The SCP Experience - Seductive Squalor | SCP-2194

Episode Date: November 7, 2022

SCP Foundation KETER class object, SCP-2194: Seductive Squalor This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-2194, 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

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They're responsible. The conditions apply. the Florida humidity. The pungent reek of the landfill filled my nostrils as I walked up to the two men. I've never seen anything like it, the uniformed officer said, without preamble. Something strange is going on. I recognized his face, but couldn't remember his name off the top of my head. His nameplate said Fitzgerald. I looked into his worried face for a moment. Although young, he wasn't a rookie anymore.

His concern gave me pause. Detective Daniels, I said, reaching a handout toward the man in the orange vest. He had a bushy red mustache with flecks of gray in it. That along with the crow's feet at the corners of his brown eyes spoke to his age. I'm Gerald Thurman, he said. The landfill manager here. I had never met this man before, but I got the feeling he was just as scared as Fitzgerald. We shook hands and then stood in silence for a moment.

moment. I was waiting for one of the two men to fill me in. Well, I said, finally, looking at the officer. All the call said was suspicious activity. I don't see why you need a detective for that. So can you tell me what's going on here? A pained look came over Fitzgerald's face. Yeah, he said. I didn't know what code do you use. That one sounded close enough, I guess. It's better if you just see. Okay. I said, show me. We can take my truck, Thurman said, gesturing at a four-door Ford parked in a reserved spot. Before getting into the truck, I took my suit jacket off. It was too damn hot to be walking around in the sun with my jacket on. I adjusted my holstered six sour P230 pistol as I got into the front passenger seat,

then folded my suit jacket in my lap. As we moved past the way station, one of the employees inside was, waved at us. Thurman didn't return the gesture. He seemed preoccupied. His knuckles were white as his hands gripped the wheel. We continued on, passing small ponds and a couple of grassy hills. The hills, I knew, were likely closed landfill cells. Under the soil and grass sat tons and tons of decaying garbage. Thurman guided the truck onto a dirt road and passed a pile of old tires. Soon enough, we came to the edge of an open landfill cell. There were three landfill compactors parked around, essentially big bulldozers, designed to compact and spread out the trash.

The drivers were standing nearby, staring down into the cell. I couldn't see what they were looking at, but their posture and the looks on their faces struck a cord with me. These weren't just men shooting the shit during their break. They were men deeply concerned with what they were seeing, but unsure of what to do about it. Thurman parked, and we piled out of the truck. There was a mound of garbage blocking my view into the cell. The heavy equipment drivers were standing to one side of this hill of garbage. As I walked up to them, I glanced around.

There was a housing development being built not even a mile away, right next to a small neighborhood that looked like it had been there for a while. Since we were slightly higher than the expanding neighborhood, I could see that half the houses were finished, while the other half were still being built. Construction workers were busy with their tasks. There was something strange about the construction process over there, but I couldn't place it with a glance.

Besides, I had other things to worry about. The three drivers looked over at me as I walked up. I skirted around the pile of garbage so I could see into the pit. None of the men spoke. One of them, a man whose bulbous belly was barely contained by a shirt, simply pointed. I looked to where he was pointing and saw two men amid the field of trash that covered much of the large, lined pit. Both of them were wearing orange vests, just like all the other employees I'd encountered. But these two were acting very strangely.

They were rummaging through the garbage, finding items to add to a large pile in the middle of the trash field. But that wasn't all they were doing. Every so often, they would find a particularly juicy piece of trash and rub it on themselves, seemingly in the throes of ecstasy. They were both covered in a layer of brownish filth. I had to control my gag reflex as one of the men picked up an old yogurt container and dumped the brown juice from inside directly into his mouth. Just as I was about to start asking questions, Thurman shouted,

No! I told you not to let anyone near him! What are you talking about? I asked, turning toward him. When I left, it was only Vickers down there, moving garbage around. Now Delaney is doing it too. What the hell happened? Delaney said he wanted to talk to him, so he went down there, the large belly driver said. They're good friends, you know? We tried to stop him, but he went anyway. What exactly happened when he went down there? I asked. Nothing at first, the driver said.

Vickers just ignored him until Delaney tried to stop him from moving the garbage. Then Vickers attacked him, smearing that brown shit all over him. Pretty soon, Delaney started moving the stuff around, smearing it on himself. I don't get it. You think maybe they accidentally got into some drugs or something? I didn't answer. While the man was talking, I'd caught a glimpse of movement down near Delaney and Vickers. I took a few steps forward, careful not to step on any of the garbage and squinted.

Are those rats? I asked, pointing. Holy hell, Thurman said from beside me. What are they doing? Several rats had come squirming to the surface of the mound the two men were building. They chittered and scuddered on the mound, as if in a frenzy. Then, the mound itself started to move. At first, I thought it was nothing. The movement was small enough.

that I discounted it as regular settling or shifting of the materials. But then the mound seemed to get larger, as if it was standing up. Shouts of concern came from all of us gathered at the edge of the pit. I moved back a few steps as the mound seemed to gather more and more trash to itself as it stood, reaching a height of over 20 feet. The two men, Delaney and Vickers, shouted in glee and threw themselves at the stinking, amorphous gathering of garbage. What do we do? I heard Fitzgerald call out from behind me, but I had no answer.

I could only watch and disbelief. The mound moved closer, slowly gathering trash as it came. My thoughts seemed stuck as they searched for some reasonable explanation. The crack of a gunshot snapped me from my trance, and I turned to see a wide-eyed Fitzgerald pointing his gun at the slow-moving trash mound. He fired twice more before I shouted for him to stop. I knew it wouldn't do any good. But the damage had been done.

When I looked back into the pit, Delaney and Vickers were staring hard at Fitzgerald, their teeth clicking together in unison. The men started running toward Fitzgerald, clearly intent on doing him harm. Run! I said, pulling out my weapon. Before Fitzgerald could turn to run, a white bag of garbage came careening away from the moving mound, flying like a bird and crashing into the officer's face,

knocking him to his back. Delaney was the first to reach Fitzgerald, jumping on top of him as I yelled for him to stop moving. He either didn't hear me or he didn't care. Delaney pinned Fitzgerald's arms to the ground as I fought with a decision to shoot or not. Vickers was still approaching, but with less urgency now. As Fitzgerald screamed, Delaney vomited browned liquid into his face. Even from ten feet away, I could smell the vile liquid. The stench made me want to pupe.

Get off him, I yelled. Do it now or I'll shoot. Shoot him! Fitzgerald yelled. And I did. I put a bullet into Delaney's skull, splattering his brains all over Fitz's legs. I raised my weapon and pointed it at Vickers,

but the man had turned around and was heading back toward the mound, which I noticed with considerable alarm was getting even bigger. Fitzgerald threw Delaney's limp body off him and scrambled up, coughing and retching. My first instinct was to help him, but I dared not touch the man. He was coated in brown vomit. Oh, God, he said, looking at himself. Oh, God, what is this shit?

Oh, God. He stopped suddenly, his head coming slowly up as he looked toward the moving garbage mound. Then he started toward it, walking with a singular purpose into the sloping pit. Everyone get back! I yelled at the dazed and frightened men around me. No one touch anything. Get back. I've got a call. Someone. I heard the hum of engines approaching, and the sound of a helicopter came to my ears. The big-bellied driver, the one who had done most of the talking, walked up next to me and clapped me on the back.

Already taken care of, buddy, he said, turning me and guiding me out of the way as unmarked vehicles rolled in. There were three SUVs and something that looked like a modified fire truck. The helicopter zoomed in overhead and began circling around the landfill cell. I watched in confusion as several men piled out of the SUVs wearing hazmat suits. Those not in hazmat suits wore simple jackets with a strange emblem on the backs, a circle with three arrows pointing toward the center. They helped those in the suits put on masks and seal the sleeves with tape. Then these hazmat suited people moved to the backs of the SUVs and pulled out what I thought was.

pulled out what I thought were flame throwers. I was proved right as they moved over to Delaney's body and lit it up with flames. Once the body was blackening, they moved toward the trash monster and shot tongues of flame at it. The mound seemed to scream as the flames touched it, but I quickly realized it was the rats. Vickers was still around somewhere, but I hadn't seen where he'd gotten off to. Apparently, the helicopter had, because it got low to the ground. behind the squirming, flaming mound of trash. A side door slid open and a man with a high-powered rifle took aim and shot down at Fickers,

who was trying to run away toward the opposite end of the pit. As the mound burned, it shot pieces of trash out at its assailants. But the people were prepared. They dodged the throne garbage easily. I got the feeling this wasn't their first rodeo. What is this? I asked the driver who'd guided me to the side. Thurman was nearby, and he crowded in close to hear the explanation.

This is what we do, the foundation, driver said. Sorry about your man. I was hoping my people would get here sooner. Why didn't you say something? I asked. Oh, you would have believed an overweight landfill worker? He countered. He was right. I wouldn't have believed him. The helicopter kicked up dirt and debris as it landed nearby.

A man in sunglasses and a black suit. jumped out of the back and ran over toward us through the turbulent winds. You're the landfill manager, right? He asked Thurman, who nodded. And you're the local detective? He asked me. I nodded. Come with me. Without waiting, the man in the sunglasses turned and ran back to the helicopter.

Thurman and I looked at each other. You better go, the driver said. We did, moving under the spinning rotors and into the helicopter. There were six seats in the back, three facing three. The man in sunglasses sat across from Thurman and I. The man who I'd seen shoot from the helicopter also sat on the bench seat across from us. This left the middle seat unoccupied on each side. The helicopter took off quickly, rising up into the sky.

I looked down and saw that the modified fire truck was spraying some kind of white foam over the smoldering remains of the living trash mound. Listen, the guy in sunglasses said. We're going to need your help in the next few days. You are to be our liaison with local police, and you need to tell us how to prevent further groundwater contamination from the landfill. Contamination? Thurman said.

It's highly unlikely. We take great care to prevent contamination. Yeah, well, it's happening anyway, the man said, pointing out the window. Probably because of the high water table in this part of Florida. If I had to guess, Thurman scooted into the middle seat and leaned over, looking past me out the window. I looked too.

We were circling the neighborhood I'd seen from the landfill, the new housing development, next to the established neighborhood. When I'd glanced at the new development from the ground earlier, something struck me as strange, but I was too preoccupied to consider it. Now, it was easy to see what it was. The construction workers hadn't been constructing the new houses. They'd been tearing the ones they'd already built down, and gathering the debris in the middle of the existing neighborhood. But they weren't just construction workers. Men in suits, kids in

school uniforms, and women in workout gear were all working with singular purpose down there. We started getting reports several hours ago, sunglasses man said. We moved as fast as we could, but it was already too late. You see, most of those older houses have wells. They've been pulling up contaminated groundwater. That whole neighborhood's infected now. We need to keep it from spread any further. As the words in their meaning took root in my mind, I looked down to see that the huge mound of housing material in the middle of the neighborhood was moving. It had built itself up into a tower, and as we watched, the tower collapsed on an adjacent house, smashing the structure down in an explosion of dust, dirt, and debris. Then it began reforming, assimilating the crushed

house into its mass and building itself up to do the same thing again to the house across the street. This isn't happening, I said, more to myself than anyone else. Oh, yes, it is, sunglasses guy said. And if we don't stop it, we can say goodbye to Florida, maybe even the entire country. This thing will grow and grow and grow. That's what it does. We have no choice. We have to stop this thing.

That was how it all started. It's why half of Florida was decimated. It's why I sit here in front of you, senators, telling you all that I know. I'd never heard of the foundation before that day, but I've thanked God for them every day since. Without the foundation, I don't think we could have stopped that thing. And yes, we paid a terrible price for it. A price in human lives, there's no debating that. But sometimes you have to amputate the thumb to save the hand.

Sometimes you have no choice. SCP 2194 manifests as an amorphous and partially mobile mass of common refuse, dead microorganisms, fecal matter, live bacteria, assorted particulate matter, and other forms of biological and non-biological waste. It is currently unknown whether the initial mass of SCP 2194 originates as non-anomalous waste that assumes anomalous properties, or form spontaneously through other means. What is known is that it propagates via direct physical contact,

gradually spreading to adjacent surfaces as a brownish film of waste and particulate matter, refuse waste and dead biological matter becomes incorporated into the mass of SCP 2194 on contact. Should material affected by SCP 2194 come into direct contact with a contact, any surface, including the skin of a live organism, it will leave a stain at the point of contact. This stain spreads at a relatively low rate. However, any attempt to abrade, dissolve, corrode, or otherwise remove this stain results in the formation of an amount of material roughly double the amount removed. Once the anomalous stain covers at least 33% of a live organism's body surface, the organism becomes an instance of SCP 2194-1.

These instances are capable of spreading SCP 2194 via direct physical contact and display extremely unhygienic behavior, characterized by an obsession with both SCP 2194 and other non-anomalous forms of waste. SCP 2194 can be partially removed by sustained exposure to an open flame, However, its regenerative properties in response to attempted removal allow a minimum of 10% of the material to remain on a surface, even after several minutes of continuous burning. Incineration is 100% effective in the neutralization of instances of SCP 2194-1. The most effective containment method currently known is the use of an expanding foam sealant to cover all surfaces affected by SCP 2194. provided that the sealant is applied thoroughly and within a space of two hours,

SCP 2194 is capable of spreading to the exterior surface of the seal in no less than 200 hours, or roughly 8 days. Reapplication of the foam before the seal is broken can keep the SCP from spreading indefinitely.