The SCP Experience - The Beginning of the End | SCP-008 & SCP-500

Episode Date: November 24, 2023

Want to listen ad-free? Try it FREE for 7 days here: patreon.com/TheSCPExperience SCP Foundation SAFE class object, SCP-500: The Beginning of the End This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-500 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

I reached the top of the ridge, breathing heavily from the effort. The park at the edge of the city provides an excellent view of the city skyline. It's a place I used to come too often when I needed to think things through. And if there was ever a time when I needed to think things through, it's right now. Peering around to ensure I'm alone in the park and haven't been followed up the path, I head to a bench and throw myself down. It's a beautiful day I can't help but notice. Funny on the mind works, I guess.

The sky is bright blue, only obscured by big cottony clouds. The sun is shining and the birds are chirping. As I sit catching my breath, the distant sound of automatic gunfire comes to my ears after echoing up the man-made valleys between buildings. It's joined by other sounds. The smash of a car wreck. The screams of fleeing civilians.

More gunfire. A helicopter at the top of one of the skyscrapers lifts from the helipad, bodies dangling from the skids. It banks hard, and a couple of the people hanging from it fall, tumbling down to splatter on the city streets below. I watch as the airborne vehicle writes itself for a moment, seeming like it's going to make it. But then something happens inside that I can't see.

The helicopter tilts and corkscrews directly down into the side of a building, exploding as it smashes into the glass and stone exterior. The wrecked vehicle falls down and is soon lost from my view as it disappears behind a smaller building. The sound of it hitting the street comes to my ears a second or two after it actually happens. Describing how I feel as I sit here on this park bench would be like describing how a four-dimensional being feels. There are no words for it. No way to make you comprehend the sadness, regret. and responsibility I feel.

Because I'm in a unique position. I am, in fact, the most unique person in the world at the moment. Because there has never before been a person that has single-handedly brought about the apocalypse. It all started with a terminal diagnosis. I'm afraid it's bad news, my doctor said. He was a rather large man approaching obesity. It had always made me a little uneasy. I mean, if he couldn't take care of it.

care of himself, why should I expect him to take care of me? Still, I had put off getting a new doctor for many years, and as I listened to him tell me about my stage four cancer, I figured I wouldn't need to worry about finding another doctor at this point. Well, maybe one more, one who could make me comfortable for my last days on this earth. When he finished talking, I just sat there in the exam room, feeling pretty stupid for having cancer. And before I knew what I was doing, the words came out of my mouth. Fuck you! Get the fuck out of here.

Dr. Odell looked shocked. Like I'd just let out a long fart. I just stared at him. Mind a swirling mess of blankness. He recovered and hustled out, telling me something about leaving me alone with my thoughts for a few minutes. And that was when I remembered SCP 500. Suddenly, I had hope.

Oh, I suppose this requires some explanation. You see, I work for the SEP Foundation. Worked, I guess. You've never heard of the SEP Foundation? I know. That's by design. As an aside, you, dear listener, aren't even real. Soon, there will be no one left.

And if anyone survives, it won't last long. So I don't know why I'm explaining this to you, seeing as how you're non-existent. Maybe I just feel that the end of the world deserves an explanation, even if no one actually listens to it. Strange, I know. But don't judge me yet, you figment of my imagination. There will be plenty of opportunities to judge me as this story continues. Anyway, the point is that the SEP Foundation worked to keep humanity safe from things you never knew even existed. There's no way I could list them all here. I'll just say that many of them are bad,

like world-ending bad. Of course, you may have already guessed that. But SCP 500 was a very good one, and it was the only thing that could save me. I'm sorry, Irim, but SCP 500 will not save you, Director Delson said to me. If we gave an SCP 500 pill to every employee who got sick, we wouldn't have any left to experiment with. And if we can find out how to synthesize them, we can provide these pills to the whole world. Imagine that. No more terminal illness.

Everyone could die of old age. The words after SCP-500 will not save you fell on deaf ears. I felt a tremendous sense of anger. Director Delson could save my life with the stroke of his pen, and he refused to do it. But, I said, sounding like a petulant child. You approved its use when Dr. Janelli was infected with SCP8. I don't understand how this is different.

That was a unique situation. Dr. Janelli was infected during the course of his duties here. It was directly attributable to his work on SCP-8. Unfortunately, your cancer is not. I stood up and walked toward the door. Equal parts dejected and angry. I'm so sorry, Hiram. Director Delson called after me, but he made no move to follow me.

Knowing that Delson would likely have me monitored when he got around to thinking about what I could possibly do if I were desperate enough, I headed straight for the SCP 8 containment area. I could infect myself with SCP 8 that would force his hand. He would have to give me an SCP 500 pill. And even if he didn't, what else did I have to lose? I was going to die anyway. After entering my access code, I had a moment of breathlessness

before the red light on the keypad turned green. The sweet sound of the door unlocking came to my ears. Stepping through, I found the containment area clear of any people, living people anyway. In a large containment cell at the corner of the space were four infected individuals. They had noticed my entrance and were now pressed up against the thick reinforced glass of the containment cell, drooling and groaning. All four of them had oozing, gangrenous wounds at various places on their bodies. They were not capable of any intelligent thought or communication. Their eyes were glazed and discolored.

They were walking zombies. I moved past them without more than a glance and then stepped to the storage freezer. I needed to inject myself with the virus. Letting one of the infected bite me would cause me to change too fast. If I injected it into my bloodstream, I would have about 20 hours to plead my case.

Entering my code again, I was relieved to find that it still worked. The freezer door unlocked and I opened it. But as I grabbed one of the vials, the door to the research area opened behind me. I turned around to see Dr. Janelli standing there, shocked as he stared at me. What are you doing? Janelli asked, cup of coffee in one hand. I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

I had no believable excuse, and it only took a moment for Janelli to react. He rushed toward the control panel at the side of the room, going for the emergency alarm. Sengs sur-joled, and thence Morrow for 15 minutes. We'd say that's the

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depop minimum of $10 dollars. Veighetka pay for are responsible. The conditions apply. With the freezing cold file still in my hand, I lunged to cut him off. I smashed into him just as he was reaching out to hit the big red alarm button at one corner of the panel.

His hand came down next to the button and our collision knocked the coffee out of his hands. The hot liquid spilled all over the electronic control panel. Janelli fell back, mashing other buttons on the panel with his back as we fought. Although I heard the hiss of the door to the containment cell opening, it didn't register. Not at first. Not until Janelli's eyes went wide and he yelled, Infected! I released him and turned around just in time to see one of the infected lunge at me.

I knocked the rotting man aside and directly into Janelli. The guy chomped down on Janelli's nose, prompting the doctor to scream as blood spewed from the wound. The other three infected were coming at me, moving fast. I ran to the door and hit the button. It opened and I ran out into the hall, three zombies hot on my heels. Run! I shouted at the few people milling in the halls. A research assistant turned to look at me, too slow to heed my advice. I ran past her.

A moment later, she screamed and was tackled to the ground by one of the zombies. You would think working at the SCP Foundation would have made people a bit faster to react, but it wasn't so. People poked their heads out into the hall, curious at the commotion, and they paid for it with their lives. By the time someone finally hit the alarm, the four zombies had tripled. And by the time a security team got into place to contain the outbreak, the 12 had tripled again. Really, there was no chance.

I could tell you that the site I worked at turned out to be woefully unprepared for such an event. But it would only serve to take part of the responsibility for my shoulders. And that's not right. The whole thing was my fault. But at the time, I wasn't thinking about that. I was running for my life. I managed to get into a packed elevator with about a dozen other people.

In all the chaos, no one knew it was me who had started the whole thing. I had slipped the vial of SCP-8 into my pocket, and no one was the wiser. The elevator was full of frightened chatter. Then one sentence cut through all the noise. Oh my God, you're bleeding, Frank. Everyone looked over toward Frank,

a tall and spindly man with a narrow face who was in the back corner on the other side of the elevator from me. No, no, no, Frank said. It's nothing. I'm fine. It's not a bite. Let me see it, Frank.

Another man said. This one's short, stout. No. Frank said. I told you it's not a bite. I'm fine. But Frank was far from fine. As soon as the words were out of his mouth,

his eyes suddenly rolled up into his head, and he started convulsing. I was pressed into the corner as everyone tried to get away from him. Stop the elevator! People were shouting. I can't move! A woman nearest, the buttons shouted. I can't reach the buttons! Frank's eyes came back down, changed.

He reached out and yanked the stout man toward him, fighting into and ripping off the man's ear amid his screams of pain. Then everyone was screaming. Those of us furthest from the violence pushed the others forward, trying to create a wall. Frank bit three people, and by the time the elevator doors opened on the lobby, those three had bitten four more.

I lurched out of the elevator, zombies spilling out after me as they attacked the uninfected. The lobby was already in chaos. There were zombies chasing after people, security guards shooting at the speedy infected, and people screaming as they had chunks bitten from their flesh. A couple of security guards were trying to contain the mess, trying to prevent it from spilling out into the street. But there were just too many of us. We bum-rushed them, breaking through the security barricades and out into the street.

A small horde of zombies followed. Without thinking, I ran into the street and saw a car bearing down on me. I stopped in the car swerve, missing me by mere inches. The vehicle lost control on the one-way street and smashed into a light pole on the other side of the road. Other cars came to a screeching halt as bodies flooded out from the building. I turned to run up the street, but immediately came face to face with a zombie who tackled me to the ground. I smacked my head on the asphalt, but was still able to get my hands up around the woman's neck. She snapped at me, an inch on my nose.

As I tried to push her off me, I heard hydraulic brakes squealing and the smashing sounds of car collisions. Still holding her off, I craned my head back against the asphalt to look upside down along the road. A semi-truck was plowing through cars in the street, smashing them out of the way as the driver tried to slow down. And it was coming right at me. I tried to throw the woman off, but she was gripping my shoulders, trying to pull herself down. I knew I only had one chance. So with what strength I had left, I pushed, raising her up as the shadow of the truck fell over us. I screamed as I heard the large vehicle getting closer, and then it was upon us.

The front bumper crashed into the woman, ripping her off me and snapping her bones. I lay flat and perfectly still as the cab passed over me and finally came to a stop. I found myself looking up at the underside of the trailer. Then I rolled out and ran down the street, quickly finding an abetting. which I used to get to the trailhead. And then I rushed up to this little bench on the overlook, and that's where I am now, recording this story for you,

although I doubt anyone will ever listen to it. So now you know, this is all my fault. The zombies are already spreading far beyond the city. Pretty soon, the whole world will be in chaos. At this point, you may be wondering what my plans are. After all, this is my doing. this is my doing. I should probably commit ritual suicide or something. But if you actually think that's what I do, you haven't been paying attention. No, my plan is clear. I have to go all the

way back to the SCP Foundation building and get those goddamn pills so I can cure my cancer. Plus, I can always take one if I do get bitten, provided I do it before I lose the use of my brain. Well, I do feel bad about everything. I don't feel bad enough to kill myself. That wouldn't help anyone, least of all me. In the end, it doesn't really matter if the whole world is dead, so long as I'm alive. SCP8 is a complex preon, samples of which are stored in each of the known G2 sites. Research into SCP8 is highly classified and primarily aimed at preventing research that may lead to the synthesis of SCP8 in the future.

Traits of SCP-8 include 100% infectiousness, 100% lethality, transmission through exposed mucus membranes and all bodily fluids, not airborne or waterborne. Symptoms of infection with SCP-8 manifest no more than three hours after exposure and include flu-like symptoms with high fever, plus the rapid onset of severe dementia. A period of sporadic cellular necrosis occurs which comes to resemble gangrenorphic. surviving tissue assumes its original function and is highly resilient. Red blood cells greatly increase oxygen storage capacity, resulting in slower blood flow and increased muscle endurance and strength. Metabolism may decrease to extremely low levels,

allowing subject to survive for over 10 years without nutrition. Subject can adapt to its damaged nervous systems but is limited to basic physical activities, including standing up, balancing on two legs, walking, biting, grabbing, and crawling. Subject will energetically move towards sights, sounds, and smells it associates with living humans. Subject will attempt to ingest living humans if physical contact is made. Neutralizing fully infected subjects require significant cranial trauma. SCP 500 is a small plastic can, which at the time of writing contains 47 red pills. One pill, which taken orally, effectively cures the subject of all diseases within two hours,

exact time depending on the severity and amount of the subject's conditions. Despite extensive trials, all attempts at synthesizing more of what is thought to be the active ingredient of the pills have been unsuccessful.