The SCP Experience - The Dragon Tattoo | SCP-021

Episode Date: September 11, 2026

A man fresh out of prison wakes up with a new tattoo he never asked for—a living dragon that crawls beneath his skin and devours every piece of ink it finds. And when the tattoos run out, it starts feeding on something else. This story is derived from ⁠The SCP Foundation Database⁠ and is released under Creative Commons Sharealike 3.0.⁠ ⁠⁠⁠⁠https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/ ⁠⁠⁠ Author:  James Gullickson * * * CONTENT DISCLAIMER: This episode contains explicit content not limited to intense themes, strong language, and depictions of violence intended for adults. Parental guidance is strongly advised for children under the age of 18. Listener discretion is advised.  #thescpexperience #scp #scpfoundation #scpencounters #securecontainprotect #scpstories Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Jamie had been out for six hours. He'd forgotten just how loud and how hot everything was on the outside. The bar he'd stumbled into was a dark little room off the highway. And there, though, it wasn't so bad. He needed a second. It just felt like a lot right now. Thirteen years. Had he been inside for that long? Long enough for things to feel like this? Jamie was 32 years old now. On his way out, the guards had handed him a paper bag. Inside it was his mother's rosary, a couple hundred bucks, a piece of paper with the address of a motel, and the name of a parole officer he was supposed to meet Tuesday. Jamie ordered a modello and drank it and about four swallows, then ordered another one and made himself savour it. So what's the good word down here?

The bartender asked. She was maybe 50, with reading glasses pushed up into her hair. First day out, Jamie smiled. Well, shoot. She pulled a bottle of Jose Cuerva from the shelf and poured Jamie a shot. Welcome back. The air conditioning was doing its best, but could barely keep up. It was easily 104 outside.

Jamie stood up and took his overshirt off. He sat back down and stretched his arms across the bar top. All of his tattoos looked a little different here in the bar, outside of prison. Most of them were Mateo's work, 14 months of cellmates, and then years across the bar, tear after that, and Mateo Ortiz never charged him a dime. Jamie was the one who'd carried Mateo's rig through two shakedowns. Both were tight spots Jamie tried not to think about. The rig was an electric toothbrush motor, a ballpoint pen's ink barrel, some tape, and a high e-string off the chapel band's guitar, filed to a point on the concrete under his bunk. It sounded like a wasp,

buzzing in a jar. It hurt like a wasp, too. Mateo called his work, Scratchers, you know why they call him that, bro? He had asked Jamie the first time he tested the machine. Because you gotta dig that shit in there. It'll come out fine, mostly. Just takes a little more oomph. Real machine goes in once and it's in. This thing?

He held up the buzzing pen with the string wobbling off the end like an antenna. You gotta force it in. Jamie was covered in scratchers. All of them a little blue, faded with time. Some were soft at the edges. others a little crooked. Jamie loved every square inch, though. His arms looked like patchwork, covered in assorted interpretations of crucifixes, clowns, and other classic pieces of flash Mateo did from memory. The Virgin took up Jamie's entire chest. She had a crown of stars above her

head. Nine quote-unquote sessions over four months, and she was the best thing Matteo ever put on him. She had a pretty detailed face. The day Matteo finished her, he admitted the face was actually his mother's. Jamie then had Madre put across his stomach and fat script for his own mother. The least he could do, since he couldn't make her funeral. On the inside of his left wrist, small and pale and barely a shape at all, was a special one, a five-pointed star. That star wasn't Mateo's. That was from Rodrigo. The guy had been at the far end of the bar before Jamie got there. He was thin, 40 maybe. Older, but young. longer than the bartender. Long sleeves and 104 degrees, nursing a beer so slow it had to be hot by now.

And there were these blotches on him, up his neck, behind his ear, a big one across his jaw, where the skin had gone white as paper. Jamie had spent 13 years learning to read a room and whoever was standing in it. The read on this guy was just leave him alone. Except the guy kept looking at Jamie, staring him down. Jamie would catch him at it and he wouldn't look away. After four or five times, Jamie said something. What's the problem, brother? Jamie's heart started going, but he knew he couldn't show any fear. The man swallowed hard, stood up and laughed.

Embarrassed, apologetic, both hands up. A big warm, what a jackass I am smile. No, no, man, I'm sorry. That's on me. He came across the bar and put his hand out. Let me get you one. Seriously, I'm sorry. I'm being weird. I know I'm being weird.

weird. Jamie didn't take the hand, but he didn't tell him to fuck off either. It's just your tattoos, man. The guy said, sitting down one stool over, not too close. I'm sorry, it just looks a lot like the stuff my dad had. He was a Navy guy. The guy kept going on, and that was it. Jamie had been completely disarmed. Dude did it with a toothbrush. Jamie grinned, taking a swig of beer. Swear? The man said, eyes wide. swear to God, toothbrush and a fucking guitar string. No way. Check this, Jamie said, and he was already reaching for the hem of the tank,

already peeling it up his chest, already turning on the stool into the light, so the guy could get a good look at the virgin. Look at that. Look at her face, with a fucking toothbrush. The man looked at the tattoo for a long moment. Un fucking believable, he said, and he meant it. Jamie didn't clock the guy's right hand. It closed on Jamie's forearm as a pat at first. The friendly, drunk, hey listen to me, Pat, 100,000 men and 100,000 bars had laid on a stranger's arm.

But he didn't let go. Hey, Jamie said, noticing what the guy was doing. The fuck, dude, let go. The grip was unbelievable. The guy couldn't be 150 pounds soaking wet, but his hand was a vice. His right sleeve had ridden up in the reach, and Jamie saw something on the guy's wrist, a tattoo. That too. It was a dense mass of small oval shapes that wrapped around the man's wrist. It almost looked like scales from a fish or reptile.

Was it moving? I'm sorry, the man said, and the jolly was gone out of him now, replaced with a sad chant. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. Jamie tore loose and cracked him in the mouth. He had a good buzz going, and he still landed it clean. The guy stumbled back, then lunged. The bartender yelled to knock it off. Old habits, though. In the scramble, Jamie ended up on his back with the man straddling him.

I'm sorry, he said. The man hit Jamie, splitting his eyebrow open. Jamie saw stars after that one. The guy raised his fist, and Jamie braced for another hit. Instead, the man punched the floor beside Jamie's head several times, splitting open his own knuckles. This guy was clearly a sick fuck. Then, somehow worse, he began grinding those bloody knuckles into the cut above Jamie's eyebrow. I'm so sorry. He kept saying. Jamie began to block out. Maybe it was the first couple beers in over a decade.

Maybe the first punch. Perhaps the sharp shock waves. The guy's grinding knuckles sent across Jamie's entire head. Whatever it was, as Jamie faded away, he could have sworn the scales tattooed on the guy's wrist, slid down the guy's hand toward Jamie's face. Jamie jerked awake. He found himself in a motel room, drenched in sweat,

with his head killing him. All the lights were on. The TV played an infomercial for a set of knives. The clock on the bedside table read 1.14 p.m. Jamie patted himself down. Everything felt fine for the most part. But his head throbbed so hard, he had to close his eyes again. He couldn't remember how he'd gotten to the room.

He was still wearing everything he'd had on at the bar. Jamie sat up too fast and had to grab the mattress until the white went out of his eyes. His paper bag sat on the dresser across the room. Beside it was the room key. attached to a plastic diamond. He opened the bag and found that the money was still in there, which confused him. Who knocks you out? Then make sure you've got somewhere to go. Jamie got to the bathroom in time to vomit up the modello and tequila. He stayed down a while with his head on the cold toilet rim. Then he ran the tap, washed his face, and looked into the mirror

to check what the guy had done to his eyebrow. Not too bad, thankfully. Jamie hoped a shower would bring him new life. He stepped away from the mirror and got the water running. While the shower sputtered to life, Jamie returned to the mirror and pulled his tank off. The virgin was still there. It felt stupid to check, but Jamie needed something familiar to ground him. Then his eyes found the other thing on his chest, and his brain took a second to catch up. A new tattoo was there, a big one. A dragon with green scales wrapped around him, extending from his left hip to his right underarm, sprawled across his entire torso. A traditional Chinese dragon, long like a snake,

with whiskers and a mane and little clawed hands. The dragon's head was turned to the left, facing his bicep. Its mouth was open and a roar, revealing sharp teeth. It was good work, real work, delicate and detailed. It made Mateo's virgin look like, well, shit. Jamie thought back to the tattoo he saw in the guy's wrist at the bar. What the fuck? he muttered. looking down from the mirror at the dragon's head.

His eyes followed the tattoo down to where it disappeared into his waistband at his hip. He looked back up at the mirror. What in the absolute fuck? He leaned a bit closer to the mirror to examine his eyebrow again. He touched the wound, and it stunned. Still looking in the mirror, his eyes went back to the dragon's head. He stared at it for a few moments. The dragon's head suddenly turned upwards to look up at Jamie.

He yelped and put his fist through the mirror. He clutched his bleeding hand and stumbled backward until he hit the bathroom wall. He clamped his eyes shut, breathing heavily. Jamie blindly waved his arm around, looking for his tank top. He found it and pressed it against his bloody hand. Trying to catch his breath, he became acutely aware of the beast now residing on his chest. He could feel it there, just under his skin, feel each small adjustment and posture. It hurt when it slithered into another position.

The same pain Mateo's needle made him feel, The needle going in and coming back out and going in again. What do I do? He couldn't go to a hospital. Hospital meant some kind of report or paperwork. Paperwork made Jamie paranoid. What if the report somehow got back to the parole officer next Tuesday? That meant the PO could ask about what happened the day he got out.

Fuck! He'd made it six fucking hours before everything went to hell. The 7-Eleven had phones and blister packs on a rack. $40. bucks. The kid behind the counter had to show him how to turn it on. The thing didn't have buttons, just a screen. He sat on the curb in the shade of the ice machine and thumbed in a number he'd known by heart for 11 years, printed at the top of every letter Rod had sent him. First call he'd made in years that wasn't collect. The man on the other end answered. Rod. Long pause. Jamie checked

the screen. The call was still going. Jaime? Nobody had called them that in 13 years. His real name was Hymet. They had called him Jamie at intake, and he just let it go, because he was 19 and it was easier. Then 13 years went by. Yeah, it's me. You're out? Hermano, you're out when?

Yesterday. Yesterday? Then Rod started crying, and Jamie sat on the curb with his hand over his eyes to hide his own tears. They cried together for a moment. Happy tears. Rod was 26 now. He'd been a kid when Jamie went in, drove a delivery truck out of Fresno now. He had a four-year-old daughter named Kadid.

Her school picture was taped inside a binder of letters. Jamie hadn't been allowed to take with him. 13 years and Rod never visited once, because Jamie told him not to. Told him at sentencing, over his shoulder while being walked out. Don't come, he warned his brother. I mean it. Don't go there. Rod was just a kid then. He didn't need to see where his brother was going.

Where are you? Rod said. I can come tonight. I'll get somebody to cover my route. No, man, Jamie said. I need to figure some shit out first. Jaime, where? Let me call you in a few days. Jamie hung up before his brother could say anything. He wiped a tear from his eyes and leaned his head against the ice machine. A surge of white-hot pain erupted across his chest.

Jamie gritted his teeth, writing out the sensation. Under his shirt, the dragon silently glided around the Virgin, before settling in a new spot. With the bathroom mirrors shattered, the phone's front camera would have to do. Jamie had spent an hour in the shower, letting the water run from scorching hot to ice cold as if he could somehow drown the dragon on his chest. The water hitting the tattoo didn't feel like anything, just normal.

It wasn't like the initial shock your body gets when water hits a fresh tattoo, when it's still an open wound. He was getting somewhat used to the pain of it moving. It adds spots that it liked, areas it would frequent, an animal with its territory. He stepped out of the shower and grabbed the phone off the bathroom counter. He opened the front-facing camera to examine the creature. It was stretched out beside the Virgin Mary, as if they were lying side by side.

It was still for another moment, but then it snapped into attention. Its mouth suddenly opened wide and snapped shut on the stars around the Virgin's head. It slunk away to his underarm and, just like that. The stars were just gone. There was no pain in their absence. The tattoos were just gone. And this was only the beginning. The following morning, Jamie woke from a particularly restful sleep, the best one he'd had since

he'd gotten out. Eyes still blurry. He reached for his phone on the bedside table. He held it over himself and opened the front camera. His heart crashed into his stomach. The dragon had already eaten the M and the A and the Madre on his stomach. He tried grabbing at the dragon, pinching at the dragon. at his skin to hold it back. He even tried punching himself in the chest, anything to stop it from

eating. It didn't matter. The D was gone shortly thereafter. Then the R, and the E followed. He sat on the end of the bed, head in his hands. That was my mom. Jamie wept. The dragon slithered across his stomach and settled on the side of his rib cage. It's fucking happening right now, Rod. Jamie blurted out. Whoa, hold on. What's happening? It's going to fucking eat her, Rob. Jamie sat on the toilet with the phone on speaker beside him, watching the dragon through a shard of broken mirror. The dragon was circling the Virgin Mary, its new prey. Hyman, slow down.

What's going on? Where are you? It took four months. Guy's name is Mateo Ortiz. He's still up there. He's not coming out. And her face is his mom's face. He was crying.

Hermano, it's going to fucking eat her rod. It's going to do it right fucking now. The dragon's jaws clamped. down on the virgin's shoulder, and a chunk of it was gone when it pulled away. Let me help you, Hyman. No, why? Tell me. I don't know where it came from, Jamie whimpered.

I don't want you to see what happened to me. Jamie grabbed the phone, hung up, and threw it out of the bathroom. He watched silently, stifling every sob he could, as the dragon ate the rest of the Virgin Mary on his chest. He was thankful the dragon hadn't left his chest. Thankful it hadn't found the tattoos on his arms yet. or the star inside his left wrist, Rodrigo's star. Jamie stepped out of Walmart and immediately took off the wretched overshirt the prison had given him a few days ago.

He tossed the overshirt into a nearby trash can and pulled the sunshirt he had just bought out of the bag. Jamie popped the tag and pulled the sunshirt over his head. The soft, lightweight fabric felt soothing on his skin. He wandered over to the bus stop and, thankfully, didn't have to wait long. bus was cold and empty, a welcome surprise. Jamie grabbed a seat toward the back and leaned against the window. He closed his eyes, the sunlight warm on his face. The dragon slid across his stomach, and he fought against the pain. What surprised Jamie was the dragon moving past his collarbone and onto his right shoulder. He didn't open his eyes, couldn't react, couldn't show fear, not in public at least. He could have a meltdown in the motel room, but not on the bus. The bus

lurched forward, and Jamie felt the dragon slide from his shoulder down his upper right arm, coiling around his bicep. He was used to the pain on his chest, but feeling it moved through his arm was entirely different. Jamie kept his eyes closed, pretending to be asleep. He wanted to pull the sleeve up, pulled the sunshirt off right there, and see what the beast was doing. The bus came to a stop. The doors opened. He heard a few people get on. Someone sat down beside him. Fucking of course, Jamie thought, trying to maintain his composure. The bus was practically empty, and somehow someone had chosen the seat beside him in the middle of a crisis. The dragon was still for a little while. The bus made a few more

stops, and soon, Jamie's stop was up next. He couldn't wait to get off and sprint into his motel room. He needed to put eyes on the dragon as soon as possible. His stop was just a few moments away now, and the dragon began to unfurl. The pain sizzled hot under Jamie's skin, around his bicep and tricep, spiking his heart rate. The bus stopped, and he finally opened his eyes. An old lady had sat beside him. Classic. He hastily stepped over her and bolted off the bus. The dragon was making its way down his arm now. Jamie could feel the sting closing in on his elbow. It was moving so slowly, as if stalking a small animal. By the time he made it to his room's door, Jamie's entire right forearm felt like it was on fire. He tore the room key from his pocket and threw the door open,

Slamming it shut behind him, Jamie quickly pulled the sunshirt over his head. He held up his right arm and saw the dragon was wrapped around his entire forearm. Its eyes darted around as if it had been caught in the act, and it quickly slithered back up his arm and onto his chest. A pit bloomed in Jamie's stomach. Every tattoo on his right arm was gone, eaten by the dragon, just as it had eaten the virgin. Two days later, Jamie was running out of tattoos. the dragon had discovered the pieces on his left arm too, but it had yet to move below his elbow, almost as if it were saving the tattoos on his forearm and wrist for last.

Jamie was thankful for that, thankful to still have Rodrigo's star. Jamie woke up one morning and immediately clocked the dragon curled up on his sternum. Good. He checked his left arm. Everything below the elbow was still there. Even better. He grabbed his phone off the charger and flipped on the camera to to examine the rest of himself. He wasn't sure what he was looking at when he noticed the first blotch. Jamie held the phone close to his jaw and took a photo. Upon closer inspection, there was a small blotch of white skin tucked under his jawline.

It was just about an inch big, with jagged edges, bold and bright compared to the rest of his olive skin. Jamie wondered if this had been there for a long time. He opened the front camera on his phone again and slowly moved it across his upper body. were more blotches on his arms and, after he pulled the bed sheet away all over his legs, too. The fuck is this? Jamie muttered. A guy at the bus stop showed Jamie how to search by image on his phone the other day. Jamie uploaded a clear photo of one of the blotches and searched. Google thought about it and Vidaligo came up as a result, images of white patches of skin on skin like his. Oh my God.

Just then, Jamie felt the dragon stir on his chest. He quickly flipped back to his front. camera to watch it move. Jamie was stunned to see the dragon take a bite of his empty skin and pull away, leaving another white blotch. Jamie had nothing to say. He just screamed. The line to check out was unbelievably long at Home Depot. When it was finally Jamie's turn, he was ready to explode. Jamie considered himself a pretty patient guy, but getting here and finding what he needed had been a nightmare. Found what you were looking for? The kid at the register asked half-heartedly. Jamie just wanted to get back to the bus stop, so he wouldn't have to wait 20 minutes in the sun. Yeah, yeah, I'm good, man. Are you using your Home Depot credit card today?

The kid drowned. Cardholders are getting an extra 15%. No, I'm using cash. Did you want a sign? No. No, thank you. Okay, so it's going to be 887, whenever you're ready. Jamie took out a 10 to pay. The kid was looking off somewhere, not paying attention. Oh, whoops. He finally noticed. Sorry, muscle memory. Everyone uses card. Let me just cancel.

Holy fuck! Jamie snapped. Just take my fucking money so I can take my fucking hacksaw and go the fuck home. The kid stared at Jamie, slack-jawed. Jamie turned and saw everyone else doing just about the same. Jamie slammed the $10 bill on the counter and walked away. Do you want a receipt? The kid called out as Jamie exited through the automatic doors. Jamie sat in the bathtub at the motel, staring at the star on a car. his left wrist. The dragon was on his back somewhere out of view. The tiny star was where the whole

tattoo thing started. It had five points and was the size of a nickel. It was black ones, but had faded to a deep blue. Jamie rubbed the random blob near the center where the needle had gone too deep. Rodrigo was seven when he tattooed the star on Jamie. They used their mother's sewing needle and a bottle of India ink stolen from the art cabinet at Ocean View Elementary. They did it in the bathroom near the playground on Federally Avenue. Jamie didn't know how he had talked his little brother into giving him a tattoo or why he had trusted a seven-year-old to do a good job. Rod stood there, tongue curled over his upper lip, carefully sticking the needle in and out of Jamie's wrist. He didn't stop. Not when Jamie cussed at him, not when Jamie thought he was going to throw up from the pain

and the stink of shit in the bathroom. It only took about half an hour. Not bad for a seven-year-old. Jamie told Rodrigo to do it right, and Rod did just that. When he finished, Rod looked at the star, then needle, and finally had Jamie and said, Now do me. Rod had tears in his eyes the whole time, but Jamie was thankfully a little faster. In about 15 minutes, Rodrigo had a matching star like his big brother. That night, their mom quickly found their tattoos and beat the living hell out of them with a flip-flop. Completely worth it.

Jamie had seen the older kids and guys on the block with tattoos and really wanted one. This was just the beginning, and this was a special one too. A special bond with his little brother. They could now carry each other everywhere in life. The bathtub was cold against Jamie's skin. He traced the star on his wrist with his thumb a couple times, then grabbed his phone off the ledge of the tub. He dialed up Rodrigo.

It only rang once. Bueno, Jaime? I'm at the America's best on Elvarado. So, Jamie told his brother. Room 12. Come here. Okay, don't hang. Jamie hung up. He set the phone on the toilet.

He didn't know how far away Rod was or where his delivery route had taken him that day. The phone started vibrating almost immediately. Rod calling back. Jamie ignored it. Over the next 20 minutes, Rod called again and again before the phone finally went quiet. Jamie was more focused on the dragon right now.

Over the last day or so, the beast had worked its way down Jamie's left arm, devouring nearly everything in its path. White blotches covered his skin where the dragon had begun feeding on him, and now only one tattoo remained. Rodriguez's star on his left wrist, Jamie wondered how long it would take. Jamie wasn't sure how long he'd been asleep in the tub when he came to. He nodded off looking at his arm, waiting for the dragon to appear, if it even would. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and noticed the dragon was coyote. around his elbow, presumably eyeing the star on his wrist. Jamie extended his arm over the edge of the tub, putting the star on full display for both himself and the dragon. Jamie was still for what felt like a

long time. He had to be ready the moment it happened. The dragon stuck its head out a bit, nostrils flaring as if it were sniffing out a meal in the wild. Jamie held his breath, and he's second now. The dragon slowly uncoiled, its eyes moving back and forth between Jamie's face and the star. It inched closer, then stopped, and eyed Jamie. As the dragon got closer, Jamie never looked away, his hand slowly moving toward the, a knock at the room's door. Jaime? It was Rod. Let me in, bro. I'm here. Jamie didn't move, didn't look up. He had one shot at this. The dragon crept closer and closer to the star. Jamie's arm burned. The wasp in ajar feeling. He couldn't react. Can't show any fear.

Hyme it. Rod banged on the door now. Open up! The dragon was close, just another few centimeters end. The dragon was off his elbow and coiled entirely around Jamie's forearm now. Jamie sprang into action, defying every instinct. He snatched the hacksaw from beside the tub and began feverishly sawing through his forearm. He had to move as fast as possible before the dragon could creep back up to his upper arm.

Blood sprayed from the ever-growing wound. Jamie kept going. He couldn't stop. He didn't look either. His eyes were on the dragon. When the beast finally wrapped its jaws around the star, the hacksaw struck bone. Jamie screamed but kept sawing. Rod screamed too from the other side of the door.

Rod was trying to kick the door down now, and he was doing a good job. I'm coming, Heim! Rod wailed. I'm right here! The motel room's door exploded off its hinges, and Rodrigo stepped into the room. He called out and spotted the bathroom light. Rodrigo ran across the room and stepped into the bathroom. Jaime, I'm here!

Rodrigo stopped. He didn't recognize his older brother at first. Thirteen years is a long time. Jamie was a real adult now. A man, hardened by a life Rodrigo didn't know or even understand. Jamie's severed arm lay in a spreading slick of blood on the bathroom floor. The dragon tattoo was wrapped around the forearm, its head extending down into Jamie's palm. Tears welled up in Rodrigo's eyes. Jamie hadn't looked at the damage he'd done. He didn't really plan on it. All that mattered was that he got that thing on. off him, trapped him on the arm lying on the floor. Jamie felt lightheaded, but it was a good lightheaded. He slowly looked up at Rodrigo, his little brother. He was so good to see him after

all this time. Hey, Hermano! Jamie muttered. Long time, no see. Hey! Rod said, unsure of where to even begin. Something caught Rod's eye on the ground, on the arm. The dragon tattoo, a massive green scalded blob wrapped around the limb. Its head nested near the star. The little five-pointed tattoo was practically touching the dragon's lips. Rod looked to his brother, who had slumped over in the tub, chest slowly rising and falling. Rod looked back at the arm. The dragon had turned its head away from the star tattoo, its eyes now watching the pool of blood growing on the bathroom floor. SCP 21 is an obligate parasite of the human body. SCP 21 takes the form of a large and elaborate tattoo of a serpentine dragon in the traditional Chinese style.

This tattoo is fully animate within the confines of its host's skin, and behaves largely as a normal animal would, albeit in only two dimensions. SCP 21 can be transferred between hosts by various forms of physical contact, with differing rates of success. Contact between two open wounds is generally preferable. The CP21 appears to feed exclusively on pigments and the host's skin. This can include melanin, in which case the subject appears to be suffering from Vitaleigo. However, the organism shows a market preference for other tattoos, and will generally seek

out and devour these before feeding on natural pigments. The tattoo's movement causes constant pain to its host, comparable and similar in character to simultaneous tattooing and tattoo removal on a large scale. Impression profiles and hosts are generally higher than average, though whether this is a direct effect of the tattoo or simply a reaction to the constant pain remains to be seen. Thanks for listening. Be sure to click that follow button with all notifications on to get notified every time a new episode is released.