The SCP Experience - The Cannibal Experiment | SCP-604

Episode Date: February 17, 2025

A death-row inmate, forced to be a test subject for a sinister organization, takes part in a gruesome experiment that awakens his darkest urges—until the experiment turns on him. Acorns: Head to acorns.com/scp or download the Acorns app to get started. This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-604 and is released under Creative Commons Sharealike 3.0. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/ Author: Matt Doggett * * * 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 Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

How's that daughter of yours, Welch? You do have a daughter, right? You seem like the kind of guy who has a daughter? I bet she's a real sweet peach, that daughter of yours. The sound of Flynn's buzzing, whining voice made sweet fantasies dance through my head. Fantasies in which I gutted him and shoved his own intestines down his throat to shut him up once and for all. I could picture the look on his face, his buggy, colorless eyes as wide as exit wounds. His sharp, yet somehow bulbous face smeared with blood as I forced, the intestines passed his half-rotten teeth, and down his wretched throat.

But, of course, I'm a nice guy, so I would never do such a thing to a fellow human. That's what I've come to learn about myself during my time with the foundation. I'm a nice guy. I never realized it before, but only because I never had anyone truly evil to compare myself against. The people who run the foundation are the kind of evil you hear about only in fiction. But I tell you, it's real, and I've experienced it firsthand. How old is she? Flynn kept buzzing, as he followed Welch down the cold and windleless hall. It went Flynn, Sosa, and me bringing up the rear.

All three of us in orange jumpsuits, all three of us with chains attached to shackles around our wrists and ankles. Then there were the chains that arced for me to soothes. and from Sosa to Flynn, keeping us together. A regular chain gang. I made a little game of keeping the chain between me and Sosa as tight as it would go without jerking. You have to get your fun in when you can, because you never know when you'll walk into a room

with some kind of fucked-up creature that makes your eyeballs burst with one look, or gets you infected with bone-eating parasites with one scratch of a claw. Don't be coy, Welch, Flynn said. Tell me how old. Old she is. Thirteen? Ah, to be a sweet 14. I was surprised Welch hadn't already hit him.

I guessed he was in a good mood. But just as the thought passed through my mind, the guard whipped around and backhanded Flynn with a snap that flexed my eardrums uncomfortably on its way down the concrete hall. Flynn went down to his knees, forcing us to stop. I looked over my shoulder to see a bored Cordova well out of spitting distance behind me. He rolled his eyes and said, get up, asshole. That's just what Flynn did, but as he got to his feet, he was laughing, actually more like cackling. Somewhere in between his

little bouts of crazy laughter, he kept repeating the word, 14. Christ, I wanted to be the one to hit him. And judging by the look on Welch's wide, thick face, the guard had taken no enjoyment from the hit. What a waste. Welch stepped over to a metal door on the right. He used his key card and an eight-digit passcode to unlock the thing, which probably weighed as much as I did. I just hoped it wasn't meant to keep out some immortal and infernal creature that would shatter my grasp on reality when I laid eyes on it.

You can imagine my surprise when we all filed into the room and found a long banquet table set with fine china. A second, smaller table sat against the wall on the far side of the room. It was stacked with different food items, from freshly cooked meats and hearty veggies to sugary treats and assorted fruits. A long one-way mirror took up one wall, and I could picture the evil, hunch-backed scientists on the other side of the glass, just waiting to get things started.

I had no idea what those things would be, but I knew this wasn't some banquet thrown in our honor. Whatever it was, I knew I wouldn't like it. But, as it turned out, I was wrong on that front. I did like it, at least at first, before things got out of hand. Welch and Cordova gave us the usual instructions, and unlocked our shackles before taking their places in opposite corners of the long, narrow room. As I stepped up to the table, keeping in mind not to touch anything until we got the okay,

I noticed several cameras high up in the ceiling. It looked like they had every angle covered. Of course, this was nothing new either. Other than being the most evil organization around, the foundation also excelled at crafting meticulous records, which included videos. This is why you guys didn't feed us breakfast or lunch today? Sosa asked from my left,

as he stared at the food arrayed on the smaller table. The larger table, the one with fine china, on it, had no food on any of the dishes. Please, choose a place at the table. A voice said over the intercom system. I knew that voice. It belonged to Dr. Clay. His voice was about as strong as his old rickety body.

He must have been 80. But I don't think retirement was anywhere on the horizon for him. The guy liked torturing us D-Class too much. There were only four places set, so it wasn't hard to choose. I sat and studied the ornate gold-rimmed plate, the ruby studded goblet, and the exquisitely shined utensils set out before me. Flynn chose the seat directly across the table from me. Just that made me want to hit him all the more. The last thing I wanted was to look at his stupid face.

I fantasized about grabbing the butter knife and lunging across the table, stabbing him in the face with the dull blade. Sosa settled next to me. I didn't really have anything against him. He was quiet and seemed nice enough, excluding whatever heinous shit he'd done in his life to land him in the clutches of the foundation. I didn't know what Flynn had done either, but I guessed it had something to do with a teenage girl or two,

the sick bastard. Serve these gentlemen something to drink, please. Dr. Clay said from the speaker in the ceiling. Oh, yes, please do. Flynn said, then cackled loud enough to make me create. cringe. Cordova snagged an opaque plastic pitcher from the serving table and came over to me first. Only when he poured the liquid into my goblet did I realize it was water. Boring, regular water.

But as soon as he stopped pouring, something amazing happened. The water in my goblet turned from clear to deep red, blood red. I stared at the opaque liquid, the smell of copper drifting up to my nose. Unable to help myself, I reached for it. Not yet, Barton, Clay chimed from the speaker. Wait until everyone has some. My mouth watered, and for the first time, I thought this little experiment might just be to my liking. Cordova finished pouring for the other two, and I watched again as the clear liquid changed to red as soon as the pouring stopped.

The turn of events had shut Flynn up, albeit momentarily. He shared a surprised look with me, and then reached for his goblet when Clay gave the go-ahead. I did the same, inhaling the unmistakable smell of blood before I tipped the cup back and drank deeply. The blood tasted just like I remembered. Drinking a cup of blood is not the same as sucking a cut on your finger. There's a world of difference. The thick, room-temperature liquid flooded my taste buds. I let it sit in my mouth for a moment.

moment before gulping it down, feeling its smoothness coating my throat. Tastes just like blood, Flynn said. Why aren't you drinking, Sosa? At Clay's words, I turned to look at the man to my left. He hadn't even picked his goblet up. I don't want it, Sosa said, staring sullenly at the cup. I thought you three would enjoy this, according to your files. He trailed off.

That piqued my interest. Were these men like me? Had they done the unspeakable to land themselves in prison, and then as guinea pigs for the foundation? It was a mistake, Sosa said. I never liked it. Very well, Clay said. But I'm afraid you're going to have to partake in the main course, whether you'd like it or not. Mr. Cordova, would you do the honors?

The guard stepped over to the serving table and returned with a plate of sausages. my stomach rumbled. The blood had only wedded my appetite, but I wasn't hungry for sausage. Once again, Cordova started with me. Using a pair of tongs, he placed a single sausage link on my plate. As soon as he removed the tongs, the sausage transformed into a small human arm, an infant's arm. The arm had been cooked, just as the sausage had, and it smelled, prompted me to reach out with one hand.

I only managed to stop myself because Dr. Clay admonished me from his hidden spot on the other side of the mirror. Cordova had finished placing the sausage, now an arm, on Sosa's plate. The quiet man stared down at the tiny, plump arm with eyes bulging from a graying face. After a moment, he turned and vomited on the floor.

But since we hadn't had breakfast or lunch, all that came up with some bile and stomach acid. Even the awkward smell of his digestive fluids couldn't quell my excitement. Once Clay gave us the go-ahead, I tore into my arm like it was a chicken leg. I didn't use a fork or a knife, just my hands. And I had the bones all but picked clean in just a few minutes. That's why I was surprised to look up and see that Flynn had finished before me. Both of us looked over at Sosa, who hadn't touched.

his. I'll eat his if he doesn't want it, I said. What the hell is wrong with you people? Sosa said, clutching his stomach. You're sick. Eat your arm, Sosa. Clay said. Just one bite and we can move on. Fuck no, Sosa said. Fuck you. I'm not eating a baby's arm. A moment of silence passed before Clay spoke again. Well, what did you two think? Does it taste like the real thing? I seriously considered the question. Thinking back to the one and only other time I'd eaten human flesh. It wasn't the same, though,

because the flesh I had eaten belonged to an adult man and one who didn't have a very good diet. My stepfather drank too much and smoked two packs of cigarettes a day. It was impossible for his poor habits to not infect his meat. When I finally decided to kill him, shortly after my 18th birthday, he'd been married to my mother since I was 11. And in all those years, I hadn't seen him eat a vegetable that wasn't on a burger or a pizza or fried in oil. It's hard to say, I said. I would need to compare apples to apples, or as close as we can get.

What about some more mature meat? Flynn, who had apparently been waiting for me to speak first for a change, grinned, and nodded. Yeah, we need more to tell for sure. Give us more. Very well. Mr. Cordova, the leg of lamb, please. The guard nodded and headed back over to the serving table.

This time, he returned with a large platter on which rested a roasted leg of lamb. He leaned over the one vacant place setting and transferred the leg from the platter in his hand to the ornate serving dish in the middle of the table. As soon as he took his hand away, it transformed from a lamb leg into a human leg, at least part of one. It was a thigh, severed between the knee and the hip, plenty of good meat. Flynn and I dug in with a fervor that prompted Sosa to dryheave. Apparently unable to take it anymore, he lurched from his seat and darted for the door. But Welch stood right in front of it.

The guard pulled his telescoping baton out and cracked, Sosa across the head with it. The felon stumbled, hit the wall next to the door, and then fell down, unconscious. How about now? Clay asked, as if nothing had happened. Does it taste like real human flesh? Where does it come from? I asked around a mouthful of meat.

Is there some poor bastard out there with his leg cut off? Some little babies without their fat little arms? Again, there was a long moment of hesitation before Clay answered. Not that we can tell. Of course, that's part of the experiment. We're monitoring for any emergency calls or hospital visits that should come in following this little dinner. But based on past experiments,

we're confident the manifestations are anomalous and don't actually belong to any existing human. I'll be honest. That little nugget made me feel much better about what I'd just eaten. Somewhere deep inside, I had been hoping that was the case. Apparently, Flynn had been thinking the exact opposite, because he looked at Sosa on the floor and said,

How about a side-by-side taste test? If it had been my first go-around with the foundation, I would have guessed the request wouldn't have been taken seriously at all. But it wasn't my first go-around. And I felt like I knew Dr. Clay well enough by that point to guess what he was thinking. After nearly 30 seconds of silence, Clay spoke through the speaker in the ceiling. Guards, please exit the room.

Without hesitation, Cordova and Welch left, shutting us inside. Realizing I might soon be in some danger, I grabbed a fork and a butter knife from the table as I got up from my seat. A moment later, the door opened again. Cordova stepped inside with a leather parcel in his hands. Just inside the door, he bent down and set the parcel on the floor before retreating again. I didn't have to see what was inside to know that it was a knife set in a roll bag. It seemed that Dr. Clay had anticipated this turn of events. Flynn darted to the set, apparently thinking that I wanted it.

I didn't. Instead, I moved the opposite way, putting the table between us. I didn't have anything against Sosa, and I had no. particular urge to eat him. The only reason I ate my stepfather was because he had put me through hell. Once, when I was 14, and he just finished laying into me with a sock of quarters, I screamed at him, saying I was going to kill him and eat him one day. I had no idea where the threat came from, but it was probably some Freudian thing, dipping into my deep subconscious where I'd been curious about eating human flesh. My stepfather only laughed

and hit me with a loaded sock again. I'd like to see you try. At that moment, I promised myself I would follow through on my threat. But although I was a murderer and a cannibal, I didn't go about it all willy-nilly. I had killed and eaten one person, and that was all I really wanted to do, despite how vigorously I had eaten the arm and the leg.

Eating some human meat that magically showed up on your plate was very different from butchering the human yourself. Sure, I had a taste for human flesh, but I'm a nice guy, remember. I have lines I won't cross. Lines I won't cross again, anyway. It seemed that Flynn had no such hesitation. He unrolled the knife set and selected a cleaver. Then he moved over to Sosa, flipping the man onto his back and aiming the blade at his throat.

Wait! I said, easing forward. Don't kill him. Flynn cackled. I'm about to eat parts of him. I don't think he would take too kindly to that, and I won't be looking over my shoulder for what little life I have left, you dumb shit. I stepped closer. Just take a hand.

Start with that, just a hand. Otherwise, you'll have to be looking over your shoulder for me. Why do you care? Flynn asked. You guys in love. Before I could answer, Flynn smirked and slammed the cleaver down into Sosa's throat. A fountain of blood erupted, and Sosa's eyes shot open, full of pain and pain. fear. Flynn held his head down and chopped again, getting even more blood on his orange

jumpsuit. I turned away, anger pulsing through my limbs as he continued to chop. I had seen too many D-class killed and fucked up ways by guards or doctors or strange creatures. I hadn't wanted to see one killed by a fellow D-class. Sure, I was angry at Flynn, but mostly I was pissed at Dr. Clay, who was watching every moment of this, probably smiling as he did. The chopping stopped, and I half turned to make sure Flynn wasn't coming at me with his cleaver. I'm going to kill you, I said matter-of-factly. It was as if the words had just come out on their own, but I hadn't said anything about eating him. So I guess that was progress of some sort.

Flynn cackled and waved dismissively from his spot next to Sosa's body. The dead man's head had nearly been separated, only hanging on by a stretch of stubborn spine. I just thought of something, Flynn said. He chopped at the spine. If you put animal meat on those plates, they turn to human meat, right? So, what would happen if you put human meat on there? I suddenly realized that this was exactly where Dr. Clay had wanted this experiment to go. It was why he had selected Sosa, knowing he wouldn't want to eat,

and Flynn, knowing he would jump at the chance to kill one of us. It was why the guards had left. But what I couldn't figure out was why I was here. Lazzangue sur-gillet, Pucance-Moyerned for 15 minutes. We'd say that's their dojo. Preet to enjoy? Live the pleasure with Leo Jo.

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I don't think that's a good idea, I said. Looking toward the one-way mirror, foolishly hoping Clay would put a stop to this. The speaker in the ceiling remained silent. Flynn stood up with Sosa's head, gripped by the hair in one hand. The dead man had a permanent, pained sneer on his face,

and his ragged neck continued to drip blood. Let's find out, Flynn said. stepping to the table and putting Sosa's severed head down on a plate. As soon as he let go of the head, it transformed. I don't know what I expected. Maybe just to have it turn into meat, maybe a pig's head. But what happened slowed time down while speeding up my heart. In place of Sosa's head was something that looked like a head only

because it was roughly the size and shape of one. That's where the similarities ended. From where I stood, looking at the thing. from the side, I could see a strange formation of seemingly jumbled features. Its skin was roughly the color of the pale yellow bile sosa had thrown up earlier. What I took for strange hairs, curly gray things that reminded me of metal shavings, stood up from the back of the head, but not so thick as to obscure the mottled skin underneath. Despite my fear, I shifted so I could get a better view of its face, if it could be called a face. Where Sosa's a face, where Sosa's a little.

nose and eyes had been, there stood a series of close-knit fleshy bumps. Below there, where a mouth would have been on a human, was nothing but a blank stretch of that strange skin, flanked by a dark, puckered hole on each side. What little neck the head had was just as raggedly cut as Sosa's had been. But the liquid coming out from the wound was wastewater gray. Holy shitballs, Flynn said, laughing shrilly right in front of the thing. What the fuck is that? The collection of close-net fleshy bumps shifted, revealing themselves to be eyelids,

which lifted to uncover four eyeballs that contained every imaginable color inside them. It was like looking into a kaleidoscope that contained the entire universe. Although the eyes were constantly shifting and morphing in a sickeningly beautiful dance with no beginning, no end and no center, I somehow knew that the creature was looking at me

for the briefest of moments. It was like being ripped to the edge of madness and then let go before I was yanked into the abyss. The eyes shifted to the closer subject, Flynn. The man's shrill laughter cut off as those puckered holes on either side of its face opened to reveal a brief look at the inside of its head. A worm-like tentacle ventured out from each hole, looking like a length of intestine with a circle of needle-sharp teeth at the end. Flynn, caught by those terrible eyes, couldn't move.

His mouth had dropped open in horror, and that was just where those two tendrils headed. They jammed themselves into Flynn's mouth and forced their way down his throat, causing his neck to bulge outward as they went. Flynn started making choking noises, but his eyes remained fixed on the endless kaleidoscopes. He spasmed as the two tendrils began to pulsate, as if they were sucking Flynn's insides out and pumping them into the creature's head. Flynn's skin changed color, losing its moisture, and then sucking down like a piece of vacuum-wrapped plastic over a raw steak. The creature's neck was changing, skin, and meat growing back.

I realized it was pumping Flynn out, and I wondered what would happen to me after it was done with him. Knowing I didn't have much time to think about it, I darted forward, closing my eyes to defend against those kaleidoscopes. I lashed blindly out, connecting with the plate. on which the head sat. I heard the plate smash against the floor, and when I opened my eyes, I saw that the creature's head was dangling from those two tentacles, bouncing off Flynn's stomach.

Stop! Dr. Clay said over the speaker, Don't interfere! I knew what would happen if I listened to him, so I ignored his command and raced around the other side of the table, snatching a knife from the kit. The door behind me burst open,

and the two guards raced in, grabbing me before I could attack the creature. They knocked the knife out of my hand, and one of them hit me in the head. Things went blurry. As they dragged me out, a containment team rushed into the room with all their devices and gadgets, ready to contain this new anomaly. Cordova and Welch threw me to the floor in the hallway. As they got my shackles back on, I realized I had lied to Flynn earlier.

I had told him I was going to kill him. I hadn't fulfilled my promise. But after being a guinea pig for the foundation for so long, I decided I wouldn't let it bother me. After all, he was dead, and I had a full stomach. All in all, it wasn't the worst day I'd had. When you're a slave to the foundation, you take your victories when you can. SCP-604 is a set of tableware and dishes, consisting of 19 plates of various sizes and designs, and 21 goblets, champagne flutes, and other wine glasses.

Several are ornately gilded, studded with diamonds and rubies, or made out of fine materials such as porcelain, china, and crystal. Most are extremely heavy because of the weight of the rich metals. Whenever an edible solid is placed onto one of the plates or a liquid is poured into one of the drink vessels, the food will transform into human flesh, or the nearest equivalent organ, body part, or fluid. Vegetable and non-animal matter can be affected. However, this is often selective

and will only affect the main dish. This means prepared meat will retain the herbs, spices, topping, sauces, and garnishes as it is transformed into human flesh. Further testing is required to determine what effect placing human flesh on the plates will have. Preliminary tests have proved intriguing, and Dr. Clay is currently asking the O5 Council for more D-class test subjects.