The SCP Experience - The Creatures from the Vase | SCP-019

Episode Date: October 8, 2021

SCP Foundation KETER class object, SCP-019: The Creatures from the Vase This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-019, and is released under Creative Commons Sharealike 3.0. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/ DISCLAIMER: This episode contains explicit content. Parental guidance is advised for children under the age of 18. Listen at your own discretion. #drscp #scp #scpfoundation #doctorscp #scpencounters #securecontainprotect #scpstories #scpexplained #whatisscp Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Lazzang sur-gillet, Puisance-Moyerned 15 minutes. Oh, you'd say that's the Dojo? Prere to play! Vive the pleasure with Leo Jo! The casino in-line

that proposes the most recent machine-a-sou and the game of casino in direct. Profite of 50 tours on Big Bas Bonanza, without the payment instantane.

Hey, I've gained! Woo-hoo! Scentire the pleasure! Play-Ojo! 18-10 and plus, 1-Depos only depose only depot only depose Big Bas' Bonanza,

depot minimum of $10 dollars, Veillet I'm responsible. The conditions apply. Incinerating in three, two, one. Slate says just before he pushes the button. We both look through the thick reinforced glass window down in the containment room as the incinerator fires up. There's a large black and brown Grecian-style vase sitting on a raised grate in the middle of the room.

But we aren't concerned with that right now. Instead, we're watching a small, ugly creature scurry around, making strange noises. The clacking of its claws. clacking of its claws on the steel-grade floor is audible over the rushing sound of the incinerator underneath the floor. Soon enough, the creature stops moving, although it's now lost to sight, obscured by the growing flames. We can tell it's no longer moving because the long, razor-sharp claws at the end of each of its four legs are no longer tapping on the floor. The incinerator cycles off. I sit back in my chair on my side of the control panel, leaning on the viewing window,

wondering what I'll have for dinner tonight. Slate is still leaning forward, looking down into the room, a concerned look on his face. You get used to it, I say to him. Pretty soon it gets pretty boring. Although those things that come out of that vase still give me the creeps, I'm not afraid to admit it. Uh, Blaylock, Slate says. Is this normal? What? I ask.

Just look, man, he says, his voice growing panicked. It's still there. What? I say, sitting up in my chair and looking down into the room. What the hell? Sure enough. The creepy little creature is still running around like it's looking for something to kill. The cat-sized creature has a vaguely humanoid head and torso. It has four legs, each one ending in three long savage-looking claws. The legs themselves are segmented like a crab's, and it constantly makes a weird gurgling noise that has taken me a very long time to learn to ignore. Its head swivels around, its two beady black eyes constantly moving. It has what can only

be described as mandibles that are also constantly moving, almost like a snake's tongue darting out to detect chemical gradients in the air. Cycle the incinerator on again, I tell Slate. Now, Slate flips a couple of switches. Incinerating in three, two, one. The incinerator cycles on again as he hits the button on the control panel. Once again, we both watch the creature scurry around the room that's empty except for the vase in the middle. This time, the clacking doesn't stop. Before the incinerator even cycles down,

I know the little monster is still alive. Um, I say, swiveling my chair and rolling it over to a metal shelf. I select a thick three-ring binder off the shelf and begin thumbing through it rapidly. What do he do? Slate asks, his voice edging towards hysteria. It's all right, calm down. I'm looking for the protocol for this kind of thing.

You mean this has never happened before? I look up at Slate and shake my head. Never. Oh, man. Slate says, turning back to the window while I return my attention to the handbook. Blaylock? Slate asks. What?

I say as I focus on reading a page in the handbook. There's another one. I freeze. Did you just say another one? Yeah, look. I thought there was only supposed to be one an hour, but there's two now. What do we do? I stand up from my chair and step toward the window. Two of the creatures are now there, and as I watch, a third crawls out of the dark hole at the top of the vase.

Oh no, I say. Slate glances up at me, looking like a scared kid. I turn my head and stare back into the room for a long moment before my training kicks in. I remain standing, putting the handbook on the workstation. I read the section I found as quickly as I can. Okay, I say finally. It says here that whoever is in Station 1 needs to go in there and use their gun to eliminate the creatures, the SCP 019-2s, if the incinerator fails to kill them.

What? Slate says, no longer holding back his fear. No way, ma'am. No way. Why don't you go in there? It's protocol, Slate, I say. That's why we switch. stations every other shift. Your station one tonight. That means you go in. I'm not making this stuff up. Read for yourself. Slate snatched the handbook away from me and reads the page. I'm not sure, but I think I see him wipe away a tear as he reads. He's just a kid, barely out of high school,

clearly not ready for this posting. Of course, if it were me on Station 1 tonight, I might be feeling the same way. Slate seems to gather himself. He stands up from his chair, giving me back the handbook. He pulls up his belt and places a hand on his foundation-issue pistol, as if reminding himself that it's still there, or maybe drawing confidence from it. We both look into the containment room. There are still only three creatures. Thank God. If you're here, you passed your marksman training, I tell him. This will work. If you get a direct shot on one of them and it doesn't die, just come right back out, easy as that. Slate nods, still staring into the room. You got this slate, I'll be right here if anything goes wrong.

He nods again, then walks over to the left side of the observation room. I sit down at Station 1, pull on a radio headset, and begin pushing buttons. I look over once the airlock is ready to be opened and see that Slate is in one of the hazmat suits, his holster and belt fastened on the outside of it. The suit won't do much to protect him if they get close enough to use their claws or teeth, but it's protocol. Ready? I ask.

Slate nods. a motion I can barely see thanks to the hazmat suit. Slate, I need a verbal confirmation. You put your radio on, right? Yes, I'm ready. I hear him say over the radio. His voice tight with resentment. Roger, opening the outer airlock door in three, two, one.

I push the button and then look over to watch Slate step into the airlocked chamber. As soon as he closes the outer door, I press another sequence of buttons on the control panel. opening inner airlock door in three, two, one. I watch a monitor fed by a camera just above the inner airlock door. It's the only part of the room I can't see through the window, but the wide-angle camera gives me a good view of the door in the short staircase leading down into the containment room. I watch as Slate walks down the stairs, his pistol out and ready.

Then I turn my head to look through the window as he comes into view at the bottom of the stairs. It's only when he's in the containment room that I realize there's no clacking noise anymore. I look around the chamber for any sign of the creatures, but I don't see any of them. A terrible feeling takes hold in my gut. Where did they go? Slade asks over the radio. Do you have eyes on them? Negative, I say. Maybe they went back into the vase. Have they ever done that before?

No, but this seems to be a day of firsts. Just make a quick loop around the room. If you don't see any of them, then get the hell out of there. And remember, don't touch the vase. Don't even get close to it. You couldn't pay me to get close to that thing, Slate says. I'm happy to hear that he sounds a little less stressed. I watch as he walks deeper into the room.

His pistol still held out in front of him with both hands. He circles around the vase, going clockwise. Pretty soon, he'll be on the other side of the vase, and my view of him will be partially obscured. I have a feeling that the creatures are hiding on the other side of the vase. If they are, he'll see them soon. Oh shit! Slate yells, then he fires his pistol wildly, aiming over toward the vase.

Don't hit the vase! I shout into the radio, but it's too late. The vase shakes slightly as a bullet strikes it. Oh no! I say, more to myself than Slate. Get out of there! I scream. Slate, run!

As soon as the words leak my mouth, I know it's too late. Creatures are now pouring out of the vase, cascading down its sides and onto the floor. There's strange noises and the clacking of their claws growing louder with each passing second. Slate makes it up the stairs and bangs on the inner airlock door, begging me to open it, looking up at the camera above the door. Please, boylock, let me in, let me in. They won't get in if you let me in now, please, they'll kill me. I hover my hand over the button to let him in, but I don't press it.

The protocols are clear on this. If there are more than ten creatures in the room, I'm not allowed to open the door, and there are way more than ten. Right now, they're swarming around the floor, but they'll make it up the stairs soon enough. I can't open the door. If those things get loose in here, there's no telling what damage they could do. I'm sorry, Slate. I can't open the door.

I wish I could. My voice cracks with emotion as I speak. I'm sorry. You bastard! He screams, let me hit, you bastard. Let me hear. I watch as the creatures continue to pour out of the vase, virtually fill.

filling the floor space, crawling all over each other. My stomach cramps with dread as they clatter up the stairs towards Slate. Soon they're upon it, swarming up his legs, their claws slicing easily through the hazmat suit, his uniform underneath, and the skin below. Slate screams as they attack him, firing his pistol down at them, managing to kill several of the creatures with each shot. But it's not enough. He screams as they work their way up, slicing through his flesh, attacking with their claws, mandibles, and teeth. Blood coats what little patches of Slate's legs I can see.

Soon, they'll have him enveloped. I sit staring at the screen, watching Slate die a horrible death. After a long moment, I snap out of it. I change radio channels on the control station. Security code, Ketter Red. I say into my headset. I repeat, Ketter Red, SCP-019. A Claxton sounds immediately as the foundation's Ketter Red security measures kick in.

I hear an affirmation over the radio. They're sending someone with higher clearance than me down. I feel a slight easing of stress in my body, but it doesn't last as I hear Slate scream again, not over the radio this time, but through the doors. I look back at the monitor and see Slate slumped against the inner airlock door. He's covered with a blanket of creatures that are constantly moving, sticking him and slicing him with their claws and teeth.

His hazmat suit is in tatters, his pistol long since empty, and blood coats every square inch of him I can see, which isn't much. As a creature moves off of his face, I catch a glimpse of his wide, staring eyes. They're looking up at the camera, at me. Get up, Blaylock. The voice makes me jump. I turn around and see Reyes rushing into the room. I get up from this station and stand by as Reyes looks into the room.

What did they stop coming out of the vase? He asks me. I look into the room, surprised to see that there are no more creatures pouring out at the top of the SCP 019. I don't know, I say. I was, I don't know. Reyes pulls a thin chain with a key attached from around his neck and sticks

the key in a slot on the control panel. He then enters a seven-digit code on the keypad and then presses two buttons. A dozen sprinklers on the ceiling of the containment room emit a liquid shower. As soon as the liquid touches the creatures, they start smoking as their bodies melt away.

They all emit a high-pitched noise as they die, almost as if they're screaming. I can't help but look at the monitor. I'm relieved to see that Slate's staring eyes have already been burned away by the acid from the sprinklers. Then I feel a crushing sense of guilt for feeling that relief. Thank God, Reyes says as the last of the creatures stopped moving. Their bodies melted down to a liquid sludge that drips through the grated flooring. The incinerator, I say. It stopped working on them. Reyes nods, but he doesn't move his eyes from the vase. Research said that might happen, which is why

they developed the acid. I'm just glad it doesn't cause any more to come out of the vase. We haven't had the chance to test it on SCP 019 until now. Not the best circumstances, but it worked. Slate, I say. He's... I know, I saw. You did the right thing, Blaylock. You followed protocol. We know all the risks. If this had happened yesterday, it would have been you in there. I nod, but it's cold comfort. Then something occurs to me. What would you have done if the acid didn't work? Or if it caused it. more of them to come out. Reyes turns to look at me. Trust me when I tell you that you don't want to know, he says. Let's just say that it's a scorched earth policy and leave it at that.

SCP-019 appears to be a very large ceramic vase, 1.8 meters in diameter at the mouth and 2.4 meters high. Style and decoration indicate it was created in classical Greece, although conclusive dating is impossible, as the surface is entirely unbreakable by any known means. If a successful method is discovered, SCP 019 is to be destroyed with prejudice. Periodically, entities emerge from SCP 019. Collectively, these are known as SCP 019-2. The entities vary in many aspects, but tend to be small, vaguely humanoid, and extremely hostile. They often choose to attack with teeth or claws. Although fairly delicate, They are reasonably strong and pose a considerable threat in large numbers.

The following traits are known to affect SCP 019-2's manifestation rate. Movement of SCP 019. Threat to SCP 019. Extreme temperatures highs and lows. Sudden shift in surrounding environment. Introduction of objects or organisms to the inside of SCP 019, known to cause a flood reaction. An observation chamber separated by a plate-class window, is to be used for constant observation of SCP-019. And if and when specimens of SCP-019-2 are observed, the incinerator is to be activated. Thanks for listening.

To get notified every time a new episode is released, be sure to click the follow or subscribe button and turn on all notifications.