The SCP Experience - Obsidian Knife | SCP-034

Episode Date: February 16, 2023

SCP Foundation SAFE class object, SCP-034: Obsidian Knife This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-034 and is released under Creative Commons Sharealike 3.0. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/ Author: Lucas Click Discover the Author's impressive series of SCP Tales here: https://www.amazon.com/kindle-vella/story/B0BVWJFGV3 Check out more of Mr. Click's work here: newpulptales.com 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 in love with Dr. Edie Edwards. I love the way she wears her short, dark hair. I love how her glasses bob up and down on her slightly chubby cheeks whenever she gets excited. Most of all, though, I love how kind she is. Dr. Edwards never goes out of her way to ignore me or talk down to me, even though she has PhDs in anthropology and archaeology. And I'm just the guy that mops the floor. She always smiles and greets me politely and always greets me by name.

Hell, I've been working here almost 10 years, and I think she's the only researcher who knows me as Clyde and not the janitor. Yes, I'm in love with her, but unfortunately, she's in love with Dr. Eric Rivera. In her defense, if we're talking solely about physical characteristics, Dr. Rivera offers a lot more to love than I do. His athletic build, full head of dark hair, and charming smile seem to have been made in direct opposition to my ponchy belly, balding head, and crooked teeth. Dr. Rivera is like all the other researchers. He doesn't know my name and always finds time to berate me when I mop the floors.

Apparently, it's impossible to catalog artifacts for the university without the sounds of sloshing water. Never mind that studying these ancient relics requires extreme sanitary conditions. I might not have a Ph.D., but, as Dr. Edwards once told me, I also do my part to make sure the mysteries of time can be uncovered. There's no nice way to put it. Dr. Rivera is an asshole. So much so that I find it hard to believe that Eadie is in love with him, but I know she is, because I recognize the way she loves.

looks at him. It's the same way that I'm looking at her now. My mop slides across the floor, splashing water carelessly as I sneak glances at my beloved doctor. The water doesn't matter. I always make sure to go over the floor once more before I leave. But I allow myself these fleeting glances of Edie. I allow myself that much because I know she'll never love me. Not if she looks at someone like Eric Rivera with such fondness. The mop slips from me and jabs into something solid. Dr. Rivera swears and pulls his hand back, a splash of red coloring the dark flesh of his fingers.

He nearly drops something, which I recognize as the latest shipment to the university. It's an aged, weathered knife, made from a jagged black stone and a simple hilt of wrapped leather. You clumsy idiot! Dr. Rivera brandishes the knife at me, forcing me to step back. This knife is over 1,000 years old. It survived conquistadors, the settling of pioneers and manifest destiny. What it cannot survive is the moronic attempts of your simple responsibilities.

Dr. Rivera is more upset about the potential damage to the dagger than his injured hand. The cut is deeper than I thought. The blood dripping on the blade makes it. look even more menacing. I step farther back. I feel water engulf my leg and then slip forward. The wheels on my bucket squeak as I fall hard onto the floor before a flood of dirty water washes over me. Writing myself on the floor, I see Dr. Rivera standing over me. His cocky grin sends a jolt of rage up my arms, and my hands tighten into fists as the few college interns laugh at me. The only one not laughing is Dr. Edwards.

She immediately steps between us and bends over to offer me a hand. The gesture freezes the rage in me as I pull myself up. Eric, that looks serious. Come on, let's get you some first aid. Dr. Rivera only seems aware of the blood then, giving me another angry scowl before nodding and setting the dagger back in its crate. Before they leave, Edie turns to me and frowns. Try to be more careful, Clyde. Just as her offer of help lifts my spirits, the slight critique grinds them into dust.

I nod, but they're already gone before she can see. Sighing, I tilt my bucket back on its wheels, mop the water up, and then ring it dry. I go back to my cart for a spray bottle filled with alcohol, only to see I'm out of plastic gloves. It's a quick job. I should be fine. Most of the blood is confined to a small crimson puddle, but several drops spattered along the floor. Retracing the bloody steps makes me remember Rivera

threatening me with a knife. I shiver, then get to work, spraying and rubbing to clear my mind. The rag is soaked in blood by the time I finish. A fleck of Rivera's skin clings to my hand. Before I can remove it, the skin spreads across my hands, darkening it as it spreads up my arm. My body tingles as if an army of ants is biting into it.

My stomach rumbles as it flattens, then tightens into hard muscle. The same happens up my arms and legs. Strength feels my limbs as I stand, several inches taller than I should be. My scalp is filled with the same sensation. When I reach up, I feel waves of thick hair that I haven't felt in years. I pick up a mirror one of the students left on the table. Staring back at me is Dr. Eric Rivera. What the?

The voice is also thickened, a complete replication of Rivera's baritone. Excuse me, Dr. Rivera? One of the students comes over to me and offers me a sheet of paper. I need you to sign this to verify my... Her eyes widened, then close. She shakes her head and then looks at me again. Oh, sorry. I thought you were...

Well, never mind. Sorry. I turn back to the mirror and see my face staring back at me again. What the hell was that? I must have imagined the whole thing. But it felt so real. And even more so, the student also had mistaken me for Dr. Rivera. It can't all be in my head. My gaze falls to the knife in the case,

specks of Dr. Rivera's blood covering it. That must be it. Somehow, the blade had turned me briefly into Dr. Rivera. I turn over my hand and examine it. Against my pale flesh is a dark spot, the small piece of Rivera's skin. That must be the connection. The skin was cut from the knife and placed on my body. But if a small piece of skin only lasted a few seconds,

would more skin mean more time in the doctor's body? A road of possibilities opens in my mind. Checking to make sure the students are busy, I wrap the knife in a cloth and hide it in my overalls, Finding Rivera's address was easier than I thought. The employee directory is kept on an open computer, with free access to everyone. I guess anthropologists tend to be at the bottom of most people's enemies' lists. But then, most people don't work with them every day.

I stop at a couple of shops to pick up the needed items. Then plug Rivera's address into my GPS. Relief relaxes my body as I see his home is outside the city limits. The doctor must like his privacy. Each house is on the country road, but kept a respectable distance apart. It's the kind of neighborhood that's not quite a suburb yet, but will be in a few years. There aren't any millionaires out this way, but definitely people pulling in six figures. I swallow the rage inside me as I pull my car into Rivera's driveway.

I have to be quick about this, calm, not reckless. filling all the contents from the shops into one bag, I hide the taser behind my back, then stroll up to the door and ring the bell. A minute passes with no answer, so I ring it again. Then, remembering why I'm here, I stop pretending to be polite. I keep my finger on the button,

repeating the chorus of pre-recorded bells on a loop until the porch light comes on. Whatever you're selling, I'm not... Dr. Rivera opens the door, rubbing at his eyes with a bandaged hand. He must go to bed early because he's already wearing shorts and a weathered t-shirt. You? What the hell are you? I jammed the taser into his ribs and hit the switch.

The electricity hums in my hand as Rivera's body goes rigid and convulses. Not knowing how much time I have, I pull the weapon back, and he drops back into his house with a loud thud. Adrenaline merges with panic in my brain, making my hands shake. Part of me wants to turn around and return to the car, but then I think of Edie. I take a deep breath, centering myself, then look up and down the streets. There's no reaction from Rivera's neighbors, no cries of alarm or lights flicking on. I don't want to press my luck, so I slam the door shut behind me before locking it.

Rivera mumbles something, his arms flailing at his sides. So I give him another jolt, making his body dance before going limp again. My original plan was to do this in the bathroom, but I don't know the layout, and he's heavier than I thought. I'm already wheezing and sweating heavily, so I settle him into a recliner instead. I shock him once more, mostly to keep him prone, but honestly, Tasing him is starting to get fun.

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I fasten it to one end of the chair, wrap it around Rivera's shoulders, and work my way down. I don't stop until the roll is empty, and then open the second one. It takes several long minutes, but by the time I'm done, Rivera looks like a pathetic worm,

cocooned in tape. He comes too, yelling, struggling to rise, but the tape keeps him bound. The houses are four. far apart, but I can't risk his neighbor's hearing. Luckily, the remote is on a coffee table in front of the recliner. I click through to the evening news, turning up the volume to mask his screams and threats. You!

He licks his lips and coughs. Why are you doing this? I pick up the last roll of tape. Because I love her, and because I don't like you very much. He opens his mouth to scream again, but the tape cuts his attempt short. I work it around his mouth twice for good measure. With no other way to resist me, he sobs pathetically. I unsheathe the knife from my overalls, and he squirms all over again.

Try not to move, Doctor. I cut the sleeves of his shirt away and press the stone knife to his shoulder. I've never done this before. Of course, the arrogant prick doesn't listen to me. I try to peel off only skin, but he jerks and bolts. plunging the knife deeper. It sinks into his muscles, spraying blood all over the couch in my hands. Thank God I don't have to clean up this mess. Grumbling in frustration, I tase him again and return to work after his body goes limp. He's bleeding heavily, but I managed to get what I'm after. I cut away the skin from his shoulder. There's more meat than I want, so I cut as much of the excess away as possible before unzipping my overalls and draping his bleeding flesh over my shoulders.

The same sensation as before engulfs my body. The unseen ants work up my body, transforming me into Eric Rivera. His muffled screams sound over the tape as he watches, so I turn the TV louder before picking up his cell phone. I don't have the passcode, but my thumbprint, his thumbprint, opens it with no problem. Smiley, I scroll through his contacts heading straight for the ease. Her voice is tired, but a note of enthusiasm. and rings beneath her fatigue.

It's late. Is your hand all right? I look down at my hand. It's completely unmarred. And I make a note to bandage it. Yeah, don't worry, I heal fast. Are you doing anything tonight? I was hoping we could grab dinner. Um, yeah, that'd be great. Cool. I'll pick you up in about an hour.

That should be enough time to pretty myself up. You don't need any time for that, E, E.D. I'll see you then. I'm on cloud nine as I ignore the muffled protests from the bleeding doctor and step upstairs to his bedroom. I rifle through his clothes to find the perfect outfit. Eventually, I settle on a pair of dark slacks, a button-up shirt, and a tie. I might be a little overdressed, but nothing's too good for my heady.

The clothes collapses into themselves as I finish tying the knot. They're now several sizes too big, and I nearly trip over his pants as I stumbled to the mirror. I'm back to my original self, looking like a failed imposter in oversized and blood-stained clothes. Swearing, I looked down at his phone. Fifteen minutes have gone by since donning his skin. I'm going to need more.

But wait, if only a little gives me a bit of time. Then shouldn't all of his skin make the transformation permanent? I smile as I unsheathed the knife, and walk back downstairs. Sorry, Doc, I need to take a little more off the top. The date is going even better than I hoped. Edie didn't turn up her nose when I suggested one of my favorite sports bars. It was one of her favorites, too.

And she's a Penguins fan, just like me. She wasn't afraid to order a burger and fries, digging into it like a real person, not like some starving anorexic trying to keep her figure. She cracked the first joke, and I quickly followed up with another. The past hour has been spent making the other laugh. As much as I despise the man, I owe some credit to Rivera. I would never have the confidence to open up to Edie if I wasn't wearing his skin.

All my thoughts are wiped away when she leans over and presses her lips to mine. I give in to the kiss with reckless abandon. Someone clears their throat loudly. And we turn to see a disapproving mother at the table across from us. She's covering her toddler's eyes and glaring daggers at us. We both break out into fresh gales of laughter. Okay, I think we've overstayed our welcome here. Edie's smile is welcoming and mischievous.

Your place are mine. Definitely your place. She turns an eyebrow up at me. Um, it's closer. Standing from the chair, an immediate and familiar pain. shoots through my stomach. Damn it. I guess my IBS is still the same, even with Rivera's skin. I just had to order extra jalapinos on my chili cheese fries. I can't screw up our first night together by stinking up her bathroom. Could you just give me a moment? She grins. I could powder my

nose myself. Immediate relief rushes through me. Too much relief. And I walk at a quick pace to the toilet. Once my business is taking. care of. I go to the sink and wash my hands. I'm in quietly. I notice that the water has turned red as the flaps of Rivera's skin fall from my hands. I jump back as I see myself in the mirror. Rivera's face is thrown over mine like an ill-fitting mask. The blood from his flesh has stained my clothes as I revert to my original self. But why? I took every inch of flesh. There's nothing left for me to repeat my disguise. Jill, slow down. voice echoes from behind the men's room door. I creep closer, pressing my ear to the wood.

What do you mean? Eric can't be dead. He's... What do you mean his skin? Jill, that's not... I rub a hand through my hair, peeling away a piece of Rivera's scalp in the process. After skinning the doctor alive, I had to leave in a hurry to be in time to pick Edie up. I left him in a pile of blood on the recliner, thinking he'd be in too much pain to move, and I took his phone so that he couldn't call for help. Apparently, Rivera was made of sterner stuff than I thought. He must have managed to get outside, but died in the process. Died? Could that be the reason why my disguise failed?

Did it only work if the person was alive? My thoughts are interrupted as a man pushes open the bathroom door. His eyes widen and he gasps, backing up. The commotion turns Edie's focus on me. She drops her phone and lets out a shrieking scream that bursts my ears. and breaks my heart. Bowing my head, I fight back tears. There's no way she can never love me now,

not after seeing the real me. My hands leach into my pocket. She can never love me. But there's one way we can still be together. I unsheathed the blade, then drag her into the bathroom and lock the door behind us. SCP-34 is a primitive knife constructed out of pure obsidian. reveal that SCP-34 is approximately 1,000 years old. Despite its crude method of construction and age,

SCP-34 is still incredibly sharp and requires no maintenance to retain its edge. Expert analysis hypothesizes that SCP-34 may be of South American origin and that it may have been used in Native American rituals. SCP-34 has the ability to allow its bearer to take on the appearance of the appearance of of another individual. If SCP-34 is used to cut a piece of flesh from a living individual, and that piece of flesh is placed against the skin of another individual, the second individual would take on not only the appearance,

but all physical characteristics of the first individual. Testing has also revealed that the amount of time the transformation lasts is directly proportional to the amount of flesh used. Analysis of SCP-34's ability to the ability to C.34's ability shows that its method of mimicking another individual is nearly flawless. Not only does SCP-34 change its bearer's physical appearance, but their height, weight, muscle mass, bone density, hair growth, eyesight, strength, and even DNA. The only physical traits that are not carried over in the transformation process are wounds

caused by SCP-34 itself. However, in order to function properly, The individuals who have their flesh cut off by SCP-34 must still be biologically alive to maintain the transformation. Should the individual whose identity has been stolen expire, the effect immediately wears off.