The SCP Experience - The Monster That Learned My Name | SCP-682

Episode Date: July 31, 2026

Sixty of us went into the woods hunting a monster that couldn’t be killed. I was the only one who made it back alive. But before it disappeared into the darkness, it said something that terrified me more than anything else—it knew my name. 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:  Jake Bible Check out all of Jake’s horror story collections at: https://jakebible.com/short-storiesnovellascollections/ Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

My breathing is labored, and the pain in my chest tells me that I have at least one broken rib, possibly two, maybe three, and I might have a fracture to sternum. I wouldn't be surprised if the bones in my chest are almost dust. It sure as hell feels that way. But the way I see it, I'm lucky to still be breathing and moving at all. And moving is what I'm doing, moving as fast as I possibly can, toward the FOB and the other MTFs. if there are even other MTFs left.

I have no idea. Comes are out. It's the dead of night, and all of my equipment is either shorted out or lost back at the... Scene. Yeah, I'll call it the scene. Other names will work, too.

The massacre, the kill zone, the arboreal obitua, all those men and women torn apart in the blink of an eye. I barely had time to register what was happening before the truck tire slammed into me, knocking me back a good 30 meters, into the high grass lining the river that threads through these woods. I was lucky I didn't land in the river since consciousness was more of a theory than a practical application.

Those first couple of minutes after getting walloped, I'd have drowned for sure. When I could finally get to my feet and stumble back to the scene, I also saw how lucky I was that I'd received that walloping. Getting knocked out of the fight saved my life. Everyone at the scene was dead, and not just dead, but obliterated. bodies were crushed and stomped on human limbs hung from snapped and bent tree limbs with fingers dripping blood down from the branches above i saw faces everywhere with most of them no longer attached to skulls i won't describe the viscera even now two clicks away from the scene i can smell the awful the internal stench of dozens of human beings i used to work with train with fight with all gone my boot catches on a tree root and i almost face plant, but I catch myself, my hand shooting out to press against a hemlock tree. The jarring save makes my ribs and sternum sing, and I gasp loudly.

Weak. A low, rumbling voice mumbles. Pathetic. It sounds like a boulderade of foghorn and is trying to whisper. I can hear tree branches snapping and bushes being crumpled as it passes by somewhere to my left. Not going back. Try it. See what else. I read the files. We all did. We attended the briefings. We were locked and loaded, ready to demolish a small army if we had to. We were warned. None of us took this hunt for granted. Didn't matter.

SCPs 682 tore through us like wet toilet paper. We might as well have been standing there with our thumbs up our butts and hands on our hearts while singing, My country, tis of the 50 caliber rifles, grenade launchers, and personal minds. RPGs for Christ's sake. None of it did jack squat. Make my skin crawl. Disgusting dirty monkeys. As slowly and carefully as I can, I hunker down, squatting close to the ground. One arm held up to my chest, trying to keep my ribs from grinding on each other, while my other hand is pressed against the moist forest floor, all that's keeping me from falling over. Squinting into the gloom, I try to catch sight of the beast.

It shouldn't be hard since the damn thing is bigger than a freaking buffalo, but there's no sign of it physically. Only it's incessant, constant mumbling to tell me that it's nearby. Stupid creatures, wipe them all away. A twig snaps behind me, and I know the thing hurt it. Gibbons? Gibbons, that you? Crap, that's hangar. Gibbons? I see you there. You good, man? I barely got... I don't even have time to warn, the poor guy.

Trees are shoved out of the way like stray furniture as the monster races through the forest, missing me by inches, and tears into Hanger with its front claws as it continues its litany of complaints. Annoying scum. Shred, rip. Smell bad. Claw, tear, snap. Never learn. Crunch, crunch, squish.

Stupid. All stupid. Hanger never even got a scream off. The thing must have torn his throat out first. There's a wet splat, a couple of bones snapping, then silence. Silence that's quickly broken by the words. Always more. I'll find more. I've pissed myself, and I pray the thing can't smell it.

More bushes are trampled, and a couple more trees toppled. I hear its mummelling get fainter and fainter until the only sound left is the blood roaring in my ears. I count to a thousand, and the thing hasn't returned for me. I count to two thousand, then stand. stand up, biting my cheek to keep from screaming as one of my ribs decides to try to free itself from my body. White hot pain is met with the taste of blood in my mouth. I swallow hard, getting my breathing under control once more, and aim myself in what I believe to be the correct direction. Twenty minutes later, and I'm leaning against a fur, my body sweating profusely as I

struggle to breathe. The pain in my chest is a million times worse, and I fear that one of the ribs has punctured a lung, or nicked it if that's a thing. I'd probably be faced down on the forest floor if my lung were actually punctured. Either way, it takes all of my effort and concentration to get a decent breath without screaming. I have to move from tree to tree. Take a few steps, rest against the trunk, take a few more steps, rest again, over and over, rinse and repeat. Until I see lights and hear voices, muted, somber voices, not quite panicked, but not exactly stable. There's a whistle to my left, followed.

by an answering whistle to my right. Gibbons, I whisper, knowing there's more than likely an operator directly behind me with the back of my head in their sights. Calico, Bravo, Echo Green. Confirmed, the guy behind me says. Jesus, Gibbons, what the shit happened back there? Leaning my back against a pine.

I look behind me at an operator with full gear on. Must be nice to feel protected like that. Not that it matters. Musgraves? I ask. He gives me a quick nod as he slings his rifle and steps to me. offering a helping arm. I take it and lean on the guy as he walks me out of the woods and into the FOB where six tents are set up, and several medics are standing around looking useless and afraid. Yeah, they are correct on both counts, but just don't know it. One of the medics rushes

forward and takes me from Musgraves, but the operator keeps in step with us as I'm helped into the med tent and eased up onto an exam table. How many more are coming? Musgraves asks. We lost contact, and Commander Longworth ordered the rest of rest of us to stay at the FOB. That didn't go over well, man. Let me tell you. Me and the guys started arguing, and then we... Nobody else is coming. I croak. Musgrave stands there, staring down at me. What do you mean? We sent ten teams of six. Some had to make it. The pemic glares at Musgraves until he takes a few steps back. Then the man cuts my uniform from me. Oh shit. Musgrave says with a gasp. That doesn't look good. I managed to glance down at my chest. It's nothing but a giant red

purple bruise. I let my head fall back and close my eyes. No sleeping yet, Gibbons. A gruff voice sparks. I need a sit rep pronto. My eyes shoot open to see Commander Longworth stomping over to me, the flaps of the med tent falling close behind him. I want a full accounting of what exactly happened back there. Someone shit to bed, and I want to know who it was. He isn't exactly foaming at the mouth, but a good amount of spittle flies through the air, forcing the medic to duck his head or get showered. Talk now. I laugh. I can't help it, even though it causes waves of agony to roll through my chest. You think this is funny? Sixty men and women are gone, Gibbons. Fifty-nine. I reply and laugh again. Commander Longworth is on me so fast that I almost think that the monster has hit the

FOB and finally caught up to me. The man's neatly trimmed white mustache is only an inch for my face. Laugh again and I'll personally break the rest of your ribs. You hear me? Gibbons? Sir, it's a fear response. The medic says, gently putting his hands on the commander's shoulders and pushing him back away from my face. Gibbons is coming off an adrenaline spike. He's not laughing. He's relieving stress. It's normal. I know what he's doing, asshole, but he's SCP. He's elite MTF. He's trained not to break like this. So if I think he's laughing at the situation, then he's goddamn laughing at the situation. The medic holds his hands up and backs away. Then you treat him. I'll step outside until you're done, sir. The medic disappears. Yeah, I'll give you some privacy,

Musgrave says and chickens out like the medic. In seconds, I'm alone with Commander Longworth. Talk Gibbons. I clear my throat, gasp in pain, and try not to laugh again. Can I have some water? I managed to ask. The commander seems to debate the issue. Then he walks to a stack of cases of bottled water and tears one open, pulling a handful of plastic bottles free from their wrapping. He throws one at me, and I catch it. I also scream and almost black out. Longworth sneers as he looms over me again, then nods at the water bottle clutched in my hands. Need me to open that for you? I shake my head, grip the lid and twist, maintaining eye contact with the commander the entire time. After a few sips, I set the bottle on the tray next to my exam

table and sigh. I never saw it, sir, I admit. It happened so damn fast. They'd only heard what was happening briefly before I took a tire to the chest and was thrown clear of the woods. Thrown clear? By what? SEP 682? Yes, sir. The beast has a wicked wind-up. We did hear gunfire on the comms for the couple of seconds that it was still active. Someone must have tagged it, wounded the goddamn thing. Maybe. I don't think it mattered, or matters. It just absorbs the bullets. Commander Longworth doesn't argue with me.

He led the briefing before we left the foundation site on this mutant gator hunt. Man, I wish it were just a stupid old gator. Before Longworth can ask more questions, I continue, explaining what I saw when I came to and walked back to the scene. He doesn't go green from my descriptions, but I'm almost sure that his mustache is a little wider when I stop speaking. Not a one made it out? Just you?

Hanger got out somehow. He caught up to me. Longworth raises an eyebrow. I shake my head. It got him too. God damn it. We aren't prepared, sir. If it gets here, it'll...

Shut the hell up, Gibbons. We're prepared. You have no idea how prepared we are. He turns on his heel and leaves the tent without another word. The medic returns seconds later and tries to get me fixed up. I shouldn't immobilize your ribs. It takes longer to heal. But that sternum of yours is almost floating free.

So I'm going to wrap your chest, then wrap your left arm your chest's first ability. It'll be a bitch going to the bathroom and getting dressed for a few weeks, so just prepare yourself. Weeks? Yeah, weeks. Sorry. He looks about for something, frowns, then shakes his head. Where the hell did I put that? The medic wanders off outside, complaining about another medic moving his kid. Then all hell breaks loose, and gunfire erupts everywhere. The medic races back into the tent, but is snatched away in the blink of an eye. His screams lost to the night. Blood splatters the outside and the tent glows red. The gunfire is intense and constant. Through it, I can hear men and women shouting, screaming, crying, praying. There's a loud

boomf, then a huge concussive blast knocks me up the exam table. I probably scream, it's hard to tell. My ears feel like they are filled with cotton. The pain in my body and the rawness of my throat say that I'm screaming. There's another concussive blast and the entire med tent collapses around me, plunging me into darkness. I crawl, I scream, I crawl, I scream. Then I'm at the edge of the tent, shoving the heavy-duty material off my head so I can see what nightmare is transpiring around me. It's way worse than the scene before, and it's still happening. On the other side of the FOB, the creature, the giant reptilian monster, is ripping two operators to shreds with its gnarled claws, shoving fistfuls of bloody flesh into its mouth.

With every clawful that goes down its throat, the beast seems to increase in size. A third concussive blast slams into me. For half a second, it's like the air has been torn from my lungs. Then I'm able to suck in enough to stay alive and keep watching the horror unfold. The monster's greenish skin is flayed from its body, sending strips and shreds flying back into the forest.

Whatever the weapon is, it's designed to peel the thing apart, layer by layer. And it would work, too, if there wasn't so much matter for the monster to consume. It picks up a crying operator by the ankle, then chomps it in half, stuffing the poor guy's torso into its mouth, while it flings the legs away, taking out two operators rushing toward it with a flamethrower. The legs hit the guy with the nozzle, making him spin sideways and let loose with an accidental burst of flame. His buddy is cooked to a crisp in seconds.

Then the guy, flamethrower in all, is picked up by his head, ripped apart. and swallowed chunk by chunk, including the flamethrower. The beast belches flame, then mumbles something under its fiery breath as it stomps toward a Humvee, where a terrified operator is reloading the 50-cowl and the turret. He doesn't get it done in time, not even close. The monster lifts the front of the Humvee, then flings the vehicle end-over-end. The Gunner lives through the first tumble.

He doesn't live through the second, as the Humvee is lost in the darkness surrounding the FOB. His screams cut off his trees are demolished. Commander Longworth is shouting orders from across the FOB. He has a pistol in one hand and an M4 carbine in the other. The butt braced against his hip as he fires both weapons at the monster. His order is never ceasing. Slank it on the left.

Prepare grenades. Throw everything you've got. Power up the cannon, damn it. I don't care if it needs to recharge. Fire the goddamn thing. His pistol clicks empty, and with one hand, he thumbs the magazine release, lets the empty fall,

and slams the butt of his pistol into a fresh one on his belt in one easy smooth motion while still firing the M4. It'd be unbelievably impressive if it wasn't so futile. I can see the monster talking to itself as it stomps two operators into pulp. Someone fires an RPG, but it glances off the thing's slick skin and explodes a few feet away, fully destroying an already mangled SUV. I watch a guy from my team, Burns, try to flank the monster like Longworth ordered, but he only makes it a few steps before a truck wheel replaces his head.

I am almost certain the monster laughs as it turns to regard the now headless, but fully wheeled body that still stands upright. It puffs its cheeks and blows, and what had been burns, topples over backwards, the tire coming loose and bouncing into the night. Longworth is out of ammo and racing back toward the tripod that holds whatever weapon he's brought along that he, and some of the eggheads back at the foundation site, might have thought would work on SCP 682.

The operator handling the weird cannon steps aside and lets Longworth take the controls. Die, you rotten abomination! Longworth bellows, then takes aim and fires. That damn concussive blast nearly flattens me further than I already am. I can't even imagine what it must be like to be hit by it head on. The monster roars and whips its head around in Longworth's direction. I swear that the two lock eyes, a pair of combatants ready to face off.

Still roaring, the beast sprints at Longworth, bellowing at the top of his voice, Longworth unleashes blast after blast after blast. The top layer of the monster's skin is peeled away, flapping to the ground in its wake. Then a layer of muscle is dislodged and joins the skin, creating a trail of fleshy detritus. Another layer of muscle, then another. Vains and tendons are stripped from the beast's skeleton. There is barely anything left but bare bones by the time the monster reaches Longworth.

It doesn't matter. Its mouth, moving in what I can only guess is a continuation of its constant mumble. The monster dips a shoulder and rams the cannon and tripod, knocking the weapon backwards against Longworth. The commander stumbles and falls on his ass, dazed enough that he doesn't notice the tripod tipping over about to crush him. Commander! I shout and tried to get up onto my feet. Fat chance. I can't even make it onto my knees.

My whole body rebels, and the pain hits me so hard that it steals my voice away. Too late. Like with everything tonight, I'm too late or knocked out of the fight. useless, helpless. Longworth is pinned under the tripod, desperate to shove the weapon to the side and get free. He's yelling and cursing. Then he's reaching for a carbine only a couple of feet away. He manages to slap at it, but the moment his hand snags the grip, both his appendage and the weapon are stomped on, crushed into the dirt by one of the monster's bony paws. A bony paw that is quickly healing and reshaping as the beast swallows whatever it can get into its mouth. Humans, boots, weapons,

rocks, dirt, shredded uniforms, a flaming canister of something that goes whoopth, as soon as it swallows it down, the layers of muscles return, as do the tendons, the ligaments, the skin. Standing over Longworth, fully healed once more, the beast pushes its snout into the commander's face. Even over the cries and shouts for help from my teammates, I can hear the monster growl. Why won't you leave me alone? Longworth, ever the foundation man, smiles up at the monster through bloody teeth. Because you are an affront to all that is natural.

The creature draws back, cocks his head to the side, and growl laughs. You wouldn't know nature if it bit you in the head. Then it follows through, and Longworth's torso is spurting blood from a suddenly headless neck. I hear the gulp and swallow, and we'll never forget the sound. Never. There are a few pops of gunfire. Then the Fob goes eerily silent. Even the operators and personnel still alive have quieted down.

No one is calling out for help anymore. We all suffer quietly as the beast sniffs, Longworth's, headless corpse, then sniffs the weapon and tripod. Stupid. It mutters as it takes a bite at the tripod. In five solid chomps, it devours the weapon, tripod, and Longworth. I watch as the gashes and wounds it is. has suffered heal over. Then it coughs, hacks, and pukes up one of Longworth's boots. It does that growl

laughing again, turns its enormous body, and surveys its handiwork. Nothing in the FOB is left intact. Not a single tent is standing. Not a single vehicle is operational. Hell, not a single vehicle is even on all four wheels. Most are on their sides or upside down, with several nothing but smoking shells and smoldering flames. I cough. Shit. The beast swivels its head and finds me still semi-covered by the med tent. It licks its lips, turns, and walks over to me. Its footfalls shaking the earth. You ran, it says.

Lucky you. I meet its eyes, ready to die. It blinks once, twice, then turns away. Tell them to leave me alone. It says as it walks out of the FOB and into the darkness of the forest. Although, since several trees are currently burning brightly, There's not much of that darkness to be found anywhere. Tell them or I find you, Mr. Gibbons.

If I had any piss left, I'd wet myself again. The damn thing knows my name, and it threatened me with that name. It shoulders a burning tree out of its path, causing the pine or fir to fall against another, sending several toppling like dominoes. The sparks that are kicked up fall about the FOB like demonic fireflies. I watched them see-saw to the dirt, with half going out immediately, and the other half finding leaves or pine needles or bodies to smolder upon. I need to get to a working calm. I need to warn the cavalry that is for sure on its way to stay away.

They need to back off. We need to regroup, or it will all go to shit again. But I can barely move. I can hardly breathe. And my eyelids are so, so heavy. Maybe I'll rest a moment before trying to get to a working calm system. Just close my eyes and take a quick nap. God has saved my energy, and as my eyes close, I hear far-off explosions. I'm too late. The cavalry is already here. God saved their souls. S.P. 682 is a massive, reptile-like creature of unknown origin, classified as Ketter because of how dangerous and nearly impossible it is to destroy. The creature is highly intelligent,

capable of complex communication, and has repeatedly shown an intense hatred for all living things. Its strength, speed, and reflexes are extreme. But what makes SCP-682 truly terrifying is its ability to adapt, regenerate, and survive almost any injury. Its body can grow, shrink, rot, or rebuild itself depending on what it consumes, and it can draw energy from nearly anything, whether organic or inorganic. Even when most of its body has been destroyed, SCP-682 has still been observed moving, speaking and fighting back. Because of this, any containment breach requires an immediate response

from multiple mobile task forces, with no small team cleared to engage it alone. Thanks for listening. Be sure to click that follow button with all notifications on to get notified every time a new episode is released.