reacting, creating millions of miniature explosions all around the creature.

The roar that escapes 682 seems to shake the room as the explosions continue. Meanwhile, Savage steps over to one of the futuristic rifles and aims it down. He pulls the trigger, sending a pulse of blue-white light down, which hits the creature's back, blasting a hole in its already weakened spine. I'll be damned, I say. It's working. Next to me, Jeb smirks. Savage shoots the thing again at the same spot, making the hole slightly bigger. I can see the creature's organs despite the blood burbling out of the gaping wound. The small explosions are fading off, revealing more and more of the creature's skeletal structure. Nearly all of its skin is gone, and its bones look like they've been chewed on by termites. Savage puts the rifle down and moves over to the grenade launcher

with the strange rocket. He hefts it on his shoulder and aims it down at the hole in 682's back. He pulls the trigger and the rocket shoots down, disappearing into the hole. Nothing happens for a second. Then the creature explodes from the inside out. Its organs blast out through its mouth and its ribs blow outward. Everything comes to rest as Savage looks down, a smile on his face. The creature is essentially in two parts, blown in half at the back. But all that was once inside it is now outside. The organs are nothing but messy blobs of blood and tissue.

There's no movement but the dripping of blasted meat off the acid-proof metal walls. Savage moves to the window and peers in at Dr. Wilson, who has a tablet in his hand. Vitals. Savage asks. Dr. Wilson studies his tablet for a moment. Flatlined, he says. But... I'm going down.

Savage says, walking over to a portion of the catwalk that can be raised and lowered by wires running up into the ceiling. He grabs the other sci-fi rifle as he goes. I get a trophy from every kill. Yes, but... Mr. Wolf Savage, I don't think that's a good... Ah, stuffy boy. I know what the hell I'm doing. Take me down. Wilson stammers as he uses the tablet to control the platform. Savage aims the rifle at the creature's head as he gets close,

then shoots it one last time for good measure, blowing a hole in its skull with a strange energy weapon. The platform clanks to the floor, half-destroyed organs squelching under its weight. Savage steps off, approaching warily. Jeb turns to me and puts his hand out. "'Hundred bucks, please. What is this? The 90s?' I say.

No one carries cash anymore. Besides, it isn't over until it's over. Savage uses a pair of pliers to extract a tooth from the creature, which he then puts in his pocket. He gets back on the platform and shouts for Wilson to bring it back up. Wilson obliges. About halfway up, there's a snapping sound, And one of the cables attached to the platform breaks.

The whole thing tilts wildly, and Savage tumbles off, hitting the ground awkwardly, twisting his leg under him. He screams out in pain, looking up at the tilted platform. I stare on, dumbfounded. Get me out of here, he shouts. My damn leg's broken. Wilson gasps. The vitals!

He shouts. Not five feet away from Savage. The creature moves its head. We've all been so fixated on the man that we didn't notice the thing. is regenerating. Savage sees the movement and reaches for his rifle, which fell along with him, but it's too far away. Get me out of here! He screams again. The top half of SCP 682 pulls itself forward on half-destroyed legs, opening its jaw. Savage scrambles away, but the creature catches his useless leg between its teeth and clamps down. Savage screams one last time before

the creature pulls him into its mouth with a wet crunch. The entire observation room is silent, I turned to Jeb and say, Ha! You owe me a hundred bucks! SCP-682 is a large, reptile-like creature of unknown origin. It appears to be extremely intelligent, occasionally engaging in complex communication, including speaking English to its captors. The creature appears to have a hatred of all life,

which has been expressed in several interviews during containment. SCP-682 has always been observed to have extremely high strength, speed, strength, speed, and reflexes, though exact levels vary with its form. Its physical body changes very quickly, growing or decreasing in size as it consumes or sheds material. It gains energy from anything it ingests, organic or inorganic. Digestion seems to be aided by a set of filtering gills inside SCP-682's nostrils, which are able to remove usable matter from any liquid solution, enabling it to constantly regenerate from the acid it is contained in.

SCP-682's regenerative capabilities and resilience are staggering, and it has been seen moving and speaking with its body 87% destroyed or rotted. In case of containment breach, SCP 682 is to be tracked and recaptured by all available mobile task forces, and no teams with fewer than seven members are cleared to engage it. To date, attempted breach. Breaches have numbered 17, while successful breaches have numbered six. Lazzang sur-gillet, puissance-moyane for 15 minutes.

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