The SCP Experience - Severed | SCP-1993 & SCP-1311

Episode Date: September 14, 2022

SCP Foundation KETER class object, SCP-1993 and SCP-1311: Severed This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-1993 and https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-1311, 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

My breathing is ragged. My chest heaving as I work, hunched over in my cubicle. The sounds of whimpering and outraged disbelief come to my ears, but they don't register. They don't matter. Nothing matters but finishing this work. I know that someone has called the police. I heard their frightened 911 call. It was Rachel Dillard who did it.

I never liked Rachel. The scissors aren't very sharp. I've been working with them for nearly five minutes. it straight, cutting, cutting and cutting. Sweat drips off my brow, disappearing into the wetness soaking my pants. Someone vomits behind me. My right hand is cramping. The muscles burning as I continue the work.

I managed to get the pinky off my left hand, which made me feel relieved for a moment. But the ring finger still has to go. Unfortunately, it's not cooperating. I don't know where these fingers came from, but they're not mine. Growing frustrated, I bring my left hand out of my blood-coated lap and set it on my desk, shoving my keyboard out of the way. Levering the scissors open, I use one of the blades to saw at the bit of meat and cartilage holding the ring finger to my hand.

Finally, it comes free, and I pull my left hand away from it. I lean back in my chair with a contented sigh. It's done. The fingers are off, finally off. I look down at the pinky finger sitting. on the thin blue and gray carpet. Chris, the guy who works in the cubicle next to mine, is lying on the floor, his eyes wide. The blood has stopped pouring out of the hole in the neck the scissors made. I guess he's dead. Oh well, he shouldn't have tried to stop me from removing

the disgusting fingers. I couldn't let him stop me. Thankfully, no one else in the office tried to intervene after they saw what I did to Chris. If they had, they would have ended up like him. I stare at the ceiling, only now starting to feel the pain. But the sense of contentment is still buzzing through my body like a drug. Out in the hall, I can hear heavy footsteps coming toward the office. The police are here. Oh, joy. Here's what I want you to do, D-898983, the doctor says. I want you to go into the containment room with the others and just watch what happens.

I want you to use the voice recorder we're giving you to narrate what you see. Do you know what narrate means? I look at the man for a long moment. His brown hair is long, tucked behind his ears. His brown and gray beard is thick. The reflected light on his glasses obscure his green eyes. Of course I know what narrate means, I say. Did you not read my file?

Surely you people have a file on me and all the other orange idiots in this hellhole. Dr. Kimball purses his lips and nods his head sadly. You're right, 983. You're right. I was running late this morning and didn't have a chance to read your file thoroughly. All I know is that you were affected by SCP 1311. As he says this last sentence, he gestures at my left hand. The healed nubs of my ring and pinky fingers clearly visible on the table. That's what they tell me, I replied.

I'll have to take your word for it. I just knew they weren't my fingers. I don't know how they got there, but they weren't mine. I had to take them off, so I did. Dr. Kimball shifts through the files in front of him while I talk. He opens one up and looks at it. Yes, he says. And you stabbed a coworker who was trying to stop you, correct?

That's why you're here? No, I say. I'm here, because I was offered a chance at parole instead of life in prison. Yes, Dr. Kimball says again. With your previous convictions, they did. throw the book at you, didn't they? I shrug. Of course they did. Any chance they get to throw an ex-con back in prison, they'll take it. Dr. Campbell sniffs as he looks down and reads the file for a few moments. Right. Well, I apologize for not coming prepared to this meeting, 983. But time is of the

essence. Do you understand what I want you to do? Sure. Narrate into the recorder. Let me ask you, Doc, is this going to be dangerous? Not for you, he says. Just stay out of the way of the others, and you'll be fine. The good doctor leads the way out of the interview room and down the hall. Two meathead security guards walk with us. We step into a simple, unadorned room. There's one long desk with two chairs against a wall.

There's a single computer on the desk. Opposite the door to the hallway, there's another door. Unlike the door to the hallway, it doesn't have a window in it. As we make our way to this door, I noticed the speakers placed around the room. We pause at the door. Dr. Kimball produces a small silver recording device from a pocket on his white lab coat. He hands it to me and says, Go through this door and then the other one.

Don't be alarmed at what you see on the floor. Just pick a corner and wait for the others to come in. When they do, hit the record button and begin your narration. Okay, I say. Easy enough. Oh, and be sure to note the appearance of anything that wasn't in the room to begin with, he says. The room is wired for sound, and we'll be listening to everything from out here. So if something shows up that wasn't there before, tell us what it is immediately, okay?

I don't understand, I say. Why would something just show up in the room? That's what we're trying to determine. We had an item appear in the room that wasn't there before on our last. experiment. So we need to know if it happens again. And if it does, we need to know what the item is. This is very important. Okay, I say, ready to get this over with already. I stepped through the first door and into a small chamber with another door to my right. On a whim, I turn around and try to open the door it just came through. Locked. I turned back around and walked through the second

door. The first thing I see is the severed leg in the middle of the white 20 foot by 20 foot room. It's a man's leg, judging by the size, build, and hair. It's naked, no shoes or socks. However, there is a small tattoo of a compass rose on the outside ankle. It's not a complete leg. It has been severed just above the knee joint, and I can see all the complexities of the joint laid bare to the world. There's no blood, though. It seems the leg is already blood as much as it's going to at some other location. There is, however, a drain in the middle of the sloped tile floor, less than a foot from the leg. At the back of the room, there's a small metal table with some tools on it. I move to it and see a surgical bone saw, a knife, and a hacksaw. The door opens behind me.

I turned to look, seeing three other D-class personnel, each dressed in an orange jumpsuit, just like me. Their numbers are listed on the front and back of each jumpsuit, just like mine. The first one in is a small man with a bulbous, bald head and small, savage eyes. He's followed by a haggard-looking woman with frizzy reddish hair and 10-pound bags under her eyes. Finally, another man trails behind. He's large, blonde, and has a vacant look on his face. I watch as the expressions on their three faces change in quick succession.

Bam, bam, bam. As soon as their eyes laid on the severed leg, something enters their faces. The bald man, number D-78664, looks from the leg on the floor to his own right leg. His eyes glint with madness, and he runs, swiping up the leg and bringing it with him to the metal table across the room. The woman soon follows suit, screaming. That's mine! At the bald man, suddenly remembering the recorder, I'd press the appropriate button and bring the thing up to my lips.

Meanwhile, the vacant-faced blonde man lumbers over to join the pair at the table, who are now fighting over the leg. The big man, D-5002-3, hits the woman in the face, knocking her to the ground, I say, narrating the scene. Now it's just him and the bald man buying for the leg. The bald man kicks him in the balls, sending the big man to the ground. Now the bald man has the leg to himself. He's selecting something from the table.

It looks like the surgical saw. Now he's running to the other corner of the room with the leg. I suddenly realize what's going to happen. And it starts the gears turning in my head. My mouth hangs open as the bald man plops down on his butt and pulls up the right-pant leg of his jumpsuit. There is no hesitation, no second-guessing. and no look of pain on his face as he digs into the flesh above his knee with the surgical saw.

Blood floods out around the wound, but the man doesn't seem to notice. As the woman streaks across the room screaming, I remember my job. The woman is going for the leg now, I say. But the bald man sees her coming. He pulls the saw out of his leg and swings it at... I gape as the saw slashes through the woman's neck. Blood spews as she puts both hands to her throat. apparently forgetting about the leg.

She stumbles toward me, eyes full of fear and pain. I shove her away from me getting blood on my jumpsuit. Uh, I say. The bald man, having cut the woman's neck open, now resumed sawing his own right leg off. He has tucked the severed leg between his body and the wall. I look back over at the big man, who stumbles across the room but slips on the considerable amount of blood now on the floor.

He then gets to his knees and crawls over toward the frantically working bald man. Once again, the bald man sees the danger coming. He goes to pull the saw out of his leg, but he gets momentarily stuck in the bone. The big man swings a heavy fist, striking the bald man and bouncing his head off the wall. I resume my narration, saying, The big man just knocked the bald man out. It is now taking the severed leg across the room toward the metal table. He's selecting a knife from the table.

Something catches my eye in the near corner of the room, a small black object. Turning my head to look closer, I see that it's a cell phone. It wasn't there before, and no one has gone into that corner of the room. We're not allowed to have phones anyway. The woman is now completely motionless, lying where she fell after I shoved her away. The bald man is still unconscious, and he'll probably be dead soon too, given the injury to his leg. The big man is just now starting into his leg with the knife. So where did the phone come from?

How did it get there? It must be what Dr. Kimball was talking about before I came in here. I move over and pick the phone up. It's fully charged and unlocked. Turning off the audio recorder and pocketing it, I select the video function on the phone and start recording. I step over toward the big man, but I make sure not to get too close.

He has the severed leg lying next to him as he hacks at his own leg with the knife. I zoom in on the severed limb for about a minute, making sure to get a good, clear look at it. What's happening in there, 93? Dr. Kimball's voice comes from a speaker in the ceiling. Why aren't you narrating? You gotta get me out of here, Doc. I say, please, these people are crazy. Two of them are dead and the third one is cutting his own leg off. Continue your narration, 983. He says, I can't do it. I can't. Let me out and I'll tell you what I saw, but I can't be in here any longer. I head over to the door and pull it open,

rushing into the little chamber. I bang on the locked door, yelling for them to let me out. Do you have any weapons in your hands? Kimball's voice asks me, via a speaker in the small anthe-chamber. No! I lie.

If you do, you will be shot. Do you understand? Yes, yes! As the door opens, I thrust the phone out, holding it facing away from me. It's playing the footage I took of the last. leg. The security guard that opens the door looks at the phone. His eyes go wide and he rushes past me

into the room. I push through the doorway and shove the phone into the other security guard's face. His reaction is the same. By now, Dr. Kimball knows what's going on. His eyes are wrenched, shut, and he's trying to get to the door to the hallway. To escape, it doesn't matter. I put the phone down on the desk and grab him by the head, smashing his skull into the wall once, twice, three times. to the floor in a heap. I grab the phone up again and restart the footage. Then I walk out into the hall. I show the footage to anyone I come across. They all have the same reaction. They all get that same mad look on their face and run back toward the room containing the severed leg. I keep going, betting that I can get out of this hellhole as long as I don't come across someone like me,

someone who's immune. In reality, I'll most likely be shot while trying to leave the place, but it's worth a try. Besides, I'm having a blast so far. SCP 1311 initially manifests as a case of sudden, severe body integrity disorder. The belief that part of an individual's body is not actually theirs. In most instances, SCP 1311 affects the perception of one's hands or feet, though in some cases, fingers, ears, eyes, teeth, or even organs have also been subject to the condition. As with most cases of acute body integrity disorder, the majority of subjects infected with

SCP 1311 have attempted to self-amputeate or remove the affected part of the body themselves, resulting in their death. In the cases where a minor part of the body is targeted and successfully amputated, all sufferers have expressed a profound feeling of relief at its removal. SCP 1993 is a human right leg, severed at an angle, beginning above the knee and descending to the patella. Examination of the leg has shown the presence of a small tattoo on the exterior side of the ankle, depicting a compass with the needle pointing to the southeast.

Instances of SCP-1993 have been observed to decay at the normal rate for a severed limb. All humans making visual contact with SCP-1993 will become immediately convinced that it is their leg, amputated from them at some point in the past. and replaced with a simulacrum. Affected individuals will have no explanations as to how, when, or under what circumstances their leg was removed, but in no instance has any individual been disabused of the idea once exposed to SCP 1993.

If permitted physical access, individuals will find some manner of removing their own leg above the knee. Documented incidents have seen individuals applying tourniquets and performing amputations with sharpened pieces of metal, shards of glass, or their own teeth, cutting through skin, muscle, and tendon, dislocating the pate pettella and severing all requisite tendons and the anterior cruciate ligament. Individuals will then attempt to attach SCP-1993 to their own bodies, again using whatever materials are available to them. However, given the complexity of microsurgical reattachment, this will often be carried out haphazardly, with many affected individuals

electing finally to connect the limb via topical methods, such as stapling or using adhesive chemicals. While exposure to SCP-1993 causes affected individuals to ignore or mentally suppress sensations of pain during the procedure, the massive damage caused by the amputation typically results in death by any combination of blood loss or shock. Only those who have been affected by SCP 1311 have proven immune to SCP 1993's effects. Lasagne sur-surellied, puissance-molyne for 15 minutes. We'd say that's the dojo.

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