The SCP Experience - Replication Damnation | SCP-1919

Episode Date: June 10, 2022

SCP Foundation EUCLID class object, SCP-1919: Replication Damnation This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-1919, 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. #drscp #scp #scpfoundation #doctorscp #scpencounters #securecontainprotect #scpstories #scpexplained #whatisscp Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

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Soon his Hatfield opened the door, Salada shoved him out of the transport van and into the dirt in front of the old mansion. The younger man hit the ground with a thud, as Sal Dana cackled insanely, his cracked lips peeling back over his rotting teeth. He turned his cold eyes to me in the back seat as he laughed. My expression didn't change. Jesus Christ, it's like dealing with children. Dr. Haney said from the front seat, speaking to the driver, just get out of the van. I said to Sal Dana, I wasn't about to get out before him and have the idiot shove me. The older man stopped laughing, fixing me with his best killer stare.

I rolled my eyes. Maybe he'd been scary as a younger man, but now he was gray-haired and skinny, probably six months away from death due to some disease that he surely deserved. Get out of the van, five, the driver said. Saldana, otherwise known as D-50453, stepped out into the pale afternoon sunlight. Hatfield, a kid in his early 20s who looked like a dull-minded surfer, was brushing off his orange jumpsuit. As soon as Sal Dana stepped out of the van, the younger man spun on him, slamming him against the van.

I'm going to shit down your neck on a Wednesday afternoon, Hatfield said, trying and failing to sound menacing. This prompted another bout of laughter from Saldana and made me chuckle as I got out of the van. There were three other foundation vehicles parked in front of the abandoned mansion, turned to hotel. Guys in full tactical gear were standing around, getting situated, talking. Dr. Haney, now out of the van, stepped over to us. All right, he said, holding out our earpieces in one hand. You know what you need to do. You've seen the floor plans. You're to go directly to that room on the the third floor. Do not dawdle. Do not go into any other room. Understand. The three of us in our bright orange jumpsuit said we understood, fixing our earpieces in place. Haney had us do a sound check,

while the guys in the communications van made little adjustments. How about the cameras? Haney said into his earpiece. All three cameras are transmitting, the communications guy said. So what are we supposed to do when we get to this room? I asked, looking down at the small wireless camera affixed to my jumpsuit at the chest. We'll give you directions based on what we see through the cameras and what we hear through the microphones, Dr. Haney said, like he was talking to a child. Is this where they shot that movie The Shining? Hatfield said, looking up at the mansion. It was three stories, with red paint and brown trim. In the watery sunlight that the thin autumn cloud cover let through, the place did look like it belonged in a horror movie.

Oh, I love that movie, Salinas said with a squeal of delight. Only problem is, the good guy dies. You're a fucking idiot, Hatfield said. The father is the bad guy. The hotel is the bad guy, I said, unable to keep out of the ridiculous argument. That's enough, Amy said. You three stick together in there and stick to the plan. You know what will happen if you disobey my orders.

He was speaking to all of us. but looking at Sal Dana. I didn't think the old man would be a problem. He took pride in pissing people off, but he wanted to live as long as possible. Besides, if his stories were to be believed, his victims of choice had been women and children, the sick bastard.

My own crime had been justice taken a little too far after a local politician raped my sister. I'd killed him and his entire security team. Not long into serving my several life sentences, I'd been approached by someone from the SCP Foundation, which I'd never heard of until then. Now, here I was, going into the house to do what? I didn't know exactly. Dr. Haney wasn't telling us much about what we'd be doing.

We were just supposed to go to a room on the third floor. Okay, time to go, Annie said, gesturing toward the front entrance of the mansion. I walked over across the dirt lot. A cool breeze tugged at my jumpsuit, bringing with it the arboreal scent of decomposing leaves and damp timber from the woodlands surrounding the property. The mansion's exterior looked fairly well maintained, considering the unceasing march of time and the ubiquitous battering of the elements. I reached the door, which was situated under a large awning, and realized that I was alone.

A glance over my shoulder showed Hatfield and Sal Dana approaching apprehensively. What are you in such a hurry for, Mercer? Hatfield asked when he got near. You want to be in this place when it gets dark? I said. Good point. Dr. Haney said over the radio, talking to me. He called us by our class and first number.

So I was D8. Hatfield was D2, and Sal D-5. I did as I was told, opening one of the large, ornate wooden doors. Pale light poured around me and into the entryway, revealing an area

littered with detritus. If this was any indication, the condition inside the mansion didn't match the condition outside. Let's do this, I said, stepping inside. The whole place was trashed. Walls had holes in them. There were pieces of furniture and smashed paintings everywhere, and the floor was smeared with what looked like dried blood in several places. The entryway opened up into a high ceiling area, with a stairwell on the left and a wide hallway extending past it. tucked into the corner of the entryway, where the tattered remains of a small reception desk, the hallway was dark, but what I could see of it was littered with junk. On the left and right were closed double doors.

Close the door, Dr. Haney said. Close it? Hatfield protested. Why? Sal Danna, the last one in, slammed the door shut as he laughed in Hatfield's face. We were plunged into darkness, but bright lights immediately bloomed. from the cameras on our chests as the communications guys turned them on. Taking a step toward the stairs, I stopped as I heard something from deeper in the mansion.

It was coming from the hallway, and it sounded like someone running. I shifted to shine the light down the hallway. There was just enough elimination to reveal a strange figure running toward us. The orange of its jumpsuit was soon visible. What the hell is that? Hatfield yelled. Find something to fight it with, Haney said. Don't you dare come back outside. You'll be shot on sight.

I could see that it was a man, but he was deformed. His right arm was too long and had too many joints. He held it above his head as he ran, and it flailed insanely, smacking against the walls. His head was completely hairless, but strangely malformed. It bulged up and out in the back. His skin seemed to be covered in little scars or holes of some kind. Sal Dana ran up to the man, grabbing a broken chair leg from the floor with his right hand as he went. The man took a swing at him with a strange arm.

But Sal Dana ducked his movements, surprisingly graceful. He smashed the man in the face with his chair leg, and the guy went down. Sal Dana didn't hesitate, repeatedly bludgeoning the man's deformed skull, laughing all the time. That's enough. Dr. Haney shouted over the earpieces. Get up to the room, now. Saldana looked down at the bloody mess that had once been the man's head. He laughed again.

I like this place. We moved up the stairs to the third floor, taking a right down the hallway. The place was ransacked here, too. A couple of doors were open on bedrooms or sitting rooms. The furniture and paintings inside had been smashed to bits. The walls had ragged holes in them. I counted the doorways, knowing it would be the fourth on our right. The door was closed as we came up to it.

I reached for the doorknob, then stopped. Why was that guy wearing an orange jumpsuit, doctor? I asked. Just get into the room, he said. Was he another D-class guy that you sent in here? I could hear Dr. Annie sigh. Not exactly. He said.

Just get in there. How many disposable people have you sent in here anyway? I asked. Something's coming. Hatfield whispered next to me. Oh, goody. Sal Danna said. Sure enough, I heard movement from down the hall, back the way we'd come.

It sounded like several people moving around. A bar of light appeared under the door in front of us, growing brighter with every moment. There's three of them, Hatfield said. Just open the door. I don't think that's a good idea, I said, getting a bad feeling. I can't hear what you're saying, Haney said over the radio. There's some kind of high-pitched interference. What's going on in there?

I didn't hear anything of the sort, but I wasn't about to answer. I'd turned my head, and my eyes were fixed on the three men at the other end of the dark hallway. I couldn't see them clearly, but I could see that they were all dressed in orange jumpsuits, and they were all running. Saldana turned and ran down the hall toward the figures, holding up his chair leg and cackling as he went. Atfield released a fearful, groaning screech, and pushed past me, opening the door. bright light spilled out. Squinting my eyes, I looked inside and saw the silhouette of a woman rushing toward us.

Her feet weren't moving. They weren't even touching the ground. The sourceless light from behind her was so bright I couldn't see her features clearly, but something seemed off about her face. I stepped back from the door just as the floating woman crashed into a wide-eyed Hatfield. The two of them flew across the hallway and smashed through the door opposite. From inside the room, I could hear Hatfield. The adults scream, a noise that faded to a hoarse gurgling sound.

I backed away down the hall, turning to see what had happened to South Dana. I spotted him immediately, 15 yards away, only he looked different. He was crouching over something, half turned away from me, and two other figures were next to him in the hallway, figures that looked familiar. Something had clearly happened to his camera because there was no longer light shining from his chest. Still, the bright light from the open doorway provided enough illumination for me to make him out, and it looked like he'd been injured.

Sal Dana, I said. He turned to look at me, and I saw at once that his eyelids were gone. He said nothing as he stood up, the movement revealing what he was crouching over. My mind couldn't rectify what it was seeing. There was another Sal Dana lying on the floor in the hallway. His limbs twisted at unnatural angles. Then the other two figures stepped forward into the spill of light from the room, and I found myself looking at me, only it was me with a large, warped jaw and a nose that looked as if it had been sealed shut.

The nostrils pressed and melted together somehow. The other figure was a deformed version of Hatfield, with one eye sealed shut, a lumpy head, and strange patchy skin along his face and neck. Suddenly, I understood what this place did. It imperfectly replicated anyone who stepped inside. I glanced quickly over my shoulder to see that I was about 10 yards from the end of the hallway, where a boarded-up window was. The three deformed replicas, having dispatched the real Saldana, moved toward me as one.

I turned and ran down the hallway, reaching the window and digging my fingers under a loose corner of the board as footsteps banged toward me. I wrenched the board off, letting the watery sunlight paint a rectangle on the floor. Turning to look, I saw that there were now more than three replicas rushing toward me. There were more Hatfields lumbering out of the room. At a glance, I counted six, but they were more coming, each with a different deformity. I threw the board at the original trio, buying myself a precious second or two. I climbed out the window, looking down at the little awning over the front door two stories below me. About a dozen foundation guards looked up at me from the ground.

One of them barking orders I couldn't make out. Hanging from the window, I reached my toes down toward the second floor window sill. My plan was to get down to the second floor window, then jump down onto the awning, and then finally to the ground. A deformed version of me appeared through the open window, looking down into my eyes. He reached for me, and I let go, hoping to balance on my toes for long enough to find another handhold. My toes slipped.

I scraped my shins along the window cell before my knees smashed into it. My hands were scrambling for purchase. unable to find any until my knees hit. The impact, sending me falling away from the house. I smashed into the awning back first, the eruption of pain so sharp and definitive that I knew something was broken, even before I rolled off and fell to the ground,

landing in a pile near the front door. Gunfire erupted from the yard, but I couldn't see what was happening. I didn't care. The pain was all I could focus on in those moments before consciousness finally slipped away. I had no idea how much time had passed when I woke up again, but there was still some daylight left. Someone was dragging me, sending embers of pain racing through my back and my left arm.

There were bodies littering the yard, those of foundation security personnel, and I quickly realized I was being pulled toward the house. Struggling, I lifted my head up and looked at the man in the orange jumpsuit who was dragging me. It was a version of Hatfield with one overly long and disjointed leg. He limped heavily as he dragged me under the awning. I tried to move, to resist, to call out. What little effort I mustered didn't impede his progress much at all. He dragged me up over the threshold, the pain in my back blurring my vision and fuzzing my consciousness. When he had me inside, he shut the door, leaving me in the darkness.

Then, seemingly out of nowhere, a woman appeared above me. Her eyes were empty sockets of black tinged with the occasional red glow, as if there were a deep fire inside her, and the glow was from the flames licking at new fuel. She had a permanent smile on her face, but not a real one. Her lips and cheeks had been carved away, revealing her yellow teeth and the musculature of her jaw. She wore a raggedy dress from the early 20th century, one that had been beautiful, but was now ravaged

by time and hard use. She leaned over me, seeming to study my face. Then she placed a handle my chest. I watched her dirty, claw-fingered hand sink into my chest. The pain I felt was ten times what I'd experienced when falling from the third floor. And before I lost all touch of reality, I saw what she wanted. I saw that she was making an army, that she'd been gathering power. With every new person the foundation sent in, with every experiment they did, they were making her more powerful. I was the last piece of the puzzle. With me, she could make enough replicas to leave the mansion,

expanding her reach as she pulled more and more of humanity into her grasp. And there was nothing anyone could do to stop her. SCP 1919 is an early 20th century hotel and converted mansion. From the outside, it looks much as it did when it was first built. On the inside, however, the building is massively decrepit and looks like it has been abandoned since its creation. Many floorboards and ceilings are rotten or absent entirely, and various forms of damage cover much of the interior.

Entry of the hotel by a human results in the appearance of a number of human beings throughout the building, resembling the subject and wearing and carrying anything the subject possesses with them on arrival. These creatures, collectively labeled SCP1919-1, typically vary from the original and several physical aspects. Observed variations between subjects and counterparts include the following. Lack of body hair, misshapen cranial structure, patches of skin discoloration, variants in limb digit length. Disfigurement of the mouth. Sealed or missing eyelids. Sealed nostrils. Perforations of various sizes in skin. Deformed jaw structure.

SCP1919-1 is responsible for the decrepit state of the building. Individuals have been recorded upending furniture, tearing out floorboards, damaging pipes, and otherwise causing small-scale destruction. All observed creatures labeled SCP1919-1 have behaved in a similar manner. Individually, they act aggressively with or without provocation, attempting to damage objects and structures at random. They also demonstrate a marked increase in hostility once they locate the subject or subjects who enter SCP1919. It is currently believed that a single being, possibly female, is responsible for all the anomalous activity within the structure.