The SCP Experience - The Foundation Assassin | SCP-734

Episode Date: January 7, 2022

SCP Foundation KETER class object, SCP-734: The Foundation Assassin Author: Matt Doggett Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/MatthewDoggettAuthor/ Website/Newsletter sign up: matthewdoggettauthor.com This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-734, 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

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Villaray, the voice we love that we love. Friends was my favorite show to watch, even though it was an old one. I liked any sitcom that centered around friendship and relationships. But Friends was the best. I was in the middle of watching an episode from CISO. the one where Joey moves out when Jared Fitzgerald came into my room. I had seen the episode many times before, but I was still a little frustrated at the interruption. I hit the spacebar

on my laptop to pause the episode, then set the computer aside on my little bed. Fitz smiled at me from behind the hard plastic faceplate of his hazmat suit helmet. Watching friends again? he asked. Maybe you should take a break. Find something else to watch. You know how you get after watching shows like that. You're not a teenager anymore. Maybe try something else. Like what? I said.

Spy movies? Shoot them up action films? Movies about outbreaks? Hey, Fitz said. That's not fair. You know me better than that, Stephen. I'm just concerned about your mental state. You know that.

Fitz sat down on the bed beside me and put one highly protected arm around me. The material of the hazmat suit crinkled loudly. Yeah, I said, slouching. I'm sorry. It doesn't matter what I watch. It all reminds me of what I am, what I can never have. Never say never, fit said to me for probably the millionth time.

We're working on a cure. You've got to believe me when I say that. I do believe you, I said. I just don't know if a cure is even possible. You've never found a cure. anyone else like me. I'm a freak of nature. You're unique, Fitz said. But that doesn't mean we won't be able to find some way for you to have a normal life. You're so much more than just a number to us, especially to me and Lydia. You're like our son. Yeah, except for the fact that you already have

two kids with your wife, and Lydia has one with her husband. When you go home at night to your families, I stay here, alone, in this room that's just a dressed up isolation cell. So don't tell me I'm like your son. I'm not. At best, I'm a close co-worker. Fitz looked at me through the clear plastic of his helmet. I could see that he was hurt, or at least trying to look like he was hurt. It was hard to tell. I sometimes felt that I was being manipulated by him, but other times, I felt that he really did love me like a son. He stood up from the bed and spread his arms out wide. Come here, he said softly.

My chin quivered as I thought about the end of the Friends episode I was watching. There's a scene at the end where Joey is leaving Chandler alone, heading for his new apartment, when he rushes back in and gives Chandler a big hug. Truth be told, that was the main reason I had watched that episode so. many times. I stood up from the bed and stepped into Fitz's hug, trying to imagine how it would feel without the hazmat suit between us. I imagined Fitz as my best friend, which he kind of was. We hugged for a long time before separating. I'm sorry for blowing up on you, I said, looking

down at my feet, I know you care about me. Well, thank you, it said. I'll continue to care about you, no matter how many times you get mad at me, he smiled. I smiled back. After a moment, he spoke again, saying, There's another reason I came in here. You've got a mission. I'll brief you as we get you ready. Okay, I said, have smiling.

I had a love-hate relationship with missions. I liked to get out into the world, but I hated what I had to do on these outings. Still, it was great to get out of my little cell at the foundation. facility. Getting me ready for a mission was an involved process. I stepped into a little square room next to my bathroom and used a stiff brush to remove all the dead skin from my body. They kept my hair cut very short, so I ran over what little there was with the brush, removing any loose hair follicles and dry skin. I did the same thing all over, even under my

toenails and fingernails. When I was done, I stepped out of the room and, and I was done. I stepped out of the room, into the shower while the incinerator built under the small room's floor destroyed all the loose matter I'd just removed. I showered thoroughly, once again, brushing my whole body and using a special kind of soap to cleanse myself. I used a towel to dry off, which I then threw in the incinerator so it too could be destroyed. Fits brought me a special form-fitting suit that was kind of like a a very thin wetsuit. The only thing sticking out of the suit were my hands and my head. He also brought me a white dress suit with white gloves, a white button-up shirt, and a black tie. He explained what I was to do as I got dressed, covering the wetsuit with the outfit and

shiny black shoes. He showed me a picture of a man on a tablet he brought in with him, the target. Finally, before we walked out of myself, I got into a hazmat suit. Both Fitz and I stood in a cleansing chamber while it did its thing. Then we headed out. We didn't see anyone else as we walked through the facility to an elevator, which took us to a parking garage. Fitz took off his hazmat suit in the elevator and carried it with him. We got into a silver SUV with two other men in the front seats.

Fitz apologized before putting a big black hood over my hazmat suit helmet. We drove out of the garage into an airport. Fits took my hood off as the SUV stopped. We boarded a private jet and took off. I didn't have to wear a hood for the plane ride, but I did have to keep my hazmat suit on. Fitz changed my oxygen tank about halfway through the ride. The flight took several hours. On the descent, Fits once again put a hood over my head, even though it was dark outside and I couldn't see much of anything.

We got into another vehicle and drove for about half an hour. When Fitz removed the hood again, we were in a parking garage. The floor we were on was blocked off by orange and white construction barriers. There were no other cars around. We parked by the elevator alcove. Okay, Stephen, Fitz said as we stepped out of the vehicle, You can take your suit off now. Which one? I said, trying to get a rise out of him.

He gave me a patronizing smile. I removed my hazmat suit while the other men, Fitz included, gave me a wide berth. I then put it in the back of the SUV as instructed. Now what? I said in the closed-off parking garage. I had hoped to get a glimpse of whatever city we were in, but it was clear that the garage was underground. Any minute now, Fitz said, looking at his watch. As if on cue, one of the two elevator doors chimed and a

opened. Two men in black suits carried out a third young man who was wearing the same white dress suit as I was. The young man was unconscious, and they put him in the back of the SUV. You're up, Fitz said, gesturing at the elevator. You remember the room numbers? I nodded. 312 first, then up to 412. Fitz smiled. You know what to do, he said. I stepped into the elevator and saw.

saw the fancy food service cart there. The smell of lobster drifted up from under the metal dome cover. I pressed the third floor button with my white gloved right hand and then took off the glove. I found the silverware on a shelf under the cart. There were two sets, each rolled up in a white napkin. I removed each set and slid my fingers along each utensil from top to bottom, before rolling them back up in the napkins. I also found the water glasses, removing the paper covers, and sliding my bare fingers around the rims and all along the outside. I finished as the elevator came to the third floor,

pulling my glove back on as the doors opened. There was an out-of-order sign and yellow caution tape covering the door. I removed the tape, wheeled the card out, and then replaced it. I assumed there were similar signs on every floor of the hotel. The other elevator was in service, but no one got on or off during the minute I was there. I found room 312 easily. Before I knocked on the door, I removed my white gloves and put them in my pockets. As my bare knuckles struck the heavy wood of the door, my heart rate increased.

It was always like that. I was always calm until it came time to actually do the job. But I'd learned to control the fear, to conceal it from the target. Who is it? Came a muffled call from behind the door. Room service, I called. The door opened, and a big man with a bald head and cauliflower ears stepped out and shoved me against the wall.

Hey, what the hell, man? I said. Shut up. I'm not going to hurt you. You'll get a fat tip for this, so just, just. Just relax. Spread your legs and put your hands up against the wall. I did as I was told. He patted me down from ankles up to wrists. I felt his hand touched my skin briefly as he checked my wrists for bulges and found none.

You're fucked, I thought to myself. Okay, let's go, he said, walking back into the room. Why don't you just take it? I said, gesturing to the food service cart and doing my best to sound scared. Do I look like a fucking waiter to you? The big man said, Do your damn job. I was smiling on the inside. As many times as I'd done this,

I'd never had a bodyguard volunteered to take the cart. They were a proud bunch, I supposed. I bent down and pushed the cart into the suite, finding two men sitting down at the round table against the window. I set out the plates, silverware, and glasses on the table. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched as both men, one of which I recognized from the picture Fitz showed me back at the foundation, unwrapped the silverware, and placed the napkins on their laps. I poured water into their glasses from a crystal pitcher.

One man took a drink of the water, the man that wasn't the target. He swished the water around in his mouth, swallowed, and then set the glass down. I got the food out, placing the lobster meals on the plates. When I was finished with that, the man who'd taken the drink of water spoke in a foreign language to the target. The target nodded and took a drink of his own water. My job done. I stood back from the table and waited for my tip. The men switched lobsters, and the food taster took a bite of the lobster,

the pasta salad, and the steamed clams. He chewed each bite slowly, methodically. He then nodded to the target. The two men switched meals again, and the target began eating with the silverware I gave him. The bodyguard came up behind me and shoved a $100 bill into my hand. Get lost, he said. I wheeled the cart back out of the room and into the hallway. On my way back to the elevator, I passed a beautiful young woman dressed the same as me,

delivering her own cart of food somewhere on the third floor. She had blue eyes, blonde hair, and the kind of smooth skin you see on supermodels. She smiled at me as we passed, causing my heart to beat harder than it ever had during any mission I'd been on. A deep longing seated itself in my chest at that moment, arrived at the elevators and put my gloves back on. As I got into the elevator I'd used before,

her face and her beautiful smile floated. in my memory. I went to the fourth floor and knocked on the door to room 412. Fitz opened the door and stepped back as I wheeled the cart in. I put the cart in the bathroom. A man in a hazmat suit came from inside the suite carrying a UV purifier setup and a bottle of bleach. He closed the door to the bathroom and went to work sterilizing the cart. A hazmat suit was waiting for me on the couch, Fitz and two other men, the guys who had come with us from the foundation, sat in front of a couple of computers in the bedroom area of the suite. From where I stood, I could see the wide-angle views they had of room 312, just below us. This was the part I hated the most,

waiting for the target to die. I knew all too well what would happen to them. In a few hours, Any part of them that came into contact with the silverware or glasses I contaminated would start to degrade. It would begin like a bad rash, but after five hours or so, it would be clear that it wasn't just a rash. Their skin would begin to flake off as the contamination spread, eating through each layer of skin in an unstoppable cascade of pain and degradation. Amputation was the only way to stop the spread, so maybe the same way to stop the spread, so maybe the layer of skin. the bodyguard would live. But the target and the other man would die. After all, there's no way to amputate a person's head without killing them. The worst of it would be on their lips and their hands. They would end up looking like bloody skulls when all was said and done. But they'd probably

kill themselves before that, just to end the pain. I'd seen it happen before. As I started to slip into my hazmat suit, the blonde girl's smile and her beautiful face. were still at the forefront of my mind. I wanted to go find her, to talk with her, to hold her hand, to kiss her. But I couldn't. I would never be able to be intimate with a woman. I would never be able to feel the softness of her skin or the warmth of her lips. I would never be able to even hug my best friend without a fucking hazmat suit. I looked around the room, suddenly full of mute fury. These people didn't care about me, I thought. They were just using me. I kicked off the hazmat suit and ran for the door. Fitzgerald called out my name as I went, but I didn't stop.

I ran down the hallway and found the stairwell. I ran up the stairs, my gloved hands pulling me up the railings as my legs pumped. I came out on the roof of the hotel. A chill night wind hit me as I looked out on the cityscape. Each light on in each building, a reminder of a life I would half. The half of the roof I was on was surrounded by tall, transparent plastic barriers, presumably to keep people from jumping off the roof. But there was a fence that separated the other half of the roof, where air conditioner units and ductwork sat crouched against the night. I jumped the fence, jogged over, and stepped up onto the edge of the building, looking 14 stories down to the concrete below. I pulled off my gloves and let them fall, watching as the

wind played with him on the way down. I leaned out, ready to take the plunge. When Fitts called out from behind me, he'd followed me up. I turned to see him land on the other side of the fence. He stepped toward me with his hands up. Let's think about this, he said. Please, step down and let's talk this out. I realized I was crying, the warm tears dripping off my chin to be sucked away by the wind. I turned back around, the blonde girl's face in my mind. Just as I was about to step off to my death, I felt Fitz grabbed my hand. I felt the warmth of his skin against mine. My eyes went wide, and I turned to him.

Come on, he said, tears in his eyes. Step down. Give me a hug. I stepped down off the edge, amazed that Fitz had touched me. You, you're going to. He pulled me into a hug, his cheek against mine, his hand on the back of my neck. There's a cure, he said in a harsh whisper. It wasn't my decision to not tell you. I was ordered not to. I'll be okay. You'll be okay. You can live a normal life.

The immense sadness I'd been feeling was suddenly smothered under a boiling rage. I pulled myself out of the hug, my hands still on fits his shoulders. How long? I asked. How long has there been a cure? Stephen, please. How long? I shouted.

Years, Fitz said, averting his eyes. I cried out, and, before I realized what I was doing, I shoved Fitz with all my might. He stumbled back, his calf striking the edge of the roof, and then he was gone. He didn't scream on the way down. I don't know why he didn't scream. I stood there on the roof, feeling sick to my stomach.

I wondered if it was true. If there really was a cure, if there was, I doubted they'd give it to me now. I had killed Fitz. I had killed my friend, Jared Fitzgerald. As the other men from the foundation ran onto the roof and pointed their weapons at me, all I could think of was my name. I had never really put it together before. But for some reason, it had clicked for me as Fitz fell to his death.

My name is Stephen Colin Patterson. My number is 734. I am SCP 734, and I always will be. SCP 734 is a male human that has been in foundation care since his infancy. SCP 734 shows normal development and health for a young man of his age and genetic background. No abnormal genetic mutations, infections, or rare cellular disorders have been found during any test, and no origin point or cause has been found for the effect SCP 734 has on human tissue. Any human tissue making contact with SCP 734 will begin to rapidly break down and flake away.

This effect is most often triggered by skin-to-skin contact, but any living SCP-734 cell can cause the effect. The means by which the flaking occurs is unknown as no form of viral, bacterial, or chemical agents are passed by SCP-734 to the subject. The flaking begins in the tissue layer of contact, most often the epidermis, and will attack that layer exclusively for five hours. After five hours, the effect will begin on the next layer and continue in this manner until all tissue layers are affected. This process is extremely painful and becomes progressively more debilitating as nerve tissue, blood vessels, muscle tissues,

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