The SCP Experience - Rot Skull | SCP-077

Episode Date: June 7, 2023

SCP Foundation EUCLID class object, SCP-077: Rot Skull This podcast is sponsored by BetterHelp. Go to betterhelp.com/scp today to get 10% off your first month! This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-077 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

God, I could use a cigarette. It's the same thought that's been permeating my mind for the last two weeks. The foundation is pretty strict about annual checkups, and mine was less than ideal. I can still work in the field, but my two pack of cigarettes, two pots of coffee, and mountains of junk food a day are finally starting to catch up with me. I need to make some life changes. This is one reason I have the smoker's equivalent of a glow stick in my pocket. I inhale it deeply, taking in the flavor of skittles and exhale slowly through my nose.

It settles my addiction long enough for me to make sense of the words from the people around me, like the annoyed huff from Director Ramirez. Do you have to do that here? Sorry, I shrug. Had to get that nicotine monkey off my back. I look around the van's interior at the motley team assembled. If the army of federal agents outside the van isn't assigned, of how tense the situation is, Director Ramirez's presence certainly is. She doesn't usually

go out into the field until after I make a mess of something. All of those have been necessary messes, of course, but I still feel bad for the headaches they cause her. Well, most of the time. Near her is Minnie, her nose upturned at the fruity vapor. My trusty dog book is nestled comfortably in her lap, looking at her hands for attention. This just july. job is too dangerous to bring him along, and she's the only other person he fully trusts. Aside from some nameless texts here to ensure the lines of communication stay open, there's someone named Kane on loan from Site 17, a dark-skinned man with metallic arms. I've never worked with him before, but I hear he recently dispatched a society assault team,

which always puts someone in my good book. Well, they've been waiting a while. I opened the door, giving Ramirez enough time to frown at my onsla. I'm wearing what I usually do when I go into the field. A faded bowling for soup shirt that's probably a size too small to wear in public, and a pair of battered jeans with my knees peeking through the holes in the fabric. I might not look professional, but that's the point. You know what makes people think you're an agent of a shadowy secret organization?

Dressing the part. My attire relaxes people. It lowers their guard and keeps them talking. I'm going to need every advantage I can get. advantage I can get if I'm going into this operation without a gun, something I haven't done in the last year. Dwelling on that will only lead to doubts, though, so I push it to the back of my mind. We're on the clock here, no time to dilly-dally, as my paw-paw used to say. Outside the van, I feel a familiar but surprising arm on my shoulder. Minnie pulls me back and presses

her lips to mine. It's not the most intimate kiss of my life, but definitely the most shocking. I stare at her dumbfounded for a few seconds, no longer is concerned with the operations timetable. You kissed me. Not my most charming line, and Minnie responds with equal blunt simplicity. I did. What for? She shrugs her shoulders. For luck.

Uh-huh. You know I've done riskier ops than this. You never felt like Princess Leia ing me. Yeah, because I don't kiss human ash trays. Her grin can't completely mask the fear in her eyes. Good luck, Cody. I shoot her a wink with more confidence than I had a few seconds ago, and Pat Book's head.

His wine follows me as I walk past the line of armed and disgruntled federal agents, each glaring and disbelief as I walk from the ceasefire and toward the compound. I raise my hands over my head as I near the compound, replaying the information about the folklore druids as I walk. It keeps my mind distracted from the possibility of being shot as I approach the guard towers flanking the sides of the fenced-in commune. The air is still thick, with the stench of gunpowder from the earlier shootout. Bullet holes line the wooden structure, but there's no sign of any snipers. I think it's odd, but I go through the gate and put my hands back in the air. There's still

no sign of any gunmen when I walk past two smaller structures. Like the towers, the wooden walls are lined with bullet holes and shattered glass windows, but none of the self-proclaiming named Druids. Weird. And once again, I wish I had a nickel every time I thought that. The folklore druids aren't all that impressive as far as cults go. They're no Heaven's Gate or Branch Divideons. Just a few dozen members, but they've managed to hit the Fed's radar after taking out a whole ATF office through unknown means. The unknown part is what got the foundation's attention. We're still analyzing the corpses at our local site. At least, we think their corpses. Like a lot of cults, they have more guns and ammo than members. Enough to hold off

the combined forces of the ATF and FBI for the afternoon. And while their small exterior compounds look threadbare, the house in the middle is a whole different story. Guns are sticking out from every window, which train on me as I cross the fence. My weirdar goes off in my mind. They all pulled back to here. Why? Sure, it's a small area. but most of the fighting had been confined to the entrance. The buildings were damaged, but not destroyed. It didn't make sense for them to pull back this far, to seclude themselves in one building,

not if they wanted to avoid another Waco. Someone billows from a PA system jammed into one of the poles lining the compound. Their hefty defense budget apparently left them lacking in the tech department as the old bullhorn squawks with a high-pitched wine that digs in my ear. Ow! Christ! I bring both hands to my ears and hope no one's trigger finger is feeling especially itchy. I'm the negotiator you requested. Being temporarily deaf in one ear and unsure which curtain the wizard is hiding behind,

I shout at the top of my lungs. The gun stay level at me, but a flash of activity goes through the building. I can see glimpses of people through the windows, and it's so deftly quiet that when my hearing returns, I can hear someone running through the house. The few minutes pass by slowly as I'm still. and the please don't shoot me pose. But finally, the door to the mansion opens. The interior is dark, but I take it as their equivalent of a welcome mat. As soon as I stepped through the door,

two sets of arms grabbed me and some things shoved over my face. When I open my eyes, all I see is burlap. I sigh. Seriously, guys, I already know where you live and what you look like. This is unnecessary. Something heavy slams into the back of my head. And I, I feel the familiar tug of unconsciousness as my knees give out. A loud groan wakes me, and it takes me a while to realize it's coming from me. That explains why the back of my head is pounding. Stirring in a chair, I replay my last memories and get an idea of the trouble I'm in. It's not the first time that I've been knocked out.

That happened before I joined the foundation. There aren't any large gaps in my mind, so no permanent damage. I hope. I raise a hand and feel the bruise on the back of my head. At least I'm not going the full-on evil villain route and tying me to the chair. Another point in my favor. I look around and take in my new surroundings. It's a small office, neatly kept with a small bookshelf in the corner. A quick scan shows books mostly on Irish history and folklore. There are more pressing concerns, though, like the men standing across for me. The man at the center I recognize for my mission brief, Declan Gavin, the leader of the folklore druids. Two muscle-bound goons stand to his

sides with guns holstered in their belts. One is fiddling with my vape pen, while the other is reviewing my wallet's contents. I figure I haven't been knocked out for too long. That, or they just waited for me to stir and planned the display for dramatic effect. Given the theatrical with the sack and the blow to the head. I'm not putting it past them. Lazzangue sur-gely, puissance-molyne, for 15 minutes.

Oh, we're saying. We're doing. Vive the pleasure with the Ojo. The casino in-line that proposes the most recent machines-a-sou and the games of casino in direct. Profite of 50 tours

gratu on Big Bas Bonanza. Without exigience of misgents and with payments instantane. Hey! I've gained! Woohoo! Scenture the Pleasure Play-O Joe! 18 18 and plus,

1-Depos only, exclude in Ontario. 50 tours gratis on the machine-ass-bonanza. Depos minimum of $10. Veilers'all. Veil to be in a fashion responsible. The conditions apply. You guys done checking that?

I nod toward the vape pen. And they all glance at me. Maybe they're excellent actors. But hired muscle usually weren't theater majors. Good. I haven't been knocked out too long. Why? Gavin asks.

His voice is an impressive Irish impersonation, sure to make the lady cultists swoon. So you can check in with your federal overlords. He leans across the desk, and his hand stops at the center. I didn't notice it at first, with the head trauma and the hired goons. But there's a skull resting near his hands. Its permanent smile mocks me, and I study strange runes carved into the bone. I have special contact lenses that record everything,

so I make sure to give the runes a hard look for Kane. Ancient Gaelic, Kane's voice says through the small communication device speaking in my ear. Not a dialect I'm fully versed in, but if you can install him, I may be able to decipher it. It's then that I realize that I haven't answered Gavin's question. Hopefully, I can play that delay off on the beating his people gave me. No, because I quit smoking. And getting sucker punched makes me cranky.

Gavin glances over at the man with my vape pen, who gives him a slow and reluctant nod. He can't find anything out of the ordinary and slides it across the table to me. As I raise it to my lips, I notice the sultan. subtle tension of Gavin's bodyguards. They relax just a fraction as I exhale fruity vapor across the desk. Gavin frowns at the smell, but given the way he's treated me so far, I'm in no hurry to play nice. You'll have to forgive me, Agent Hale. Declan slides the wallet back to me. But I had to make sure, you federal agents love your tricks. Uh-huh. Guys like Gavin love

being a big fish in a small pond. Knocking out a federal agent. is a new opportunity for him to swing his dick in front of his followers. Water under the bridge. I'm just here to ensure the peaceful surrender of you and the folklore druids. Gavin's frown deepens into disgust. Guys like him never like to surrender. Folklore. He says it the proper Gaelic way, with rolling ars and accents that make it sound like a magical spell than an old word for skull. Big on semantics and pride then. Good. Guys like that love to talk. Yeah, I'm never going to be able to pronounce that. He sighs and taps the surname on my license. Given your family's history, I found that greatly disappointing.

Playing his game, I tapped the horse atop my license. I'm from Kentucky. Hillbillies don't hold onto our heritage, not like you New Englanders. Gavin's whole body titans. I'm from, you're from Martha's Vineyard. His bodyguards both exchange a glance, while Gavin's hands tighten into fists. He did a great job hiding his history, but there's not much the foundation can't find when they start digging. Don't get me wrong. You're doing the whole native sunstick pretty well. Way better than Leo and gangs of New York. Seriously, you almost got me craving lucky charms. Gavin breaks into a tirade of anger and denial, meaning I'm pressing the right buttons. But it gets distracting when a little chirp fills my ear. An incoming message from

Kane. They need to be recited to stop the SCP from activating. If you repeat after me, that should render it inert for 24 hours. I frown, getting flashbacks to Army of Darkness. I wasn't just bullshitting to get on Gavin's nerves. If it comes to me being able to pronounce ancient Gaelic, we're all good as dead. But maybe I can stall him long enough to get some audio output from Kane to deactivate the rogue SCP. Focusing back on Gavin, I catch the end of his speech.

You doubt my power? No, I shake my head and inhale the vape again. I've seen your power. I doubt its reach. If it was something you could access at the drop of a hat, you wouldn't have had a shootout with the feds. This ends in one of two ways, a jail cell or the graveyard. It's your call. Gavin smiles confidently, and for the first time in our meeting,

I feel the power dynamics shift. Shit. I wasn't the only one stalling for time. The glyphs on the skull light up into a dull green, They shift and morph until I'm staring at entirely different symbols. Kane? I don't see any point and deceit anymore. And the cocky grin on Gavin's face says he feels the same. It's a different dialect than the one before.

Older, I need more time to translate it. How much more time? Five minutes should suffice. Kane's translation speed is impressive, but it doesn't fill me with any confidence. I don't know anything about the skull, but I know the shit-eating grin on Gavin's face means I don't have anywhere near that kind of time. The skull's eyes fill with the beginnings of green vapor

as its mouth slowly opens. I click the button on the vape pen twice and close my eyes as I hold it up. The sound of guns being pulled from their holsters is joined by screams of rage as the flare in the vape pen activates. When I open my eyes, everyone is still blinded. I see Gavin and his men covering their eyes and stumbling around blindly.

I've only got one shot, so I don't hesitate as I speak. spin the skull around and back up as far as I can. Their sight returns as the skull opens its mouth and billows out green smoke. Gavin screams as the smoke engulfs him and his men. I'm as far opposite them as possible as their skin melts, followed rapidly by their flesh. Their bones go last,

and I see skulls eerily similar to the one on the desk before they collapse into a pool of gray sludge, the same as the bodies we recovered from the ATF building. I hold my breath, but let out a sigh of relief. The smoke is hanging in mid-air, but not traversing past the desk. Three hostels down. I sit across from the desk, pick up the vape pen, and swear. The flare also fried my vape's battery, so I'm devoid of nicotine until this blows over.

SCP contained, but I'm going to stay hold up here until the feds can work this out with the rest of the cultists. Good work, Agent Hale. I can hear relief in Ramirez's voice. How did you know that would work? I shrug. They pulled their forces all the way back here, and Gavin was willing to use it on me in close quarters. The thing must be limited to its field of vision. Otherwise, they'd never have chanced it.

There's a pause before Ramirez speaks again. That's quite a hunch to gamble your life on. Result would have been the same if I was wrong and tried nothing. I grin as I think about many listening on the other line. Besides, I was feeling lucky. SCP 77 appears to be a human skull engraved with runes, each filled with an unidentified black resin. The runes change every lunar month, as well as at the winter and summer solstices, the spring and autumn equinoxes, and whenever a partial, annular, or total solar or lunar eclipse is visible from Ireland.

If these engravings are not read aloud at least once within a 24-hour period, the eye sockets and nasal cavity of SCP-77 will emit SCP 77-1. SCP-77-1 is a luminescent green vapor whose precise nature remains undetermined. It is to be noted that, although SCP-77-1 behaves as a normal gas in all other ways, it only occupies those spaces which are within SCP-77's effective line of sight and does not flow into the space behind SCP-77. All biological material, with the obvious exception of SCP-77 itself, which comes in contact with SCP-77-1,

is instantly transformed into a viscous, malodorous ooze. The ooze has been identified as the rotted flesh of potato tubers, which have been severely infected with the potato blight. One cubic centimeter of SCP-77-1 transforms upwards, of 800 grams of biological material.