The SCP Experience - The Monster I Made | SCP-6139

Episode Date: August 21, 2026

A Foundation researcher survives a horrifying anomalous accident that leaves his face permanently disfigured—and becomes convinced everyone around him secretly sees him as a monster. Then he discovers an SCP that can make him invisible, transform his body, and finally give him the power to punish everyone he believes betrayed him. This story is derived from ⁠The SCP Foundation Database⁠ and is released under Creative Commons Sharealike 3.0.⁠ ⁠⁠⁠⁠https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/ ⁠⁠⁠ Author:  Matt Doggett * * * 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 18. Listener discretion is advised.  #thescpexperience #scp #scpfoundation #scpencounters #securecontainprotect #scpstories Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

The elevator doors opened onto a brightly lit, windowless corridor. Straight ahead, three armed security guards loitered around what looked like your standard security screening device. But you wouldn't find this machine in any airport or courthouse. As I approached the guards and placed my bag on the conveyor belt, an itch flared beneath a sleeve covering my right arm. I resisted the urge to scratch. Knowing the drill, I waited for the go-ahed to step through. my head tilted down. I waited. One guard cleared his throat. Sir, I'm going to need you to look up. His name was Alton. Do we have to do this every night?

I said in a low growl. You know me. You know it's me. Alton sighed. Yes, sir. We do. The cameras need to see your face, like I've told you before. Clenching my jaw, I raised my head. But instead of looking at the cameras hidden inside the top of the metal detector, I glared at the guard. The other two were silent, but I felt them staring. Alton's eyes crawled all over my face before they met my gaze. I could see the disgust, wanting to surface. I knew that he and the other two would groan and laugh and talk about my face as soon as I was out of ear shot. Something beeped, and the guard nodded. Thank you. You can come through now. I stomped through, yanked my bag up, and continued on my way.

ears strained for any indication of what they would surely say about me. By the time I reached my lab, I could still hear their derisive laughter. I dismissed the small internal voice that told me it was impossible to hear them from here. Even after the door closed, their laughter echoed in my head. It only stopped when I leaned over the control board, looking into the containment chamber. I smiled. The chamber looked empty, but I knew it wasn't. I flipped a switch.

A UV light in the chamber came to life, and with it, the vision of my savior. The naked, purple-skinned humanoid stood against the wall opposite the door. Tall, bald, painfully slender, and without any identifiable reproductive organs, it made no move. The artificial UV rays paralyzed it. Irregular white spots dotted its naked body. Coupled with the purple skin, the sight reminded me of a painting of the night sky. Instead of hands, silver blades protruded from its forearms.

I looked down at my mangled and half-useless right hand, then back at the creature. Where a human would have eyes, two glittering red-tinged ovals stared back at me. They resembled Mars in the night sky, star-like at first glance, but marked by an unmistakable crimson glow. I turned the UV light off, the skip disappearing as soon as the ultraviolet rays ceased emitting. When I caught sight of my reflection in the glass, my smile flatlined. All the marvels of modern medicine and plastic surgery, and this was the best they could do? It was no wonder Harper left me.

I would have left me too. But that didn't stop the swell of rage I felt for my wife, ex-wife. It didn't stop me from feeling betrayed. Disgusted, I turned away from the viewing window. After working for about an hour, I locked the lab door from the inside, disabled the camera, the cameras, shut off all the lights, even those in the containment chamber, and dug a tin of mince from my bag. I opened it and found the sleeping pill I'd stored inside and popped it in my mouth. When I was feeling drowsy, I unzipped my hoodie and pulled it off, glancing at the most recent

designs cut into my right arm. The ones on my legs, chest, and back had long since stopped itching. I made my way into the containment chamber, shutting the door even though I knew there was no threat of it escaping. I lay on the chamber's sole bed, my unmarked left arm on the outside for easier access. Once I was comfortable, I reached up and removed my hat, setting it on my stomach. Then I looked around. You don't care, do you? I asked. There was no answer.

I didn't expect one. Soon, sleep took me. In my dreams, the accident had never happened. I still had my face, my wife, and my life. but dreams never last. It was just another Thursday, the underground facility humming with activity. I still don't know why the containment breach alarm didn't sound sooner.

No one has ever given me a straight answer. By the time it finally went off, the breach was already well underway. Samantha and I had run into each other in the hallway upstairs, quickly determining that we were both headed to the wet lab. This was a common enough occurrence, although I had a feeling that Samantha scheduled her lab time the same as mine for a reason. A pretty young woman with short blonde hair, a petite figure, and a sharp wit.

Samantha was flirty with me. I wasn't above returning some light flirting, but I was married, and it went no further than that. Opting to take the stairs down the three flights to the lab, we chatted like normal, mostly talking about books we were reading or shows we were watching, anything but work. As we reached our floor, I held the door open for her. She stepped into the hallway. I stepped out after her, nearly crashing into her back as she stood frozen in the hall. A heartbeat later, I saw what she was looking at.

A young man in his early 20s, dressed in white coveralls, was sprinting on the hall toward us. Clutched against his chest was a transparent containment cradle with an infant strapped inside. The man was pale, patchy-bearded, and well over six feet tall. several inches taller than me. Two guards rounded a distant corner behind him, yelling for him to stop. The stairwell door shut on its hydraulic arm. A moment later, the containment breach alarm sounded. I heard the unmistakable thunk of the stairwell door locking, standard protocol. Every level had a bunker where people were supposed to gather in the event of a breach, but we were far from it. I had no idea who the young man was,

whether he was a researcher, a test subject, or something worse. I didn't know, what was inside the cradle either. But the context clues were screaming in my face. His eyes locked on Samantha as he closed in, and a series of possibilities flashed through my mind. He might take her hostage. He might use whatever was inside that cradle against her. Either way, I couldn't let him reach us. I thought about grabbing Samantha and running down the hallway in the opposite direction, but I figured it would only delay the inevitable. Plus, it would take us farther from the approaching guards. So, making a split-second decision, I jerked Samantha back by one arm, shoved her down the hall, and then turned to face the young man,

who was now within ten yards. The guards were still shouting, but all my attention was on the young man. His eyes locked onto me. I heard Samantha running down the hall. Good. Then his eyes darted to the door. He angled that way, not knowing it was locked. The thunderous clap of a gunshot made me flinch. The round tore through the side of the containment cradle before passing close enough to my right ear that I heard it whistled by. The young man stumbled into the lock door and collapsed. The damaged cradle struck the floor beside him. Its clear shell fractured and flecked with blood.

Warm droplets had already splashed across my face. On reflex, I reached up and wiped my face, doing little more than smearing the blood around and getting the stuff on my hand. That one perfectly natural move has haunted me ever since. Don't touch the blood! One of the guards shouted. The blood?

I had already wiped my face. Whatever had splashed me was now smeared across. my skin and coating my right hand. Soon enough, I understood why he had shouted. The young man wasn't the anomaly. The infant inside the cradle was SCP 734. Any living tissue from the child, including its blood, caused human flesh to begin breaking down roughly two hours after contact. The effect started at the exposure site and spread outward, peeling the body away layer by layer. Most people in my position would have died, but the foundation surgeons worked quickly to scrape away pretty much my entire face and the skin of my right hand, stopping the spread of

the anomaly before it ate into the underlying structure. They had done their best with reconstructive surgery and skin grafts and whatever else they could think of, but their best wasn't enough. When I awoke in the chamber, I reached for my hat as I moved to sit up. The hat tumbled off my stomach and hit the floor. Something was different. My hands wouldn't work like normal. Blinking in the darkness, I perched on the edge of the bed and looked at my hands. Terror flushed the remnants of sleep away. More deformities, my mind screamed. I no longer had any hands. In their place, jutting from my tapered forearms were blades like the ones on 61.39, only smaller. The skin on my arms were purple with white spots. Standing, I lifted the hem of

my shirt with one of the blades to see that my stomach skin was the same purple and white. No, it's not supposed to be like this, I thought. I'm supposed to be. My eye caught on a figure standing nearby, cutting off my panicked thoughts. I could see the skip. It stared at me with those sparkling white-red star eyes. None of the UV lights were on. For a moment, I thought the transformation had failed.

With no UV lights on, I shouldn't have been able to see my own body. Then I noticed 61.39 standing nearby, just as visible to me as I was to myself. The answer. clicked into place. Whatever made us invisible to others didn't work on our own kind. Leaving my clothes on, sure the anomalous power would extend to them, I walked out of the chamber, leaving the door open. As I approached the door to the hallway, I sensed movement behind me. Peering over my shoulder, I spotted the skip. It loped toward me, long, bladed arms swinging at its sides. Then it was past me. Using its hand blades, it made quick work of opening the door, much quicker

than I would have done. It slipped into the hallway and disappeared from sight. I stood in the lab, looking through the open door, waiting, but no alarms sounded. I had disabled them all, or at least the ones from my lab and containment chamber. I had done it in such a way that it appeared to the site's computer system as if the alarms and cameras were still working as normal. Still, doubt had lingered. Sixty-one-39 wasn't a violent skip. It didn't kill people. Otherwise, I would have found a way to keep it locked in. I didn't want innocent people hurt, only the guilty. I had slept all night, and most of the morning to ensure 6139 could finish the transformation. It was now the middle of the workday. Unlike at night, the place hummed with the energy of nearly 500 people

doing important work. The sound of footsteps coming down the hall had me tensing. I fought the urge to hide. Two of my colleagues, Falk and Jimenez, walked into view. They both glanced through the open door, their eyes landing on me. It didn't work, I thought as the dread stretched a moment too long. I just turned myself into an even bigger freak, and it didn't even work. But their eyes slid off as they glanced around the room, making no indication that they'd seen me. They both slowed down. The novelty of seeing my lab door open during the day apparently enough to do that. But they didn't stop. Soon, they were past the door. Man, I hope Rhodes is okay, Jimenez said.

imagine what he's going through. Yeah, it's awful. He was just trying to help, and now he has to live with that. I went to clench my fists at their pitying tones before I remembered I had no hands. A sudden desire filled me, stronger than the long-gone urge to hide, a desire to rush up behind them and start hacking at their necks. But no, that would ruin my plan. I knew what I needed to know. They couldn't see me, not with a minuscule amount of UV light coming from the overhead lights. I glanced at the clock on the wall in my lab, right on schedule. I slipped out into the hall. After taking the stairs and passing the place

where my good intentions and one moronic guard's bad decision had ruined my life, I arrived at the wet lab. Using the tip of one hand blade, I punched my code in. The door opened. I stepped inside the air gap chamber. The automatic system worked its magic for a minute, and then the interior door slid open with a hydraulic hiss. Three researchers glanced up from their stations, frowning at the seemingly empty chamber.

One of them was Samantha. As I moved toward her, I recalled my first day back at work after recovery. The look on her face when she saw me. The barely contained disgust that she tried to obscure with a facade of compassion. The strained way she talked to me as we made our way down to the wet lab. She'd even hugged me and said, thank you. But I could feel how tense she was. I could feel the urge to flee radiating off her. The next day, I walked to the wet lab on my own. Samantha had changed her schedule. That was the last day I'd worked normal hours. After that, it was all night work. But now, of course, she was back on her regular wet lab schedule. I stepped up beside her. She'd gone back to doing her work after marveling at the door glitch

for a few moments. Thankfully, she was at a computer instead of a biosafety cabinet, which meant I wouldn't risk releasing some sort of contagion or dangerous chemical. As I aimed a blade at the side of her delicate neck, I focused on the feeling that had seated itself in my chest when I realized Samantha wasn't coming to the lab that day. The hurt and betrayal of her two-faced gratitude. Sneering, I plunged the blade into her flesh. She jerked away with the gasp and fell out of her seat.

Arterial blood spewed from the wound. Some of it splashed on me, but I knew it wouldn't be visible, just like my clothes weren't. The other two researchers rushed over, gasping and panicking. I knew it wouldn't be long. At the rate she was bleeding, she would be gone before anyone could help her. As I turned to leave, my gaze caught on Samantha's computer screen.

I only saw a few lines of the report, references to damaged tissue, controlled regrowth, and reconstructing the human body after severe trauma. For a moment, I wondered why she had been reading it. The thought sparked a number of doubt, but I buried it beneath my anger as I went in search of the next guilty party. The ember didn't die. It only smoldered.

And before long, it would consume everything I thought I knew. After Samantha, I found McConnell, the guard whose reckless shot had ruptured S.P. 734's containment cradle and splattered the infant's anomalous blood across my face and hand. Even if his shot hadn't ruptured the cradle, it could have struck me, Samantha, or the man carrying it. As it turned out, the runner had been an unarmed test subject, attempting to escape with SCP 734. The infant itself posed no threat unless someone came into direct contact with its living tissue.

McConnell should have known that shooting anywhere near its containment unit could expose everyone in the corridor. The guard had been demoted, even though he should have been fired. I found him slouching behind a desk at the entrance to a records room that was only there to serve as punishment detail for fuck-up guards. He was playing a game on his computer, a slack expression on his fleshy face. I leaned in and whispered, You ruined my life! When McConnell jerked away from me, I whipped one blade out and sliced his cheek open, the edge dragging along his teeth.

Screaming, he scrambled to his feet, reaching for his gun. I whipped my blade down, severing the first two fingers on his gun hand. I swiped and slashed and stabbed, taking my time with him, telling him exactly who was ending his life. By the time I was finished, only one name remained on my list. Harper. Driving it proved difficult, as I figured it would. By the time I arrived at Harper's house, my steering wheel looked like it had been used as a cat's scratching post.

With some effort, I put the car in park and walked up the pathway to my ex-wife's modest rental house. Getting inside wasn't hard. The blades, sharp enough to cut through wood with a little elbow grease, made short work of the front door. as I pushed it open and the section of the door containing the knob and deadbolt fell to the floor. I heard Harper move somewhere in the one-story house. I figured she was at her home office, having worked remotely for years. I headed toward the source of the noise, which led me to a hallway. She poked her head out of a room down the hall, strands of blonde hair that had escaped from her messy bun,

waving in an air-conditioned current. Hello? She straightened as she stepped into the hall. I stood at the end of the hallway, recognizing the faded red shorts and the loose black tank top and the look of fear on her face, especially the look of fear. That ember of doubt flared inside me. I hesitated. Harper moved toward the wall.

Edgar, is that you? I tensed. How did she know? She reached for a light switch. At first, I thought this was a completely normal thing to do. But then I realized there was plenty of sunlight coming into the hallway through the open doorways. She flipped the switch, and her eyes locked onto me as the UV light ripped my cloak away. Her fear turned to terror.

Unlike 61.39, artificial UV light didn't paralyze me. It only made me visible. Raging, I darted down the hallway toward Harper. She shouted, he's here! He's here! As she ducked back into the room and slammed the door. I reached the door moments later and tried to kick it in. When that didn't work, I sliced around the knob, much like I'd done at the front door. My second kick opened the door.

But instead of Harper waiting in the room, I found myself facing three mobile task force members with guns pointed at me. I knew they would put it together, but I didn't think it would be this fast. Regret, scorched my insides. I'd taken too long with McConnell. Reversing direction, I ran back into the hall. More men with guns cut me off. Seeing that I had no other choice, and knowing it had been the plan all along, I brought one blade to my throat and dragged it across. But there was no pain, no blood.

Nothing happened. Confused, I looked down and dragged a blade across my opposite arm. Nothing. It wouldn't cut. Before I could do anything else, a dart sank into my chest, fired by someone down the hall. The drug worked fast. I collapsed to the floor. As the MTF members worked to secure me, my head lulled to the side on my paralyzed neck. I saw Harper standing just outside an open window, looking in at me. No, I thought, as the emberra. of doubt finally caught fire. Harper had loved me after the accident. She had stayed. She had held me, reassured me, and told me again and again that my face changed nothing. But I had taken every hesitation, every sad glance, every careful word, and twisted it into proof that she was repulsed by me. I had built an entire version of our marriage inside my own head, one where she was cruel, dishonest, and ashamed of me, because that was easier than admitting how much I hated myself. can see it on your face. I had screamed at her more than once. Don't lie to me. Don't fucking lie to me. That's all I ask. I'm not lying. She often replied, sadness on her face, until eventually that

sadness morphed to fear. But now, as she stared at me through the window, I realized I'd been wrong about her look of revulsion. As it turned out, I had never seen true disgust on her face, not when we were married. Not until now. I've had plenty of time to think about things. I've been in this containment cell for months now while they decide what to do with me. I've gone over it all again and again, but I keep coming back to two things. One is how Harper looked at me after I tried to kill her. The other is what I saw on Samantha's computer screen in the lab that day. The report she was reading. It was just a glance, but I got a confirmation when her boss, a guy named Parker, came to tell me how much he hated me for what I'd done. After his tirade, I asked him about Samantha's

change in lab schedule. I gave him the dates. He checked his calendar. There was a conflict with the schedule, he said, talking to me from the other side of reinforced glass. Another project took precedence, so I pulled her off the one she'd been working on. She didn't need to go to the wet lab then, not for a while after that. That first day you're talking about, we had a mandatory last minute meeting right around the time she would have gone to the lab. He paused. Is that why you killed her? Because, what? You thought she was trying to avoid you? Even if she was...

He shook his head. Jesus, you're fucking pathetic. He turned to leave, but I stopped him. What was in the report? Parker looked back at me, his expression hardening. You saw it correctly. Samantha was developing a way to regrow damaged human tissue and shape it to match what had been lost.

He paused, letting the word sink in. She volunteered for the project because of... you. She knew how much you were suffering. She thought that, if it worked, she might be able to give you your face back. His mouth twitched with disgust. And you murdered her for it. And then he was gone. And now I'm left knowing that I killed Samantha for no reason. It's strange, but now I'm grateful that I took my time with McConnell. Not that he deserved it, but if I hadn't, I probably would have killed my ex-wife. I now know that Harper never actually found me physically repulsive. What she couldn't stand was that I'd allowed myself to become a monster on the inside,

and now on the outside too. My captors know this all too well. The containment cell I'm in isn't like the others. It's different. The UV lights remain on at all times. But that's not all. The whole place, the walls, floor, and ceiling is covered in mirrors so I can see what I've become. And the one thing that didn't change during my transformation?

My hideous fucking face. SCP 6139 is a hairless emaciated humanoid entity with dark purple skin and small white discolourations across its body. Instead of hands, it possesses long, blade-like protrusions on the ends of its forearms. Under normal circumstances, the entity is impossible to visually perceive, but ultraviolet light from an artificial source can both reveal and paralyze the entity. At any given time, the entity will target a specific human being, designated SCP 6139-1. The entity will attempt to locate SCP 6139-1

whenever the latter sleeps. If it succeeds, it will make small, shallow cuts in the human skin using its blades. This behavior lasts until SCP 6139-1 wakes, or the cuts cover the subject's entire body. Once the body is covered, the subject will transform into an entity identical to 6139, invisible outside of artificial UV light. However, 61.39-1 subjects have not suffered paralysis under UV light and do not appear to have the same compulsions as the entity.

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