The SCP Experience - Neat Freak | SCP-325

Episode Date: January 14, 2022

SCP Foundation SAFE class object, SCP-325: Neat Freak Author: Lucas Click This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-325, 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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on the machine-a-Bass Bonanza. Depos minimum of $10. De Pohue of $1 $1. conditions apply. No one ever grows up wanting to be a garbage man, but it's the line of work I've fallen into. While it might not be the most glamorous of jobs, it comes with many perks. The benefits are decent. And since it's not anyone's dream job, the salary is better than most nine to fives. It's not what I want to do for the rest of my life, but it's the best job I've had

since graduating from college. That's not to say that it doesn't have its downside. too. I've always been a bit of a neat freak, so I spend a large part of the day dousing my hands in hand sanitizer. My co-worker Brandon is a sleazy stereotypical garbage man, fat and sweaty, with body odor that's stronger than the bags of trash. He even combs through the bags looking for freebies, things people have thrown away that he can take home. And while he does this every day, I've never seen him wash his hands. once. The worst part is the smell. Everyone has come across garbage steaming in the sun, the foul odor carrying far away from it. Imagine now that you can't get away from it. Even after the

offending waste is disposed of, the smell still lingers. It seeps into your overalls and permeates your skin so that it stays on you long after the day is done. My dating life has become non-existent, and long hot showers are now my constant and only companion. Some people have dreams of owning a mansion or a sports car. Me, I'd settle for a brand of detergent that can take the reek off my outfit. I'm not optimistic about my latest purchase. It's a new addition to the market's cleaning aisle called Lord Bright. A posh gentleman stands on the front of the box, winking behind a monocle. His hand raised to his top hat in a salute.

I never heard of the brand before, and its generic name, decoration, and low price didn't inspire much confidence. But the more expensive brands have only drained me of my wallet and done nothing for the smell. What's the worst that could happen? I finished my dinner and walked toward the laundry room.

My bulky old dryer dances back and forth on its legs, slowing down as the cycle ends. The buzzer is long and continues even after I open the machine door, reaching in and fishing out my work overalls. Usually, my work clothes still stink even a foot away from my nose, but so far, I can't smell anything. I bring it in closer and breathe in deep. A wave of euphoria washes over my body.

There's no odor at all. It's like they're brand new. Before I realize it, I'm stripping out of my PJs and zipping up into my work overalls. They feel softer and cooler than they ever have before. I look over at the detergent box and bow to the cartoonish Lord Bright. My thanks to you, good sir. Level one. I ended up sleeping in my work overalls.

It was the best night's sleep that I ever remember. Sadly, I can't say the same about my work. day. The sun is hotter and depressively bright, making the stench of the garbage stronger than usual. I'm never far without my hand sanitizer, but today it seems like every bag of trash lingers on my hands and crawls up my skin. I've gone through two bottles already and annoyed Brandon by stopping and picking up more. Brandon, that fat, disgusting slob, riding in the truck next to him is a nightmare. He wipes his nose on the back of his hand. The cigar dangling from his mouth is coated with his spit on one end and billowing out cancerous smoke from the other. Before,

I used to think that the smoke helped cover the stench of the garbage. Now I realize it only mingles with it, sinking into my formerly pristine work uniform. He refuses to put out the cigar or even use my hand sanitizer. I fume in my seat and rub my hands clean, counting down the minutes until our break. Level two. The break room is so filthy that I can't enjoy my lunch. The stench of burned popcorn hovers from the microwave,

infecting every breath I take. One bite for my sandwich fills my mouth with bile. It has been tainted from the weak-old leftovers rotting and spoiling inside the fridge. The kitchen sink is filled with dirty dishes that people haven't touched in days. I throw my food away in disgust and make a quick trip to the market near work. I spend every cent in my wallet on bottles of bleach and soap. I go back to the break room and start the impossible task of cleaning it.

All the food in the fridge is spoiled, and I quickly fill the trash can with boxes of takeout and Tupperware. The microwave is also beyond saving. Yank it out of the wall from its socket and top the trash with it. I fill a bucket with bleach and start on the floor. An hour goes by, the thick smell of aroma just barely masking the stench of my filthy coworkers. Hey, hey, buddy boy. Brandon strolls into the break room, trailing mud on the floor with every step. Check out the latest freebie.

He's holding a large knife with serrated edges. Who throws away her perfectly? his eyes widen as he looks around the room. Christ! Going a bit overboard, aren't you? Let the cleaning crew take care of it. The cleaning crew? The very same people who let it fall into this state in the first place?

How can I trust anyone else to keep it clean? How can the break room ever be clean with disgusting pigs like Brandon working here? I pick up the bucket of bleach and throw it into his face. He screams and drops his knife covering his eyes. His whales come with a stench of rot and smoke. I picked the knife up and shove the blade into Brandon's stomach. His disgusting blood covers my hand. But I drive the knife in deeper, fighting past my revulsion,

trying not to think about my stained hands. I have to rid the world of this stain on humanity. Brandon finally stops screaming and falls to the ground with a heavy thud. His blood covers the floor, streaking across the tiled surface toward my feet. I step out of my shoes and fill another bucket with bleach. While the floor is the bigger mess, I clean the knife first. Brandon isn't the only filthy person that works here.

Level three. Cleaning the office of my coworkers is long but satisfying work. The first two didn't see me coming, and I slit their throats as they lounged in their offices. After that, things grew more difficult, but I still managed. my overalls are soaked through, dripping with their blood. The stench of copper fills the air, and though it sends a shiver of disgust rippling up my spine, at least the world is a cleaner place.

Sadly, the office is beyond cleaning now. All the bleach in the world wouldn't be enough to remove the blood from the carpet and the walls. I spend another hour with the bleach, dousing the floors until there's not a dry spot left, before going outside and striking a match. The fire builds slowly. Though the high sun feels like it's baking the layers of blood and sweat that coat my body,

the heat from the fire is soothing. The flames lick across the building, and the windows crack and explode. As the smoke billows high in the air, I breathe in deeper. It's so different from the smoke from Brandon's foul cigar. Even beneath the aroma of cooked meat, the air smells clean with the prompt. The promise of possibility. Level 4. As the sirens scream in the air, I turn away from the fire and walk down the street.

Every second exposed to the polluted air is torture. It's just as painful to look at the filth in human form. People drop trash onto the street. Children play in the mud. Strangers stop and stare at me until I launch myself at a homeless man who reeks of piss. Two quick stabs with my knife, and they all flee from me. Run why you can. I'll find you all someday. I won't be able to rest until this world is clean. Before that, though, I need a change of clothes. And there's only one brand of detergent that I trust to get rid of all these bloodstains.

I head to the store in search of Mourn Lord Bright. Level 5. I stepped through the market door, leaving behind a bloody handprint on the glass and sigh. I will have to clean this store as thoroughly as I did our office. The owner of the shop gapes at me like a moron. I can't blame him. I'm covered in the remains of human garbage. What I can't forgive, though, is his yellowed teeth and fingers. A filthy smoker, just like Brandon.

How had I never noticed before? How had I walked into this disgusting stop so many times and never done anything about it? I charge it and with my knife raised high, but he ducks behind the counter. I prepare myself to climb over it. But the owner stands back up with a metal baseball bat in his hands before I can. He swings it so fast that I can't track its movement.

An explosion of pain whips across my jaw and knocks me to the ground. I taste blood and spit out several teeth. The owner comes around, his bat raised high, ready to deliver the final blow. Righteous anger at the hindrance of my work billows up inside me. My grip tightens around the hilt of the knife before I lash forward and sink the blade into his thigh. He drops the bat at the same time I pull the knife free. He turns to flee, but I grab his ankle and cut deep into his tendons, bringing him to the ground in a bloody crash.

After that, it's a quick and easy job to clean the store of his vile presence. I stand, but a deep pain billows up from my stomach. Raising my hands, I cough blood into them and stare. My blood looks different than the other stains on my skin. It feels purer. brighter and cooler, like hand sanitizer. I rub my hands together, coating my blood over my fingers. I raise my stained hands to my nose and breathe in deeper is gone.

I smell like a newborn child, that brief moment of purity before we begin to pollute our bodies and our world. I slide out of my work clothes and pick up the knife again. It's so dirty with the blood of others that I can barely look at it. I walk down the familiar aisles to the cleaning supplies and find a fresh bucket, a new bottle of bleach, and a bottle of Lord Bright. I pour the two liquids into the bucket and watch as the concoction bubbles and froths. I plunge my knife along with my hand into the bucket. It burns, but I don't scream.

When I pull my hand out of the liquid, the skin is red and blistered, but the knife is pristine once more. once more. I look at the hand holding the knife, the one still covered in blood. As I thought, the bloodied hand seems the cleanest. I trace the veins from my hands up to my arms, then open them with the knife. The blade burns as it opens up my flesh. Yet when my blood flows, it coats my body more soothingly than the deepest bath ever could. I open the veins in my other arm before starting on my legs. I rubbed the blood all over my body. All over my body. All All the grime seems to evaporate even as I grow weaker, feeling like it's my first day in a new world.

More sirens pull me from my reverie. Two disgusting pieces of trash enter the store in blue uniforms with their guns raised. I charge at them, and the bullets ripped through my body, knocking me to the ground. I stare as my blood leaves my body, trailing across the floor. It's comforting to know that my body continues to clean this filthy world. even in death. SCP 325 is a small bottle of washing detergent. A product commonly sold in the United Kingdom.

However, the name present on the label does not match any of the company's current products. SCP 325 contains a semi-viscous green liquid. SCP 325 is a value-pack container of concentrated detergent and currently contains 1,775 milliliters of fluid. One wash of SCP 325 requires 25 milliliters of liquid, as indicated on the instructions located on the rear of the bottle. SCP-325 functions in an identical way to a normal detergent, and when used, will produce excellent results. Tests with Class D personnel have indicated that victims will find the quality of the wash much higher than usual, therefore preferring to wear a garment washed in SCP 325 over other articles of clothing washed to normal detergent. When a garment washed in SCP 325 is worn, the subject wearing it will

eventually succumb to extreme pervasive paranoid delusions related to misophobia and cleanliness. This will often induce ritualistic behaviors in the subject, and has led to subjects harming themselves through excessive cleaning methods, such as placing their hands in boiling water or ingesting bleach. There are currently five levels of behavior caused by SCP 325 exposure documented.