The SCP Experience - The Memento Asset | SCP-2904 and SCP-2076

Episode Date: July 20, 2022

SCP Foundation SAFE and KETER class object, SCP-2904 and SCP-2076: The Memento Asset This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-2904 and https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-2076, and is released under Creative Commons Sharealike 3.0. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/ Author: Matt Doggett Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/MatthewDoggettAuthor/ Website/Newsletter sign up: matthewdoggettauthor.com New Book Releases: https://www.amazon.com/Matthew-G-Doggett/e/B08FD5378Z 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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on Ontario. 50 tours to pay money to $1 $10. The stairwell smells of gunpowder. There's a security officer lying dead at my feet on the landing. His brains are plastered all over the smooth concrete wall. Judging by the still dripping red in gray sludge, he died very recently. Did I kill him? I have an M4A1 carbine on a strap around my neck, and I'm holding the weapon in a ready position.

I'm dressed for combat. The trajectory, trajectory of the blood splatter tells me it's possible that I shot him from the lower landing as I came up the stairs. A voice crackles in my ear. It's one I recognize, and it belongs to someone I trust. Bolden. You're with me, Angle? She says over the radio. I shake my head, clearing the confusion. My training comes back to me. Dead security officer between levels three and four, I say. No sign of any hostels yet. Continuing on. your right hand for your objective, she says. I lift my right hand off the carbine. There's a clear plastic card holder strapped to my right wrist. It shows a picture of a door. On the door, the words, server room two are clearly visible. I can also see the room number on the wall

next to the door, 804. Copy that, I say, stepping over the dead security officer's legs and heading up toward the eighth floor. My knees creak as I move, reminding me I'm not a young man anymore. I shake it off and focus on the task at hand. As I move up toward the sixth floor, a gunshot echoes down the stairwell. I move with increased caution, coming to the seventh floor landing. There's another security officer in the stairwell, dead. His phone lies nearby, as if he had it in his left hand when he was shot. The pistol in his right hand and the fact that I didn't hear any footsteps

after the shot makes me think he killed himself. The entry wound to the temple supports the theory. I think I know what's going on. I've trained for this. Heading up to the eighth floor landing now, I say, stepping over the guard. The stairwell smells of gunpowder.

I look back down the flight of stairs and see a dead security guard. Did I kill him? It's possible. I'm certainly dressed for it. I have a weapon. But I can see the entry wound is at his temple. Not likely then.

My pulse is high, telling me I'm likely in a combat situation. I listen hard, but don't hear any movement from up or down the stairs. A voice crackles in my ear. You with me, angle? It's bolden. The confusion fades as much. Confusion fades as my training kicks in. I'm approaching the eighth floor.

Check your right hand for the objective, Holden says. I do. A server room on the eighth floor, room 804. Memories of touching a strange metal sphere are fresh in my mind. Like I just did it minutes ago. But that's not possible. Working backward through time, my memories inform my damaged brain what happened.

But it's like a stranger speaking to me. stranger speaking to me. The person I was seems so far away from the person I am now. Mostly because I don't know who the hell I am now. I gaze cautiously through the small vertical window and the metal door to the eighth floor. Looks clear. Opening it, I check for hostels, going through the motions without thinking about it. This section of the floor is clear. The nearest office door is 825. I need to find 804. There's a window nearby. I look out an unfamiliar skyline,

a bustling city in the middle of the day. Eighth floor is clear so far, heading to find room 804, I say. Copy that. Bolden replies. Moving down the hallway, I glance through the window and into a dark office. I hear someone inside, sobbing. I can't see anyone, but I'm guessing they're all sheltering in place. Active shooter drill.

The hallway turns up ahead, so I approach the corner with caution. Glancing around, I see three people with mismatching body armor and masks. They're all carrying weapons, and they're crouched around room 804, messing with the security keypad. Retreating around the corner, I whisper into my throat, Mike. Tortors. Take them down and secure the room, Bolton says. Copy.

I'm in a hallway in an office building. My pulse is high, which means danger. I look around, willing recognition to come to me, but it doesn't. I hear voices from just beyond the turn in the hallway. Looking around the corner, my eyes meet those of a man dressed in black clothes and body armor. His two companions are focused on trying to get the door opened. The man calls out something unintelligible and raises his M-16, firing just as I duck away.

Plaster dust spews out of the wall next to my head as the bullet smashed through the corner. Reaching down to my waist with my left hand, I find a flash bang in a pouch there. After pulling it out and priming it, I toss it around the corner and duck away. A thunderous pop follows. Accompanied by a flash of light I can see, even though my head is turned away and my eyes are closed. I'm moving one second after the flashbang detonates. The man who was firing at me pulls the train. on his M16, firing blind into the wall across the hall from him.

I raise my M4A1 and pull the trigger. The other two hostels are gazed, fumbling with their own weapons. I kill them without a second thought. Talk to me, Angle. Bolton says. Three hostels eliminated. Securing the room now. Check your back left pocket for the key card.

Bolden says. The code is 458-769. I do. Retrieving the key card. a key card and then punching in the code. As the door opens, I hear movement from behind me. Turning around, I'm just in time to see a big, grinning man standing behind me. Thanks, he says, then slams the butt of his rifle into my face. Engel, angle, what happened? Bolton says it from my earpiece as I collapsed to the ground.

Everything goes numb and then black. I remember making the decision. I remember volunteering. Then there were several months of training, and then I touched the sphere. I ran my finger along the divot. The sphere grew unbearably hot, and then I did, like my body was filled with hot coals. But then it passed, and my new life started. Charlene's face still pops into my brain all the time. Some of the memories are good, most of them are bad. The ones that surface most are memories of when I had let her down.

The swirling of anger and disappointment on her beautiful face always broke my heart. Yet I did nothing to change things for her. When she left, I had nothing. I was getting too old for operations. I knew in a couple of years I would be relegated to desk duty. And the irony of it was, I had been looking forward to desk duty. right up until Charlene left me. I was looking forward to making up for lost time with her,

working regular hours for a change. But it was too little, too late. And when she left, the last thing I wanted was free time. So I signed up for this program. Little did I know. I would be in that space mentally for the rest of my life. I would continue to revert back to how I was when I touched the sphere. I condemned myself to continually living the heartbreak I was experiencing at the time.

Because when you can't make new memories, it's like time stands still. Did I do it on purpose? Was it a subconscious punishment? I don't think so. I was just desperate. And desperation makes you do foolish things. Pain makes me cry out and open my eyes, leaving the fuzzy world of semi-consciousness behind. I'm strapped to a chair in a room full of servers.

They're blue lights giving the man crouching in front of me a sickly pallor. Bucking in the chair, I try to pull my hand away from him, but it's no use. He's already cut the pinky finger off my right hand, and my chair is pressed up against a server rack, keeping me from moving. He smiles as he works with the bolt cutters. Even crouching, I can tell he's a big man. He wears worn-looking urban fatigues under his bulletproof best. There's another man standing nearby.

Where the big man has a receding hairline making for a domed forehead and a long face, this man has a thick head of hair, and he wears a mask over the lower half of his face. The big man gets the bolt cutters around my right finger and looks up into my face expectantly. You're not going to beg, he says, smiling. They'll grow back. I say through gritted teeth, breathing hard and sweating. The hell they will, big man says, depressing the handles and chopping off my finger. I scream out in pain, but I don't beg.

Come on, man, the smaller man says. Do we have to do this shit? Can't we just lock him up in another room or something? You've got a few minutes until the computer finishes doing its thing, big man says. I look down the row and see an open server cabinet. There's a laptop computer connected to one of the servers with a cable. It's too far away to make out what's happening on the screen. Some kind of decryption program, I'm guessing.

What is it? I say. What are you stealing? Big Man laughs. We're not stealing anything. We're giving this fucking soulless corporation a gift. A gift for everyone who works for this company. What's the gift? I say.

You'll see. Big Man says. stepping away from me and setting the cutters down. He picks up a pistol from on top of a nearby duffel bag. He steps back to me with a pistol in his left hand. With his right, he pulls a knife from a sheath at his waist. He then cuts the tape with the knife, releasing my injured right hand. Are you fucking crazy?

The other man says, You're going to give him a gun? What if it doesn't work on him? It works on everyone. Big man says in a growl. That's the whole reason we're here, remember? Besides, there's only one bullet in the gun, and the guy only has three fingers.

He won't be able to shoot anyone but himself. Yeah, but... The other man only gets the two words out before trailing off. Resheathing the knife, big man pulls out a phone, opens an app, and then looks away from the screen as he moves his thumb twice. He turns the phone around, putting it in my face.

Read it, he says. It's a picture of a grown man and a teenage girl. The man looks to be her father. They're outside and he's holding a rifle, leaning down next to her as if instructing her on how to use the weapon. Below this picture, it reads, Did you know, shooting yourself can increase your bullet resistance? It's an info hazard.

I'm familiar with how dangerous they are. This is how we got through security, big man says to me, bragging. It wasn't hard to get a list of phone numbers for everyone on the security team. You were the only real hiccup. You killed my friends. And now you're going to kill yourself. He brings the phone down and presents the gun to me. But first, I take the gun and put the barrel to my head.

It's difficult to hold without my pinky and ring fingers. So I secure it against my temple as I ensure my grip is good. Then I turn it around and point it at big man. His eyes go wide. Impossed, I pull the trigger. The bullet smashes through his face. He drops his phone as he crumples to the floor. I rock in the chair, using my momentum to tip the chair over toward the phone. The other man yells out, bringing his own gun up to shoot me.

I toss the empty pistol aside, grab the phone from the ground, and present the screen to the other man. Thankful that the info hazard is still pulled up. The man sees what I'm doing, and he shuts his eyes. just as he's about to fire his gun at me. I watched the barrel, knowing that he could still hit me if he pulled the trigger, but he doesn't shoot me.

He turns the gun on himself, opening his eyes. He must have seen just enough of the info hazard for it to work on him. He puts the M16's barrel under his chin and hooks his thumb through the trigger guard. I can't believe I never knew this before, he says. It makes sense. He pulls the trigger, splatter. splattering his brains all over the ceiling. The room smells like gunpowder.

Three of my limbs are strapped to a chair, and I'm lying on the floor next to a dead man. There's another dead man not far away from me. His brains drip from the ceiling. Two of my fingers have been cut off, and while they hurt, I know for my training that they will grow back within months. One of the perks of SCB 2904. I'm supposed to have a radio in my ear, but I don't feel it. Maybe one of these men took it out when they captured me. I don't know if the threat is over yet. I need to get free.

The dead man nearest me has a knife on his belt. I drag myself over and pull it out. Once free, I find my radio and my neck mic in a nearby duffel bag. I also locate what looks to be my gun. Angle? A woman's voice says over the radio. It's Bolden. Angle, if you can hear me,

We're coming in. I'm here, I say. I'm in a server room, two hostels down. There's a computer hooked up to one of the servers. What are my orders? Oh, thank God. You ought us worried, Engel. Disconnect the computer immediately.

Tell me whether the computer has completed its upload process. I move over to the computer and disconnect it. Negative, I say. I stopped it at 95%. Good. Bolton says. Relief in her voice. You just saved a lot of lives. Stay put. We're coming in.

Copy, I say. I opened the file the dead men were trying to upload. It's another info hazard that was going to go out to every employee in the company. It's a picture of a kitchen knife on a white countertop. Below the picture, the text reads, did you know? Stabbing your loved ones with a kitchen knife while they sleep is the best way to show you love them. Don't forget to stab yourself when you're done. Families that bleed together are scientifically proven to be happier, healthier, and more productive. SCP 2904 is an oblate spheroid composed of osmium alloyed with tungsten, iron, carbon, and unidentified exotic matter. There is a 3mm deep depression or dimple at one of the poles. A 1 millimeter deep groove or channel extends away from this depression and

traces a complex path across the object's surface. The primary anomalous effect of SCP 2904 is activated by a living entity directly touching the object and tracing the groove in the object's surface over its entire path, beginning and ending at the polar depression. Humans who have carried out this procedure report that the object grows painfully hot to the touch and pulses or beats like a heart for a few seconds immediately after the procedure is completed. The heat and pulsing then expand to affect their entire body before quickly waning. All entities in direct contact with SCP 2904, when it is activated, are exposed to its anomalous effect

and are hereafter designated as instances of SCP 2904-1. SCP 2904-1 instances display the following traits. Instances cease aging, showing no significant changes to their health or physical makeup after exposure. Instances gain a low-level regenerative ability. Tests have shown that minor cuts fully heal without scarring in a matter of days, and amputated limbs fully regrow and resume full functionality within eight months. Instances show enhanced resistance to toxins and disease.

Instances do not require food or water, but do still require air. Instances suffer from memory difficulties, similar to antero-grade amnesia. This makes it impossible for subjects to learn new tasks or create new memories. They still retain memories and abilities they had before touching SCP 2904. Instances demonstrate a significant resistance or outright immunity to many memetic hazards, cognitive hazards, and related phenomena. SCP 2076 is the defined designation for an infohazardous publicity campaign currently manifesting through folders, billboards, and local radio and television transmissions in the state of Illinois. When compared to non-anomalous publicity efforts, SCP 2076 shows no visually perceptible signs of anomalous properties in its layout, design, or distribution, and is laid out as a common low-budget marketing operation.

Any sapient beings affected by an instance of SCP 2076 will show continuous interest in taking part in the activities described by the info hazard, while holding a constant need to permanently introduce the depicted situation to one's daily activities in an ordinary manner, and while not being able to perceive any egregious peculiarities involving one's recent behavior.