The SCP Experience - The Habsburg Abomination | SCP-3288

Episode Date: October 17, 2025

When Dr. Helena Schmid interviews a grotesque, inbred Habsburg creature known as SCP-3288-6982, its tales of royal depravity and human breeding pits reveal a lineage so corrupted it devoured itself to survive. This story was derived from ⁠⁠https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-3288 and is released under Creative Commons Sharealike 3.0. ⁠⁠https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/⁠⁠ * * * 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 17. Listener discretion is advised.  #thescpexperience #scp #scpfoundation #scpencounters #securecontainprotect #scpstories Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

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Viaray, the voice that we love that we love. S.C. 3288.6982 could tell you. He may play dumb, but he's the one his siblings pointed to. You'll just have to get him to talk. Elena Schmidt wondered if this was surely some sort of joke. The idea that this thing, this wretched, squirming, stinking degenerate that laid in its bed, could tell her anything of value sounded too ridiculous to be true. Draped in fine velvet sheets, its bloated bald head rested on an ornate throat pillow.

The decrepit, Habspergian chittered and perverted broken German, or a version of Germans so ancient and corrupted, Schmidt could only identify very basic, albeit still mutilated root words. It wasn't that she was afraid of it. As far as SCP 3288 specimens went, this one was relatively harmless. This wasn't to say it wasn't dangerous, but rather that its deformities, and end result of God knows how many years of constant inbreeding, had been detrimental to it. It lacked no legs, save for misshapen, gnarled stubs that ended suddenly and jagged, two-toed feet,

that more closely resembled pig-hooves than human feet. It could barely even stand, let alone walk. And there was a battalion of guards standing outside its cell door. Now, she wasn't afraid of it. She was repulsed by it. Still, she had a job to do, and SCP 3288-6982, As vile as its very existence was, was the only one that could even give them the answers they needed. The doctor had procured a bottle of vintage wine, a 1967 dono wrote, to be precise,

as a peace offering for it, knowing that alcohol had been its declared, prized mortal luxuries, long before its containment. A terrible thing to waste, Schmidt thought, but it was what it wanted after all. She swallowed hard and forced a polite smile before walking up to the bed, bowing profusely at the foot of it in a grand display of reverence. Good evening, young lordship, Dr. Schmidt's voice strained to sound as proper as possible. For as grotesque and unnatural as SCP 3288 specimens were, to treat them as anything less than the pure-blooded descendants of the Habsburg family

was enough to send even the most simple-minded into a frothing rage. They lived for centuries in darkness, in shit and depravity, yet they still demand a dedicate. I hope you have been well this evening. The young lord turned to her. It's milky, sickly yellow eyes bulging from lidless holes. It slowly lifted its hydrocephalic head, and the sound of sloshing liquid filling its ballooning skull, accompanied its delighted rasp from somewhere deep in its half-developed throat.

With all the mirth of its kingly forefathers, the young lord led out a disgusted laugh of joy or mockery at his guest. Finally, the common woman has learned her place. Its accent was thick and deep, made all the dense by the years of extreme isolation, internal deformities, and a unique form of archaic linguistics. What have it you for me today? In macho'racht of richly drunk whore and anal palisole, or have thou come merely to hinder my humors until I yield. His breath reeked, ancient and decayed. Large yellow pebbles, stinking like death, fell from the back of his throat and dripped from the corners of his lips.

Dr. Schmidt held back a gag and forced her smile wider, presenting in a very regal fashion the bottle of wine to the young lord. No, no, my lordship. I thought that I could be so humble. to surprise you with a libation. I know you have not had any to drink since you've arrived here. At the mention of alcohol, the young lord led out a wheezing, debauched giggle, and rubbed its emaciated hands together.

A grin spread across its bright red lips, and from under the sheets, its body wiggled and squirmed like a toddler's. This was followed by a wet, low splattering sound, and immediately a foul stench hung ripe in the air, as it passed waste onto the bed sheets in excitement. A hand where only three long, multi-jointed fingers emerged from the pale stump, eagerly clasped the wine bottle, and tore it from the doctor's hands. Oh, oh my God, at last!

It held the bottle by its neck, pulling the cork easily with too long, sharp claw-like nails. To think even a common semen gabbler such as yourself can do what your guile this wine chumbrasant. It sniffed the wine, and its lowered jaw, grossly protruding to the point, it resembled more of the jaw of a horse than any man, chittered with rows of rotten, sharp teeth. It may smell like the fermented piss of an unneutraled stallion, but I have not yet drunk in so long.

It raised the bottle to drink, and red liquid poured into its stinking, miss sheep and mouth. Dr. Schmidt cringed as she watched it drink, its fat, sore-filled lips wrapping around the nape like a newborn infant. She had heard stories from the soldiers who had recovered the young lord and its kin from its nest in Lower Austria, an abandoned bastion in the Viener Vault, once owned by the Habsburg family, in which there had been found the gutted remains of deer, bears, and birds. Whatever they didn't fornicate with, they ate, and whatever they didn't eat, they tortured. To think that this thing had been caught mid-coitus with one of its sisters, mothers, aunts, made Helena Schmidt sick to her stomach.

To be honest, my lordship, I was wondering if you would be willing to discuss something with me. Her voice put on a fake quiver, as if she were genuinely ashamed of speaking so plainly to her better. I brought the wine as a sort of offering, so that you may lend me your ear. It greedily finished off the last few drops of the wine and let out a bestial sigh of pleasure. It tossed the empty bottle carelessly to the floor, the same way a spoiled child throws his food. He looks over at Dr. Schmidt.

Its jaundiced eyes, bulging and unblinking, gazed upon her with a hungry, yet curious glint in their diseased sclera. Its lips formed a small frown, and with one twitching, clawed hand had rubbed its swollen, disjointed stomach in slow anticipating circles. The vine was lacking. By the sweet yonical drappings of the dearest Aunt Carolina, I can't scarcely imagine how you peasant drink such bilge. But it shook its head, and the stale water in its skull slashed in consideration. But yes, indeed, you did have the common sense to bring me something.

And it is ever tradition to sought seek instruction from the divine, as did the villagers seek wisdom from great Leopold and Properties. It led out a deep, chittering gas, a cross between a belch and a choke. Speak, then, common woman. What is it you desire for me? Thank you, great lord, Schmidt bowed again, ignoring the bile in her stomach as she said that. You see, I am currently studying my own. architecture, Baroque architecture, to be precise. Several of your family extolled that you were well-versed in the study of that subject. Is that not true? The young lord rolled its bulbous head and kicked its atrophied excuse for legs under the sheets. Ah, yes, yes, indeed, I have long been a student of architecture

ever since I was but a mere lad of seven years. Bras of Philip, he always said that I ought to study something more resourceful like taxatechemy, but the poor fool was only interested in that mainly for pleasure and not the arts. Schmidt kept from rolling her eyes. Some of SCP 3288 were impossible to speak to without first indulging their delusions. That was if they were willing to even be courteous enough to listen. Half of them were so unable to contain their cannibalistic urges. Pardon me for interrupting. Schmidt spoke again, bowing again, bowing an apology. But I would love to know more about your home, your manner, I should say. Yes, our manner. Our estate of you and your masters have trampled upon like a blind cell

let loose in the halls of Shilmchon. The young lord sighed, and some wine dribbled onto its visible ribs, staining the albino skin in crimson stains. It was a magnificent palace. far better than the wretched accommodations I find myself in. Did you know that its construction was personally overseen by Charles VI, the Holy Roman Emperor himself? I did not. Did Charles VI build more manners?

Are there any others that you know about? I know nothing of that. I only know of my manner and little else of my relatives. The Duke of my family. It no more, but I myself could say nothing. It was typical for SCP 3288 specimens to defer to members of a higher ranking in their family order. What exactly the difference between a duke, a lord, a princess, or a baron was still a mystery to the foundation.

Every specimen of SCP 3288 was so inbred, so genetically damaged from centuries of constant intermarrying, that any chain of command was impossible to work out. In fact, it was theorized that members of SCP-3288 just arbitrarily gave themselves these titles with little understanding of what they meant. Could you please describe what your manner was like for me? I haven't been in it myself, I'm sorry to say, but I have seen your sketchwork. You are a rather talented draftsman, so I would love to hear your professional opinion on the matter. The drawings Schmidt referred to were useless scribbles, violent and childlike drawings that in a grotesquely abstract way, resembled a stereotypical Baroque mansion,

surrounded by tall turrets, gilded doors, and hideously deformed servants, with various misshapen limbs or bodies. The flattery, it seemed, worked on the young lord, who squirmed and passed more foul, brownish red waist, under the soiled silk sheets and delight. Ah, like any good house royalty, it was designed in the proper Baroque, style. It boasts 30 chambers. Fifteen

for sleeping. Four for the study of music and concerts. Four, for the servant quarters. A great hall where we would hold these delightful Bacchanalian feasts. Four for the storage

of the meats and the vines. And of course, two were meant for the kitchens. Although, truth be told, we once had a magnificent and family crypt. But following that most awful winter, it is unfortunately Beachen. Schmidt wrote something down on her clipboard,

pretending to look as interested as possible as the half-man raved about the priceless tapestries that had shredded during a most exquisite birthday feast for a Baron Maria, and how an imported rug taken from the Netherlands was stained with marred and semen following the death of twins, Prince Albert and Jacob. It must have become rather cramped inside the manor, especially considering there were 40 of your relatives living there at the time of the excavation.

Is that why you began digging into the mountainside to make more room? We did nothing. It is not befitting of royalty to Krabah. The servants dug them. It took God knows how long. What exactly was their purpose? Schmidt knew exactly what the purpose of those hand-dug enclaves they found deep in the side of that lower Austrian. mountain were, but to let the young lord know would potentially cause him to clamp up. It would seem challenging to acquire all the materials needed to add on to the rest of the manner, given how isolated it was.

It led out a deep, Hardy laugh. What purpose would furnishing the pens give us? Do you think we let the hog sleep in our bed or the horse bat in our chambers? You are a student of architecture. are you not? Then, surely you'd understand the mere animals do not appreciate the finest thing that God befits the noble to see. And what exactly was the purpose of these pens?

We found animal bones, mainly foxhound, dogs, and birds. Were they raised for food? The young lord rolled its yellow, weeping eyes, and picked at one of the many rows of shark-like teeth that jutted from his perpetually bloody gums. Yes, the hounds and pheasants were consumed, as is the desire of royalty, you know. They were bred as pets, you see, but unlike us, their blood was not as pure as ours. After a mere four generations of intermarriage, whatever was left that didn't die before birth was good only for consuming.

It's horrible shame. The animals made for a splendid menagerie. It shivered again, followed by a repulsive, guttural belch that reeked of fetidness and wine. Ah, but I'm sure you found other things in there, too. Not just the bones of hounds and bird feathers. Schmidt stopped riding and looked at the young lord, now gazing at her with the closest expression of coyness its disfigured face could express. It leaned back in the bed.

Its lanky, crippled body digging into the mattress of semi-solid lumps and puddles of waste that festered through the sheets. It seemed to revel in Schmidt's surprise or its own waist, presumably both. Yes, we found more than just animal bones, your lordship. Can you please explain to me what they were used for? The Lord chuckled again. It seemed somewhere in that malformed skull of stale water and a shriveled necrotic brain, poisoned by years of depravity. It was forming a thought.

Did you know that at one point in time, there were over 150 of us in the manach alone, myself, great uncle Leopold, Baroness de Esau of Upper Saxony, brother Philip of Osher, and? I trailed off, breaking into a perverted, nostalgic chuckle. Ah, we lived rather well for many years, cavorting debasing and breeding as family custom.

By God, you can only imagine how cramped it became. By the time I was of 14 years, my dear cousin Ferdinand had to sleep on the dining room table, and coitus with a pheasant. So once the manner became overpopulated, It would be safe to bet to assume the food supply quickly became scarce. My dear painted, whore, when one is as noble as us, although a life becomes a feast.

The Lord clicked its gnarled tongue. But still, we were forced to indulge our kin, at least in more reasons one. Then the crisis became desperate, not to say that they didn't taste excused. Why I could have eaten the father's testicles twice over. But of course, of course, it's simply not the proper way to consume the flash of another oil.

Imagine the great real ball that done that to his kin. Unshutters to imagine the avian his fate after that. And that's when you sought out an alternative food source? Another raspy giggle. The young lord lifted his enormous head. And behind him, Schmidt could see his back lined with buzzing sores. Oh, not I, not I. My condition made it nigh impossible for me to traverse even beyond the managate's.

Others sought for food in my stead, whilst I oversaw the building of the bends. Once we had one male and a female of any species, then we could breed them for stock. Ingenious, isn't it? Schmidt made another mention in her clipboard. When exactly did this happen? The thing shrugged its shoulders and shook its head. Three generations ago, it was winter when we found them. Three males, two women.

All delightfully plump and fit, they shrieked and cursed in some horrible peasant tongue. Terrible noise that it was. It was only after a sister. Josephine rammed a fireplace broken down their throats to their straddle. And how long did it take until they began to procreate your lordship? Schmidt gulped back vomit. She had seen the end results that SCP-328 specimens attempted to make with natural humans.

Three days hence we acquired them. Of course, they wouldn't go right away. Perhaps by the meaningless morality you count. The common airs has that bound them." The young lord slid a hand underneath the sheets. But fortunately Grandfather Franz, Baron of Bohemia, took his lash to them and, under the threat of fleeing them to make tapestry from their skin, they sat to it delightfully, bestial shore.

It purred, its sinking breath tinted with arousal. The mixing of semen into flesh wounds, the stink of excrement, and the drippings of ionical juices smearing the exposed bones. Schmidt did her best to keep herself as composed as possible, grateful that she had skipped lunch before this interview. But, alas, as is common with the lower classes and all their ghastly defects, there was the issue of pregnancy. While we can bear children within that's than four months, your ilk must wait nine months. At first, the issue was solved simply by forcing the fetus out as soon as the sow was full. But even then, our hunger was too great. Why should we settle for the half-developed flesh when we were deserving of only the best?

The bones we found in your pins bore signs of extensive modification, very similar to your own. Judging by the makeshift laboratories we found, am I to understand you attempted to experiment on them? Not I. It was under the sub-vision of the queen, you see. I have no mind for stuff of alchemy or sciences. I am of great to say. It removed its hand from under the covers, thick yellowish-white globs, sticking to a its coal-black nails. They believed was that they could be adjusted, perhaps through various experiments, in order to breed fat, jewel to their infants at a first-ro-rate similar to us.

It spat noisily in disgust. An absurd concept. To try and elevate the peasant of the realm of divine kings, the one female died midway and We ate what was left, but by then she was far too tough and bitter. As for the other four, the results were middling. Middling? How so? The men had become no better than bestial savages. They walked around on all fours, dragging their disgusting stones behind them, and brutalizing anything in sight.

One of them attacked us in her foot of Incipic rage, and great Uncle Francis tore his entrails out through his anus. And the women well, all she did was lay around in her pen in those filthy regs and make these imbecilic mons. But for all of the trouble, she did produce far faster than she usually could. In five months, she could give us no less than seven squirming portions of eel. I'd even say the meat tasted sfea, but heaven forbid if cousin Matthias would dare him say that. Helena Schmidt looked at her clipboard and seemed to consider something. She again looked at the young lord, who was rambling to himself incoherently about the taste of infant meat being far plumber, when it is sauteed in the afterbirth.

And how long did you say this one on for? Perhaps two or three generations. Schmidt remembered something that one of the agents had told her following the initial discovery and neutralization of the nest. He had told her, following the removal of all remaining SCP-328 specimens, they had discovered, hidden behind an ancient bookcase, a tunnel that led deeper into the hillside. It had been very clumsily dug out, with primitive tools and the bones of squat, goblin-like creatures littering the darkness.

The air was rink with the smell of excrement, years of it, and you could see where thick layers of feces had been pasted on the stone walls. Or perhaps, some of it was just dried blood, congealed and crusted among piles of semi-human waste. The tunnel had ended in a series of four small chambers, each barely big enough for two people of avioled. average height to stand in. It was the worst of it. Among the landscape of infant skeletons with their misshapen skulls and crushed ribcages, they had also found to their horror the survivors, one man, a woman, and 23 children. Perhaps it wasn't the correct term to refer to them as man or woman anymore, given the horrific changes, but there was no earthly term for which to describe them. The man seemed to be in his 80s, natural cataracts or decades spent without

sunlight had ruined his eyesight and turned whatever color they were into dull, unresponsive gray eyes. His skin was stitched and torn with the deep half-closed stitches, exposing raw muscle and fragile bones. He was nude except for a single loincloth of sorts that may have once been underwear and his mutilated groin festered like it was in heat. An agent noticed that the man's legs had suffered deep surgical scars, and what seemed like metal rods jutting out like dull knives through the pale flesh had been inserted to keep him from fully walking upright. The woman was in no better shape. Although a quick glance made her appear like she was in her 70s, her worn, battered face behind a thick veil of filthy, muddied hair

made her look far older. The most noticeable feature about the woman was her stomach, a bulging, swollen mass of vainy, flabby flesh that hung distorted over her waist and over her legs, which had either atrophied away or had been removed through some amateurish surgery. It made her look a combination of horrifically obese and hideously emaciated. She didn't speak so much as she made hysterical jabbering moans, her blind and scarred eyes following the glimmering of the agent's flashlights in the cave. As for the children, it was best to describe them as mercifully unaware. Years of inbreeding had rendered many of them complete imbeciles,

barely aware of their surroundings. The youngest breed were no older than three, and they had taken to shrieking and howling in a guttural tongue. Their malformed bodies with their noseless faces and fecal-stained stumps rolling and crawling aimlessly like insects. The older breed, with one no older than 19, were only slightly more aware. A girl of 15, her stomach equally as heavy,

ate some unidentifiable filth in the corner. Her skull, a grotesque parody of a horse and a man's, a boy of eleven, displaying a cleft lip and stunted arms that he clutched to his sides, screamed incomprehensibly in the corner, although this was believed not to be out of fear, but simply his natural way of speaking. A toddler, missing one arm, her lips, and most of her fingers and toes, lay unresponsive at first until a careless agent pressed his boot to her, and she coughed up thick bile. Dr. Schmidt gulped again, and, stealing her nerves as if God himself had his hand on her shoulder. Doing her absolute best not to display fear in the presence of SCP 3288-6982,

she spoke to the wretched, degenerate thing dressed in its ill-fitting royal attire. Up until we found you, how many were there did you keep in captivity? The young lord, its pale, powdered skin reflected in the soft light, led out another imbecilic belch. Its jaw hung limply open, and for the first time during their discussion, Schmidt could see row after row of sharp, yellow-brown teeth, lined this thing's mouth all the way to the diseased uvula in the back. It's hard to say.

We never kept it less than under 20 heads. It led out a soft laugh, licking its thin sore-covered lips. Some we'd have howled as soon as they were born. The rest, we kept for various entertainment purposes. I had a horror of no less than 11 years in my bedchambers every week. There was a brief silence. The side effect from the drugs that were slipped into the wine were finally kicking in. Even when drugged with enough tranquilizer and sodium thio-pentol to drop an elephant,

the young lord still wasn't fully unconscious. Instead it laid there, muttering to itself as it slipped and wiggled lazily in its pile of filth. Someone would have to clean it, an unfortunate D-class no doubt, but someone who wasn't Helena Schmidt, bowing gracefully to the Habsburgian descendant, although she was sure it didn't even register she had left. Dr. Schmidt hurriedly walked out of the containment cell.

As the fresh, sanitized air of the site replaced the foul odor of perfume and urine, she turned to the headguard beside the lock. We're moving SCP 3288-6982's termination date to next Monday. As for the survivors, we'll schedule them for euthanasia starting tomorrow. SCP-3288 refers to a predatory offshoot of humanity, homo-anthropophagus, marked by severe deformities such as oversized jaws with six rows of massive teeth, elongated limbs and fingers, albinism, alopecia, chyphosis, and extreme facial and skeletal irregularities. Despite appearing emaciated, they possess great strength, heightened night vision, rapid growth, and unusually high fertility,

the result of anomalous inbreeding that removed typical genetic weaknesses while amplifying disease resistance and lifespan. Mentally unstable and addicted to human flesh, they hunt the vulnerable, often emerging from sewers in Vienna to abduct victims. Their existence came to light after a series of disappearances, with autopsies revealing injuries, Resembling hyena attacks, but caused by monstrous human-like bite patterns. Classified as SCP-3288, containment efforts involve covert patrols by Mobile Task Force Sigma 6 in affected districts, using non-lethal tracking to study and control the threat.