The SCP Experience - The Kit | SCP-1106

Episode Date: November 29, 2021

SCP Foundation SAFE class object, SCP-1106: The Kit 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-1106, 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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under my weight frantically trying to tear my fingers from around his throat

he kicks but his high thread count sheets and is thick expensive blanket restrict his legs. I look down into his face as I choke him. It's a face I've seen too many times before, a face that haunts me in my sleep. His name is Darius Fillmore the third, and I feel like I've killed him ten times already. But that can't be right,

can it? Maybe it is. Maybe I have killed him ten times. I loosen my grip slightly, letting Fillmore suck in a breath. Where is it? I ask him, whispering in the darkness of his cavernous bedroom. The deep red color fades from his pale face as his brown eyes gaze up at me. They're dead eyes. Certainly, there is no soul behind them. They're windows to avoid of indifference, cruelty, and even stark hatred. His thin lips peel back from perfectly arranged teeth. as he smiles up at me.

In the same instance, he tries to hit me in the face to knock me off him. His punch is as weak as a child's, and it barely makes me flinch. His weakness is no surprise to me. After all, he pays others to fight his battles for him. He has no need for muscles of his own. I tighten my grip again,

my own savage and pained grin, mirroring his as I feel his windpipe collapse. The cartilage crunches as I put my fury and my weight into it. Fillmore's black eyes bulge out of his skull as his face turns from red to purple. I fight back tears and revulsion as two minutes tick by. I let go of his throat, sure that he's dead, not that it will do any good. It won't. Not until I find it.

I used to wear gloves for this kind of thing. thinking to protect myself from the long arm of the law. But it became apparent quickly that no one ever reported these murders. The police were never involved. They couldn't be. I don't bother looking around for the kit. The first couple of times, I did. I spent hours looking for it in the house.

But it wasn't here. They keep it somewhere else, somewhere more secure. I leave Fillmore's room and head back downstairs to leave by the back door. I step over two unconscious security guards as I go. That's one thing that changes after each murder, the security system. They put more people on guard, upgrade the system, install cameras and motion sensors, but they don't know who they're dealing with. They don't know the skills I've cultivated over a long career of operating in the shadows.

That career and my connections are the only reason I even know about Darius Fillmore's genocidal cruelty and the kit. To the public, he's just an eccentric billionaire. Sure, there are whispers of his cruelty, but nothing has ever been proved. Most people shrug those allegations off his conspiracy, but it's all true, and I'm the only one who can stop him. I leave the way I came in, in, scaling the wall at the back of his massive property, maneuvering through the barbed wire I cut on the way in. Phil Moore's bulging eyes and discolored face tried to surface in my mind as I make my way through the woods to my truck, parked on a dirt road about a mile away. I forced the memory aside, instead focusing on why I'm doing this.

I think about the villagers he had killed so his company could mine cobalt and lithium. I think about the journalists he's had killed for getting too close, about the families he's crushed with lawsuits to avoid paying fair compensation for people killed on the job. I think about the millions of dollars he's spent on those lawsuits, much more than actually paying the compensation. And I think about the type of person that would do that. He has his fingers in everything, mining, manufacturing, communications, internet, agriculture,

His power grows every day as his money flows into the pockets of lobbyists and politicians, judges, and police captains. He has several thousand deaths on his hands, and those are only the ones I know about. There must be more. I can't allow him to continue. His reign will never stop unless I do something. I reach my truck and drive off into the night. I can't sleep. Not yet.

Even if I could go home, I wouldn't. I need to see what they do, what their response is. Besides, last time I was at home, I barely got out alive. Some of Fillmore's men had found me. The gunfight made the news, but I got out with only minor injuries. It takes me two hours to drive into the city and to the Fillmore Industries building downtown. The sun is just coming up, and rush hour. The door hasn't started yet, so I get my choice of parking spots along the street.

I park, turn the truck off, and wait. Nothing happens for a long time, just regular city traffic, people heading into the building to go to work. But just after 9 in the morning, three black SUVs drive up to the main entrance and stop. From where I am, I can see both the main doors and the SUVs. Darius Fillmore walks out of the building with an army of bodyguards and gets into the middle SUV. They quickly drive away. It's certainly not what I expected to see to have him replaced so soon.

But it doesn't matter. It tells me all I need to know. The kit is in the building. I weigh my options and come to an easy decision. I can't risk them moving the kit, so there's no time to waste. I reach into the backseat of my truck and grab my black duffel bag. I get changed into a security guard uniform and make sure to snag the ID card I paid to have made. Then I head into the building.

I've been reluctant to involve other people in this. After all, Fillmore alone makes the major decisions. But now that I'm so close, I don't hesitate. I head up to the CFO's office, barging in despite his secretary's objections. I slammed the door behind me and shove a Beretta M9 pistol into his face. Trenton Braddock is a small and savage man, but all his bravado leaves him with a gun in his face. Tell her it's okay, I tell him.

He has his hands up, and he's visibly shaking. He makes no move for his intercom. Do it now, or I kill you, and then I kill her. Okay, okay, he says, shakily. He pushes the intercom button on his desk. desk phone. It's okay, Patricia. Just a security thing. Don't worry about it. Patricia says with suspicion in her voice, let me know if you need anything. He releases the button. I know you probably don't know what the kid is. So tell me where Fillmore was before he left. What floor? What floor?

Roddick says. Yes, God damn it. What floor? You can't tell me you don't know any time he's in the building, I say. Pistol still in his face. Yes, fine. He was in the sub-basement, level B-8. But you need a key to get down there. You have a key? Well, yes, but get up, I say, putting my pistol away. We're going to walk out of here calmly. You're going to tell your secretary out there that you need to deal with a security situation, and you're going to take me to level B-8. The CFO gets up without a word. He does, as he's told, and we're in the elevator within three minutes. He puts his key into a slot in the elevator and presses the button for B8. He enters

a four-digit code before the elevator moves. I memorize the code and take his key from him. As the elevator doors open on B8, I pull out my pistol again and position the CFO in front of me. There are two security guards in front of the only door in the short corridor. They have their weapons out and are looking at me and by hostage, unsure what to do. You make a move, call anyone, or even raise your eyebrows in a way I don't like. I kill this man. I say, moving out of the elevator. It doesn't matter, one of the guards says.

Our orders are clear. He whips his gun up and fires him, hitting the CFO high in the chest. I shoot both guards quickly. Easy shots for me in such close quarters. Shit, I say, grabbing the CFO as he crumbles to the floor. I drag him over to the door and tell him to open it. He does, entering another code. Using another key and putting his eye up to a retina scanner, the door opens.

I leave him in the hallway to bleed out. Inside the door looks like an entryway to a lavish Manhattan apartment. There's a long hallway filled with fancy furniture, expensive tables, and chandeliers in the ceiling providing a warm glow. One of the hallway doors opens, and Darius Fillmore steps out, looking confused. Only it's a younger version of him. maybe in his 30s instead of his 50s like the current version.

I only hesitate for a second before I shoot him in the head, splattering his brains all over the fancy door and wall behind him. I make my way through the rooms, finding three more versions of Darius Fillmore at various ages. I kill them all without remorse. I kill them all because they must die. He must die. They're him, after all.

They all have the same soulless eyes and the same vulture grins. They're all capable of the same heinous crimes. One could argue that they're all guilty of the same crimes, even if another version ordered them done. Finally, I come to the last door in the large apartment. It's at the very back, and the kit must be behind it. There's nowhere else. I open the door and look inside.

My stomach convulzes as I see what's in the room. I was expecting just one kit, but there are six of them, six kits. four of which are sealed tight, growing four more versions of Darius Fillmore, more replacements so he can live forever, so he can continue amassing power and crushing those in his way. During my time with the SCP Foundation, I had heard that there were more kits in other locations. I had been tasked with guarding one of them,

but one day I'd come in and found it gone. When I asked my superiors about it, They told me in no uncertain terms to stop asking questions. As I stand looking at the six kits, I realize that I've underestimated Phil Moore's reach. I thought that he'd got to someone at my foundation site, but that was just part of the picture. He has clearly gotten to someone in at least six locations, probably more. His money, his power. If he has access to the terrible items being protected by the SCP Foundation, there's

nothing he can't do. Each kid is big enough to fit a newborn baby inside. After all, that's how they come out when they're ready. You put your spit or a fingernail or a hair follicle inside, let it seal, and wait three months. Once the baby comes out, it's only a matter of weeks before it's fully grown, at which point it begins to age slower. No one knows where the kits came from. No one even understands how they work. They just do. They just are. And they're indestructible.

My plan was to steal the kit. But there's no way I can carry six of them out. They're too big. And I would surely be stopped. There's probably a silent alarm going off right now. I have no choice. There's only one thing I can do. I grab the two open kits and head back to the elevator.

One under each arm. I can clone them. myself. I can create an army composed only of versions of myself, an army with two objectives, to stop Darius Fillmore, and to keep the kits somewhere safe where they'll never be used again. As the elevator doors close, I look at my dim reflection in the metal doors. I was hoping today would be the end of this fight. Turns out, it's only the beginning. But I take solace in the fact that I'll have help. The best help I can get, me. SCP 1106 is a cylindrical metal chamber composed of an unknown alloy determined to be roughly 96% iron.

During its standby phase, SCP 1106 is inactive and its top cover will be open, granting access to the interior. If at any point a human tissue sample is placed inside the chamber, SCP 1106 will close and enter its locked phase. All attempts to open or otherwise access the interior of SCP-1106 during its locked phase have proven unsuccessful. Three months after the initiation of the locked phase, the chamber will reopen and produce a human infant genetically identical to the sample donor. Lazzangue sur-gillet, puissance-moyane for 15 minutes. We'd say that's their dojo. Pre-to-joo?

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