The SCP Experience - The Fungus Chorus | SCP-129

Episode Date: April 13, 2022

SCP Foundation KETER class object, SCP-129: The Fungus Chorus This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-129, and is released under Creative Commons Sharealike 3.0. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/ Author: Lucas Click Check out the Author's work here: newpulptales.com 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

The foundation is built upon secrets, so much so that not everyone in the organization is privy to our activities outside of the containment sites. While there are hundreds of containment facilities spread worldwide, there are also designated public areas designed to monitor and experiment with SCPs. That's where nomadic agents like me come into play. We're somewhere in between investigators and security forces. It's our job to roam the country and check in regularly with these remote places hidden in plain sight. And sometimes, when necessary, deal with any threats that arise from the less monitored anomalies. There are maybe half a dozen of us, but we never have to interact much. Most of these experiments are fairly low risk, and our job is more travel and reporting than anything else.

It's a pretty good gig for a guy like me. I'm former military, the Marines, to be precise. My career in the Corps established a solid reputation for following orders, but I wasn't smart enough to ever be an officer. Just point me in a direction and tell me what to do, and I'll get the job done. As a foundation agent, my orders now are short, simple, and easy, just the way I like them.

It gives me plenty of time to travel the road alone with my thoughts. Some people don't fare well with this kind of solidarity, but it's always been, well, almost therapeutic for me. More than any psychiatrist, and believe me, I tried plenty after my tour of duty. My SUV rolls past the sign for Corinth. It's a small town in the middle of nowhere, and I've visited it routinely over the past couple of years. The SEP it houses is pretty boring, some type of fungus that can cause colds. but most people and animals are immune to the effects. Don't ask me how it works. I've never been much of a science student,

and I don't need to be for my job. The researcher in charge, Dr. Mullins, is decent enough for a mad scientist. Whenever I stop by, he's constantly bubbling with excitement, explaining the minute differences between the new fungi that have multiplied. Somehow, he never sees the look of complete boredom on my face.

I don't see how. anyone could look at a mushroom and decide to dedicate their life to them. Still, I like Corinth. The people are small-town friendly, the type to always greet you with a polite smile, and nod, but never pry into your business. And they have a diner that serves some of the best burgers I've ever had. The thoughts of the food, coupled with a cold beer, makes my mouth water. But as I pulled down the tiny main street, my suspicions rise, and food is the the furthest thing for my mind. Corinth has never been bustling, but there have always been the usual activities you can expect

to see in a small town. Kids riding bicycles, old people playing checkers at the corner store, and the slow but steady flow of small town traffic. But the streets are all empty, not a pedestrian or a car to be seen. I turn off my radio and roll down my window. The town is deadly quiet. I pull up alongside the local diner. and exit the vehicle before walking up to the storefront.

I see it's deserted, but several of the tables have been upturned, and shattered glass litters the floor. I run my hand along the door and create a smear against the dust. Whatever happened here was a while ago. Why hadn't Mullins reported it? A crash comes from my right, and I reflexively draw my gun. A man in a white lab coat is upturned a garbage can and rumbles around inside. Finally, he pulls out a half-eaten candy bar and bites into it greedily.

Though his hair is disheveled and messy, his clothes, stained and torn, I immediately recognize him as Mullins. I stroll toward him and fight the urge to cover my mouth. In addition to the stench of days-old grime and garbage, a thick smell of yeast comes from him. Dr. Mullins, I say, but he ignores me for the trash, scurrying for something else to eat. Dr. Mullins! His eyes snap up at me, but they're coated with a yellow film.

Snot runs freely down his nose and lips, and I flinch as he licks his lips. It takes a while, but his eyes finally focus on me. Several seconds pass before he stands and wobbles toward me. I... I know you, don't I? Shit, that's never a good sign. It's Agent Jackson, I tell him. His eyes widen, and he bolts forward and grabs me by the arms. I suppress the initial reflex from years of training and stop myself from breaking both his wrists.

Instead, I let him look in my eyes and feel my arms beneath his probing touch. It's like he needs to believe unreal. Jackson, yes, he shakes his head. It's happened. The unthinkable. There's been an outbreak. The downspeople. Oh, all those. poor souls it has them you have to save them easy doc easy I'm finally able to

dislodge his hands from my forearms where is everyone do you know where they are yes if we hurry we can save them I'm not so sure about that it's possible that Mullins has been so traumatized that he's lost his grip on time his grasp on reality seems flimsy at best still I lead him back to the SUV and hand him a bottle of water, which he drains in seconds. Leaving him to cool off in the AC, I call and report the situation before I open the trunk and remove the hidden compartment. Beneath it are several suitcases, each with a different series of numbers stamped into them.

They are arranged in numerical order, and I quickly find the one I'm looking for. I opened the suitcase labeled SCP-129. Like I said, there's really no need for me to understand the science behind the SCP on my route. That's not the point of the emergency cases or myself. Instead, each is equipped with the quickest way to neutralize any of the SCPs that might go rogue. In this case, it's a strand of high-powered incendiary grenades. I strap them around my waist and head back to the driver's seat while Dr. Mullins gives me directions out of town. The quiet main street soon gives way to unpaved roads and a hilly landside. The locals at the diner told me

before that some of the surrounding caves drew in tourists for Spelunking. I never had a reason to come out this far before, though. It's a tough journey, even with the SUV's four-wheel drive. Eventually, Dr. Mullins directs me to stop outside of a large opening in the hillside. We each take a flashlight and step inside the cave, but there's no need. The cave is glowing. Its walls, floors, and ceilings pulse with a red light. As we see, step closer, I see that there are a variety of fungi, but none like I've ever seen before. The mushrooms are massive. The smallest is the size of my head, and others are so large it's hard to keep my distance. Each one pulsates with a faint red glow, and their texture is

fleshy. Some look like organs, a brain here, a beating heart there, and a massive stomach in the center. But then I stop and stare at one. This one still looks human. Its face melted away, but the shape of its body remained mostly the same, dissolving and congealing right in front of me. It raises a boneless hand up toward me, covered in spores that beckon me forward. I step back, nearly doubling over from the smell. I cough, covering my mouth, but then I freeze and reach for my gun.

The air is filled with yeast, the same smell as the dock, who's been creeping behind me the whole time. time. Spinning, I raise my gun and aim it at him. Mullen's stance before. His arm spread wide, a smile stretching him possibly wide across his face. Yes, you can hear it, can't you? The song is beautiful. Thank you for coming, Jackson, for calling the others. Soon we will spread our song all over the globe. That's all I needed to hear. My gun blocks as I squeeze the trigger and plug two bullets into the doctor's head. It explodes backward, but not in a spray of brain and gore. Instead, it's heavy dust filled with red spores. Mullen's body convulses and swells like he's

packed on a hundred pounds in a few seconds. I fire the gun again, and the doctor's body explodes. The blast lifts my body into the air, and something hard hits my head. I slunk toward the ground, fighting to remain conscious, but ultimately surrender to the darkness. I struggle to open my eyes, unsure how much time has passed. Too much. My whole body feels warm and slimy, and every breath is labored with thick mucus. Beneath the heat of my fever, I can hear a song, a chorus of alien voices. It's like a lullaby, trying to lure me into a deep sleep.

But I fight past the urge and force my eyes open. I open my mouth to scream, but only thick hot sludge falls out. My clothes, my flesh and bones, all of it has melted away below my waist. Where my legs should be is nothing but a pile of molten jelly. Raising a hand, I see that my arm has blossomed with millions of mushrooms, pulsating with red light as they feed on me. The song picks up again as my fingers melt away. revealing the bones beneath. The pain is dull, like a full shot of Novakane. I can't make

out the words, but the intent is clear. Lay down your arms, go back to sleep. It sounds oddly like Dr. Mullins and several other familiar voices. Yelling a garbled roar of defiance, I reach for my belt, sensing my actions. The song turns into a howl of fury. The fungus works faster, eating away at the few bits of muscle still clinging to my hand. All attempts at deceiving me set aside. The pain snaps into sudden intensity, and I nearly faint. Thankfully, the grenades are all linked together. Before my hand becomes a puddle of bloody goo, I hear the satisfying clicks of each of the pins as they fall to the ground. With my job done, I lie back and listen to the sounds of distress and terror that fill the cave. I smile.

and feel my lips fall away, enduring the pain for as long as possible. My ears dissolve, so I can't hear the deafening explosion. But the heat is an instant wave that washes away my pain. SCP-129 is a series of different species of fungus that can infect any animal with mucosal membranes. Infection by SCP-129 can pass through up to five stages, with each stage of infection, facilitating progress to the next stage by weakening the individual's resistance to subsequent infection. Due to a combination of historical events, most humans and animals are naturally immune to SCP-129. Therefore, outbreaks of stage 3 infections are quite rare, but have the potential for widespread infection,

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