The SCP Experience - The New Guy and the Efficient Washbasin | SCP-864

Episode Date: October 7, 2022

SCP Foundation EUCLID class object, SCP-864: The New Guy and the Efficient Washbasin This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-864, and is released under Creative Commons Sharealike 3.0. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/ Author: Lucas Click Check out the Author's work here: newpulptales.com DISCLAIMER: This episode contains explicit content. Parental guidance is advised for children under the age of 18. Listen at your own discretion. #thescpexperience #scp #scpfoundation #scpencounters #securecontainprotect #scpstories #scpexplained #whatisscp Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

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My brain pulsates like a heart and a skull that's three sizes too small. What did I drink last night? I try to recall the night before, but nothing comes to mind. This kind of pain I associate with raucous celebrations like, I can't remember. My dry tongue scrapes the top of my mouth like sandpaper on rocks, and I turned in my bed. to flop onto cold concrete.

Holy shit! Look, everyone! A new fish! I don't recognize the voice and immediately try to scramble to my feet but only tangle up my legs. Before I can make up from down, I'm grabbed roughly

by my shoulders and hoisted to my feet. My back slams painfully against something hard, and it jars my eyes open. It takes a moment to focus, but my vision slowly reorients. The face that greets me is something straight out of Oz, and I don't mean Dorothy and the Munchkins. The man before me is tall and muscular. His head is clean-shaven, and two teardrops are inked below his eyes. Tucking out just beneath the

sleeves of his orange jumpsuit are a matching pair of tattooed swastikas on each wrist. He grins eagerly at me, leans close to my neck, and breathes in deeply. Ooh, he's still got that new fish smell. Me and you are going to have some fun. Every horror story about prison runs through my mind. I squirm and try to break his grip, making the brute laugh harder. He thrusts his forehead forward, and my head snaps back. My hangover explodes in my head, and I taste blood. As my vision clears, I see the skinhead licking my blood from his lips. Mmm, tastes better than he smells. hasten you to the morrow, let yonder be until golden embraces evaporate us all. I think the gibberish is from the blow to my head, but the skin head freezes.

Glancing over his shoulder, I see two men approaching us, each also sporting orange jumpsuits. Glancing down, I realize that I'm wearing the same outfit. There's a letter D over each of our shoulders, followed by a string of four numbers. D-0357 is the number belonging to the man that spoke. He's ponchy with tan skin. Coppery coils make up his hair with a beard to match. He smiles at me. The other, D-1012, looks like he's never smiled in his life.

He's shorter in half the weight of my bald menace, but there's no trace of fat on his body. He's all lean muscle with a patchwork of scars for a face, and his dark hair has been sheared close to his equal. dark skin. D-1012 plucks a cigarette from behind his ear, strikes a match with his thumb, and brings the flame to his lips. You heard him. D-1012 exhales a dark cloud of smoke as he speaks. Doesn't mean I fucking understood him. The brute, D-3559 growls. Yeah, it's all about context. D-1012 flicks some ash to the ground. This doesn't concern you, Ben,

Bender? Nope. D1012. Bender, I suppose, shrugs his shoulders. But it concerns Jive for some reason, and you know we're a packaged deal. D3559 tightens his grip on my shoulders, and then suddenly, Bender is standing between us. D3559 is so shocked that he lets go and stumbles back. Bender inhales smoke again but doesn't say a word.

He doesn't need to. D3559 shoves his hands into his pockets, turns to the side, and spits, doing his best to look unimpressed. Fucking fish is too scrawny anyways. As the giant stalks away, I let out of breath and immediately tremble to my knees. My breath comes in quick breaths, too fast for me to keep up. Someone offers a hand to me, and I see that it's, what did Bender call him? Jive? I take his hand, and he helps me to my feet, smiling with genuine warmth.

The tides of Aquarius are a non-serendipidus. Happy Christ giving in somber Jupiter. I have no clue what the words mean, but they wash me at a warm comfort that I haven't felt since I woke up, so I nod my thanks. Jive's grin broadens, and he points to Bender. I, Pontus Maximus. Then he taps his chest. He who walks in the light has nothing to shed.

Bender slinks up to the wall next to me. Your name. He's asking for your name, I think. My mouth and tongue move on reflex, starting to make shapes and sounds that they must have done thousands of times. But they freeze before any sound comes out, and my mind goes blank. My name. What the hell is my name? I close my eyes and reach past the best the best.

pain in my head. But nothing comes. I try to remember my birthday, my parents, hell, my fucking favorite color. But nothing comes to mind. There are a ton of references to pop culture and the faint memory of sleeping in a bed much larger than the one that I tumbled out of. But no specifics come to mind. A terror more imposing than being manhandled by a neo-Nazi shakes my body. Bender's nose turns up like he smelled something foul. Damn it, Jive. You had me wave my dick in front of Mueller for a wipe. They're nothing but trouble.

Jive smiles brightly. The mouse in the doorknob often grins in mournful jubilation. Yeah. Bender drops his cigarette, then grinds it with his shoe. Says you. Well, come on, new guy. Might as well meet the rest of D-Class. I have no idea what Jive is saying,

and barely grasp the meaning of Bender's words. The blackness of my mind has sent a hollow feeling in my chest as my body fills with dread, pinning me to the wall. Who am I? What am I doing here? I open my mouth, but my throat is too tight to form words. Bender presses off from the wall and walks away. Jive wraps his hand gently around my wrist and guides me after him. Six cots are clustered at the center of the room.

The cover on one has been ripped to the side and tangled on the floor. I'm guessing that one is mine. Three other people in orange jumpsuits mingle through the room. The only splashes of color against a gray cell of concrete. D-3559 paces up and down the small room, sending glares in our direction. Centurions are not. Jive smiles at D-3559. Muler, Bender translates for his friend.

Keep your distance from him. When the foundation is short on D-Rats for the S-E-Ps, they ship people in from death row. Finally, my foggy brain latches onto some of Bender's words, and I swallow enough moisture to ask my questions. Foundation? S-E-Rats? Bender glances over at me and frowns like a teacher who's been asked the same thing by the same student too many times.

If you've been wiped, then you used to know what those words mean. You'll figure them out again soon enough. Mueller continues to pace and kicks the bare ground near one of the other inmates. She's sitting on the floor, head rested against her knees in a makeshift pillow. Mueller swears and kicks at her again. And then in a flash, Mueller's on the ground. The woman on top of him is pale-skinned with short curly hair that's more pepper than salt. She twists Mueller's ankle until it snaps, and Mueller's screams fill the air.

Phantoms in the morning from the dawn of man. Yeah, Bender translates again, looking at the shock on my face. D-024, Silent Mary. We haven't seen her in a while. If you think pumps like Mueller are scary, look out for anyone with a double O in their number. No guinea pig lasts this long in the foundation without a gunny pig. growing some fangs. Bender sighs and frowns at Jive. Christ, I'm starting to sound like you. So far, Bender hasn't been forthcoming with my questions. The only thing that he seems to be

interested in is Jive. We watch a silent Mary steps away from Mueller and slinks back into the same position as before. Mueller yells and writhes on the ground. So I turned toward Jive's enormous grin and then back to Bender. What's wrong with your friend? Bender shrugs his shoulders. What do you mean? He seems content to leave it at that, but Jive speaks up. Content eyes break through the dawn.

Stare at the multitudes. Then the chorus sings songs of marble and magma. Bender glances at Jive, then back toward me, apparently gleaning some intent in the madness of his words. I don't know. He's been at this longer than me. Could be he's been talking like this his entire life. More likely, though, some SCP made him like this.

Dominion is the soul of all pizza, Jive says. Yeah, Bender shrugs again. Your guess is as good as mine on that one. Something clicks in my mind at Bender's words. Specifically, double O's like Silent Mary and Jive being a prisoner longer than him. His number is greater than Jive's. Do the numbers indicate how long someone has been a prisoner? I tug at the corner of my uniform.

Sure enough, I also have a D and four digits, D-7662. Does that mean I'm the latest? That nearly 8,000 people are held prisoner here? Giving the new guy the rundown? I look up at the feminine voice and freeze. She's all curves that the orange jumpsuit can't hide. She's maybe ten years older than me, but a complete knockout. Her dark eyes and skin remind me of someone,

and I tug into the bare recesses of my mind to come up with a name. Oh, geez, what was that show from a few years back? The one with housewives? Really? She asks with a frown. You can remember housewives and not get to desperate housewives? That's it. I snapped my fingers then stare.

Wait, how did... Careful what you think around Cali, Bender says. You might offend her. She smirks at him. You never have. You're not my type. Is she a psychic? As soon as the thought forms in my mind,

Cali smirks and nods. The grin vanishes, though, as a loud click fills the room. A portion of the walls open that was so seamless that I never realized it was a door. Six men walk into the room. Each in matching uniforms, black body armor with three letters over their left breast. SCB. Several other words circle the letters, but I can only make out one as they draw close. Foundation.

Shit, better size. Johnson, that's never a good sign. The large man at the center of the new group places a hand on the gun at his hip. On the other side is a large knife. D-class, up against the wall now. They seem to be the ones in charge, and I open my mouth to ask questions, but Callie shakes her head. Bender slaps me on the shoulder, and Jive takes me by the wrist again as they lead me and

stand against the wall. Silent Mary takes her time standing and joins us, but even the guards give her a wide berth. Bueller continues screaming and cursing on the floor, and Johnson stands over him. Maybe you didn't hear me, D-3559. So let me repeat myself. Get your inbrad ass up and against that wall right fucking now. Fuck you, screw! Mueller screams.

That crazy bitch broke my fucking ankle. Johnson rears his foot back and slams it into Mueller's stomach. As the breath is knocked from his lungs, Johnson upholsters his gun and places the barrel to the X-Con's head. Did I ask you about your fucking ankle? You want to know what happens to rejects who can't do the one fucking thing they're here for? Mueller's eyes widen as Johnson pulls the gun's hammer back with a loud click. He nods, and Johnson takes a step back, but keeps the gun aimed at him the whole time.

Slowly, Mueller hoists himself up and limps over in our makeshift line. Johnson strolls in front of us, but he stops at me and smiles. Well, look who's here. Johnson smiles at me. Looks like someone needs a crash course on the rules. Huh? I shake my head. Look, man.

I just woke up here and... Johnson grabs me by the throat and pins me to the wall. A gag escapes my lips as he shoves the gun against the side of my head. One rule. You do what we fucking tell you, and you might live. You don't. And you definitely fucking die. Ah, Christ, Johnson.

Bender steps off the wall and doesn't flinch as the other guards upholster their guns and point them at him. The new guy's wiped. He's already scared out of his mind. You don't have to go all Guantanamo to keep him in line. Johnson drops me and glars at Bender. You looking for some new scars? Why not? Bender smiles for the first time since I met him.

Your mom likes them. She tells me so every time I sneak out of here. The room goes completely quiet. The silence breaks as Johnson slams the butt of his gun across Bender's forehead. He falls back against the wall before slinking to the ground. A purple mass raises in the flesh above his eye with a fresh cut at the center, pouring blood down Bender's face. Jive's face transforms into fury.

All previous signs of jovialness vanish as he steps forward and Johnson trains his gun on him. You want some too mush mouth. Enough, Johnson. The voice that speaks to the walkie-talkie across the guard's chest is high-pitch and young, even through the static. They're no use to his dead. Escort them to the testing site. Johnson's whole face twists, unable to conceal his rage. But he holsters his gun and clicks his radio. Copyed.

Jive and I help Bender back to his feet. He doesn't even stumble as we march out single file. I wait until Johnson is out of earshot before putting my hand on Bender's shoulder. Thanks for that, Bender shrugs. That wasn't for you, new guy. That was recon. The guards lead us into a perfect square of a room. Like our quarters, the room is sleek and nondescript. But several people in white coat stand waiting for us.

The outside of the floor has been lined with yellow tape. Standing at the center of the room is a red plastic bucket resting on a stool. A hose descends from the center of the room, bulky and long, something you would find on the back of a fire engine. Ah, there you are! The voice is the same from the radio. Though his voice is high-pitched, the man is middle-aged. Coupled with his bald head, short stature, and chubby stomach,

he gives the impression of a eunuch. D-class to this wall, please. Johnson, you and your men. Then, take your positions. We're almost done setting up. Bender gives no sign of his defiance from earlier. He's the first to do as told, and we all follow his lead. The guards split into two teams, each taking up positions on opposite sides of the bucket.

Callie lets out a breath. They're not leaving. That's good. Really? I ask, forgetting that Callie can just as easily read my thoughts. Johnson looks like he's looking for an excuse to shoot. us. Oh, he is, Bender leans back against the wall. But the guards listen to the lab coats. Pinkerton doesn't want us roughed up, and he wants them close. That means they want to keep us alive for this one. Before I can ask what Bender means, Pinkerton stalks in front of us. He

smiles brightly at us despite the indifference on Bender's expression and the open hostility on Mueller's. He carries a simple cardboard box with a hole cutter in the center. It reminds me of a game we used to play on Halloween, reaching in for peeled grapes and cold spaghetti and told its plucked eyes and raw guts. I snapped my eyes shut, trying to close in on the faint glimpse of a memory the box has triggered. Now then. Pinkerton's effeminate voice rings in my ears, and my mind turns blank again, so I open my eyes. You all know how this works. His glance falls on me.

Oh, well, I suppose not. all of you. So let's save the newest for last, yes. Muehler is at the head of the class, and he glares at Pinkerton as he shoves his fist through the box. Pinkerton smiles while Mueller fishes around and pulls something from the box. It's a red ping pong ball with the number three written in black. Pinkerton moves to Silent Mary Next, who pulls out a two. It's a flush with Jive drawing a four, then Callie a five. Bender breaks the streak and drives the streak and Rosa 1. Lucky number one again, Mr. Bender.

Pinkerton chuckles. That's one way of looking at it, I guess. Bender grunts. Pinkerton doesn't offer me the box, but instead reaches in himself and hands me the last ball. And it looks like our latest volunteer is going last. I take the ball in my hand, but then stare after the doctor. Wait, volunteer? I step over the line, but Bender immediately yanks me back.

gestures to Johnson, whose hand is already on his pistol. Don't give me a reason. Listen to Pinkerton, do what he says, and you'll probably walk out of this alive. Probably isn't much of an assurance, but I look at Bender's number again. If the numbers are what I suspect, it means he's been through this a lot longer than I have. Notting, I adjust myself in line and keep my feet behind the yellow tape. Pinkerton and the other scientists finish setting up a camera on a tripod and then aim it at us. This is SCP-864, D-Testing third trial. He clears his throat. Mr. Bender, whenever you are ready, please.

Bender breaks away from us and steps to the center of the room. The sound of rushing water surrounds us, and the base of the hose swells up. The nozzle sends a steady stream of water directly into the bucket below, filling it in just a few seconds. The bucket shakes, then a human hand breaks from the water's surface. I gasp as more hands shoot out from the water, but the rest of the subjects keep their composure, focused only on Bender. The hands fling in the air in the nearby floor as if looking for something to grab.

Mr. Bender, Bingerton says. A little closer, if you will. Bender nods and steps closer. The hand's now numbering eight. It's as if they can hear him as he draws close. closer, crawling along the floor in his direction. They slap the surface until a hand lands on Bender's shoes. It tightens its grip.

But Bender brings his other foot down and a loud crack echoes in the room. The hand lets go and falls over limp. The other hands extend towards Bender, but he bobs and weaves like a prize fighter. Another hand lands on his jumpsuit, but he quickly breaks the appendage as easily as he did the other one. The movement slows him down. and several other hands grab him by the shoulders and chest and drag him towards the bucket. Bender's shoes squeak across the floor, and he struggles the whole time, trying to break their grip. Hollow by the righteous ineptitude! Jive screams and runs forward,

but Johnson and another guard break from the sides and tackle him to the ground. Bender screams and yanks himself back from the arms, and they tear away a section of his uniform as he does. The arms flail, waving the bright orange cloth like a flag. before retreating into the bucket, splashing water onto the ground. Bender's exposed torso is just as scarred as his face, and he looks more terrifying than the strange creatures as he stalks towards the guards and heaves them off jive. He and Johnson square off, each screaming into the other's face.

Here's an idea! Bender shoves Johnson's chest. How about not tackling the one guy doing your fucking job? Johnson stumbles but regains his. balance and rounds up to his full height, several inches of her Bender. You don't tell me what to do. No, he doesn't. Pinkerton's voice silences the commotion.

I do. And if you cannot bring yourself to do the responsibility assigned to you in this trial, I'll have your clearance revoked, your mind wiped, and put you in the cell next to Mr. Bender. You won't remember him, but I'm sure he won't forget you. The color drains from Johnson's face so fast that I know the threat isn't idle. Was that what happened to me? I glanced at the other guards. Anonymous beneath their helmets with visors pulled down.

Had I been one of them before waking up this morning? Dr. Pinkerton. Johnson swallows. D1012 has extensive combat training. I knew he wasn't in any immediate danger. I didn't want to interfere premature. and ruin the experiment's results. Pinkerton works his lips up and down like he's chewing on Johnson's words.

I'll accept your explanation for the time being. However, as we proceed, please remember that the other subjects aren't as experienced as Mr. Bender. Johnson nods, then takes up his position with his men again. Bender says something to jive, and the other man nods as he helps him to his feet. The fear washes over me when the two fall back in line, and my body trembles. What the fuck is that thing? Bender looks at me with a frown. What?

You've never seen a bucket before? The returning sound of rushing water drowns out my string of swears. The hose opens and sprays a fresh stream into the bucket, filling it without missing a drop. Pinkerton clears his throat again, and the scientist with the camera trains it on us again. D-O12, you're up, please. Silent Mary crosses the tape and walks to the bucket at a leisurely pace. This time the appendage that springs up is a giant spider leg, red and hairy, its tip ending with a claw. The older woman shows no fear as she steps close, and one of the legs extends and wraps around her waist.

Mary shushes and cooes as the arms wrap around her. She brushes her hand against them and nestles her cheek against the hairy. nightmare. Johnson and his men unholster the knives at their belts, perhaps too eager after their negligence in protecting Bender. Pinkerton holds up a hand and shakes his head. Mary continues to pet the legs, even as they take off her shoes and socks. They retreat into themselves and descend into the bucket, leaving Mary barefooted. Very interesting, Pinkerton says, and raises his voice louder, directing it toward the camera. It appears that the manifestations of SCP-864-1 may respond to the hostility of the subjects. After all, the hands didn't become violent with Mr. Bender,

pardon me, with subject D1012 until after he attacked it. Silent Mary doesn't give any sign that she understands Pinkerton. She rejoins us, slides down against the wall, and falls asleep in the same position I first saw her. After a few seconds of hesitation, a guard steps forward and picks up the bucket. He lets out a loud breath as he dumps the water into the drain and the floor, then returns it atop the stool. Hey, Mueller, you hear the doc, Bender asks. All you got to do is think happy thoughts.

You know, same-sex marriage, interracial adoption, peace between Israel and Palestine, that sort of thing. Fuck you, Mueller growls. Pinkerton waits for the water to finish filling the bucket before speaking. D3559, please step forward. Mueller takes a steady breath and limps toward the bucket. He wears a fake smile, trying to take Bender's advice despite his bluster. The bucket wobbles, nearly tilting over, and something bolts forward.

It's a giant mechanical claw that wastes no time clamping around Mueller's throat. His mouth opens, but only a gargled scream comes out. The guards rush forward and strike with their knives. Their blades clang against the steel, some bouncing out of their hands. The claw descends rapidly, dragging Mueller's face beneath the water. He kicks his legs against a loud mechanical whine, but his shoulders crunch as they're dragged past the bucket's smaller width. A spray of blood fills the air as Mueller is dragged beneath the surface.

His whole body somehow devoured by the small object. Hmm, Pinkerton says. His matter-of-fact tone making my fear rise higher and my body shake even more. Perhaps I was wrong with my last hypothesis. Still, we haven't seen that manifestation before. Make a note of possible countermeasures to employ for the next field test. It appears knives aren't always going to be understood. enough. One of the researchers taps a note into a tablet, and my breath comes out in rapid, short bursts.

Shouldn't they call off the experiment now? Isn't that what scientists are supposed to do when an experiment goes wrong? A gentle hand rubs my shoulder, and I look into Callie's dark eyes. Calm down, she smiles. The guards aren't going to sit on the sidelines anymore, not after Pinkerton's threat. And remember, that one was a fluke. The ones so far have been pretty tame. She's right. Bender's appendages hadn't been too menacing. Not that I'm as tough as him,

but if something like that pops up, the guard should be able to handle it. I doubt that Mueller was an ideal inmate, but they still tried to save him. And maybe I would get lucky like Silent Mary and draw something scary but harmless. The only problem is that I have shit luck. Callie chuckles.

How would you? you know? I shake my head, smiling despite it all. Right, psychic. That's going to take some getting used to. My relief is short-lived as the same guard walks over and picks up the bucket again, this time more confident than before. When he empties it down the drain, the water is tinted red with Mueller's blood. Callie must sense my thoughts because she puts her hand in mind as I look toward the ground. D-0357. Pinkerton says over the the sound of rushing water. If you would be so kind,

someone pats me on the shoulder, and I look up into Jive's beaming face. Endeavors of yonder and soft, be not jealous nor gelatinous. His words are still a complete mystery to me, but the tone is kind, and his presence comforting. Even with his own possible brush with imminent death,

he's taking the time to reassure me. I can see how even a hard ass like Ben, came to care for this strange man. Jive is halfway toward the bucket when it stirs. Green-gray armor rises, and the arms end with a giant crab claw. It's joined by three others, each of mismatching sizes. Immediately the smaller claws jut forward and clamp onto Jive's ankles. They flip him on his back with a heavy thud. Immediately, I know that Pinkerton's theory is full of shit. This thing doesn't care about state of mind if they immediately attack Jive. Johnson and his men spring into action.

Their machetes go to work against the exoskeleton. It's not as resistant as the metallic claw that killed Mueller, but it's not easy work. The guards swing their weapons repeatedly, taking several tries before they make a crack in the armored surface. The giant claw sweeps across the room, sending two guards flying through the air before crashing into the wall. Their knives spiral.

And Callie shoves me out of the way. A knife bounces where I had been standing. With less resistance, the smaller claws are faster as they drag Jive closer to the bucket. Shit! Johnson screams. Stand down! It's got him! No!

I'm surprised that it's my voice, and even more surprised that I pick up the discarded knife. I run across the room and raise the heavy blade, striking against the smaller claws dug into Jive's flesh. It's not long before it. another blade joins mine. Don't waste time, new guy. Bender's familiar gruff voice comes from beside me. Work on the parts that are already cracked.

With Bender's suggestion, I strike against the chink in the armor. We fall into a steady rhythm, taking turns, striking at the limb's weak point. The green shell cracks wider, revealing gray flesh underneath. Bender delivers the killing blow, severing the claw from the rest of the arm. The air fills with a pungent smell as yellow pus. pours from the wound. Bender yanks me back as the giant claw slams into the ground between us. Shit, I'll keep the big one distracted. You get the last one. Bender disappears, and I get to work on the smaller claw. I can't see them anymore, but I hear the clang of metal against Shell.

There's no dent in the last leg, so I focus on the smaller half of the claw. I hack it again and again until it finally cracks and let's go. Bender rejoins us, and we drag Jive away. covered in the foul puss as the claws retreat into the bucket. Six clicks freeze us in place. Johnson and his men have their guns aimed at the three of us. Hold your fire! Pinkerton screams. Dr. Pinkerton!

Johnson doesn't lower his weapon. There aren't! So they are! Pinkerton smiles. And by arming themselves, they were able to procure several specimens for us to study. Something that you and your men were unable to do. I'm willing to spare their lives for that.

Pinkerton nods toward us. Gentlemen, please drop the knives. Otherwise, I'll be forced to tell Chief Johnson to open fire. I immediately let go of my knife, and Bender does the same. Callie meets us halfway and helps us back over the yellow tape. While the guards reclaim their weapons and empty the bucket, the younger scientists also go to work. They zip up the claws in heavy bags and fill several containers with the rank pus.

Callie draws back Jive's pants, and I cringe at the deep cuts on his legs. Shit! I wipe my mouth. He needs medical attention. He'll get it, Callie says. After the experiment, it's part of our reward. Hey, Bender says, and offers me his hand. Thanks for going after Jive. My hand shivers as the adrenaline flows for. from my body, but I managed to pump it once in Bender's tight grip.

You did the same. Jive is a friend of mine. The only one I got left. He looks me in the eye before cocking his head. Why'd you do it, though? You barely know him. I barely know anyone anymore. I think for a moment of how my body sprang into action without consideration.

I don't know why I did it. It just happened. Bender glances toward the scientists as the water pours from the hose, refilling the bucket. A do-gooder, huh? Probably why they wiped you. D-2297, Pinkerton says. I'm very interested to see your results. Callie approaches the bucket as it writhes.

This time, several tentacles crawl their way up from the impossible shallow depths. They take immediate notice of Callie and swarm around her. She drops to her knees, wraps her hands around her head, and screams. The tentacles recoil and retreat just as fast as they came. Bender crosses the line, and I join him. We each offer a hand to Cali. She flinches at first, but then stands on her feet. Her encounter was the quickest, but her whole body quivers with fear.

Something must have happened that we couldn't see. What happened? I asked. I touched its mind. And it did the same, she shudders. Apparently, it was just as frightening for it as it was for me. Very impressive indeed, D-2997. Pinkerton smiles as the guards empty the bucket. Then, he turns to one of his researchers.

Make a note that SCP-864-1 shows a vulnerability to psychic attack. Guy, it takes me a moment to realize that Callie is talking to me. Don't let it take you. trust me. You do not want to go into the bucket. Pinkerton beams as the water refills before I can answer. And last up, D7662. Take us home if you would. My legs turn to lead as I step over the line. Every effort to move forward feels forced and stalled. My vision narrows as I creep closer to the bucket, seeing it and nothing else. Something bursts from the water so fast that I can't see. see it. The arms are longer than any that came out before, and it smashes into the ceiling lights.

The guards shout as the lights flash, causing a strobe light of pure darkness and dim light, seeming to slow time down. Through the flashing haze, I can just make out the arms. They're covered in red fur like the spider legs, but it's thicker and dripping with water. Each arm is segmented and ends in a massive hand. They remind me of something ape-like but with too many fingers. My body shuts down, trying to make sense of the trick of the light when one hand wraps around my throat. It squeezes tight. My eyes bulge and my throat closes, pinching off my breath. I can't scream as it lifts me towards the bucket. Something hot sprays across my face, and I fall to the ground. The lights flash, and I see Bender standing beside me with a knife.

Johnson kneels on the ground nearby, his leg bleeding, mouth open, and screaming. It's like watching a stop-motion film as Bender turns toward him. In the next frame, he's behind Johnson and draws the knife across his throat, that he kicks the body into the mass of arms. As they retreat with Johnson grasping at the hole in his throat, Bender throws the knife into a perfect arc that splashes in the bucket. The arms flee with the dead body and any evidence of the murder. Pinkerton's high voice cuts through the turmoil in the room

as Bender walks me back over the line. The lights fail and plunge the room into darkness. A static hum builds up, then the lights come back on, and the guards scramble around the room. They know that Johnson is gone, but they don't realize his blood is pooled on the floor. Bender is lucky the last thing blood red do. File an incident report. Field experiment successful, but not without foundation casualties.

Pinkerton looks over at Bender, but he stares off with the same indifference he's shown for everyone except jive. The camera has tipped over and broken. I wonder how long Bender took to cover his tracks before stepping in to save my life. Suddenly, the heaviness in my legs goes light. The weightless sensation spreads up my body and into my brain. I feel light as a feather as I tilt back. Careful!

Callie yells. He's going to... Something heavy hits my head. I wake up to the sound of hushed voices and the smell of tobacco. Closing my eyes tighter, I pretend it was all a dream. But when I crack open my eyelids, I see the same orange jumpsuits as before. Callie, Bender, and Jive sit around in a makeshift circle. Not far off from them is Silent Mary, slumped against the wall,

a needle in her arm just below the tightened tourniquet. Bender is smoking a cigarette, a newly opened carton by his feet, while Callie and Jive are scarfing on a mountain of junk food. Not bad for your first time, Guy. Bender doesn't turn his head. He just exhales a cloud of smoke into the air. Sorry about the lame nickname you got stuck with. Hey, Callie frowns at him.

It was fitting at the time, and we couldn't just keep calling him new guy. Yeah, Bender scoff. Cutting it in half is way better. A flower by any other ray doff taste as exuberant. Jive smiles at me. This time his words bring no comfort. I reach my hands to my mouth to keep from screaming. The first time, all their numbers, they're thousands apart from mine.

How many experiments have they done? I can't go through something like that again. I have to get out of here. I don't know how, but I need to get the fuck out of here. Uh, Bender, Callie clears her throat. Guy's having, the thought. Yeah, his initiation wouldn't be complete without it. Bender picks himself up from the floor and sits down in the cot across for me.

He hands me a bottle of beer, and I look at it. The label says Steel City, and there's something familiar about it. Here's your cheese. Cheese? He nods. We're rats in a mayor. Every time we get through one, they patch us up and give us a reward. Keeps us motivated until the next one.

His words are no comfort, but I never needed to drink more. I twist the cap off and take a drink. The beer is a cold comfort on my raw throat. The taste, soothing in ways that I can't describe. I bring the bottle to my lips and don't put it down until it's empty. Bender has a fresh one ready for me. You know? I have Johnson to think for my nickname. He pauses and runs a hand over his scars.

He gave me most of these. I got what most people call a problem with authority. On my first day here, Johnson makes a big proclamation that he's going to break me. He spent the next three years doing every sadistic punishment I know. Even came up with a couple that were new to me. A friend of mine said, I bend, but I don't break. Bender laughs, harsh and unyielding like everything else about him. As Jive's strung two coherent words together since you met him?

Nah, this was, well, it doesn't matter. He's not here anymore. A trace of regret creeps into Bender's voice. And I remember what he said earlier. Jive is his only friend, the only one that he has left. But that didn't mean that had always been the case. How many people had he seen die in his time here? My throat goes dry, so I down the last of my beer to get enough moisture to ask my next question.

I'm going to die here, aren't I? Yeah. Bender's tone is as frank as his answer. One way or another, the foundation doesn't recruit people to D-Class that would generate a missing person's report. We've all had the thought, but there's no escape. plenty of riots and escape attempts, but they all end the same way. So, it's hopeless? No, just a different kind of hope.

Bender snuffs out the cigarette on the bottom of his shoe and lights a fresh one. He offers it to me, and I take it, choking down the smoke and chasing it with a third beer. Took me ten years to get Johnson, but I got him. You just got to sit and wait. Enjoy the small things. Find something you can accomplish to get you through the next day. Great, I sigh and take a drink. I just got to make mortal enemies with a prison guard

and wait for my opportunity to murder him, Bender Smirks. You know they personalize our rewards. Unfiltered palm malls for me. Cheetos for Cali, honeybuns for jive. Hell, Silent Mary, smack probably comes from the same dealer when she worked the streets. and this, they picked out for you. Reaching over, he taps the label.

And I look down at the Steel City logo. That's a craft beer, small brewery. If I were at betting man, I'd say you were from Pittsburgh. Pittsburgh. I close my eyes and search for any memories that the word might trigger, but nothing comes to mind. When I open my eyes, though, the bottle looks more familiar than before. It's not much, but it's more than I had.

Life here is hard, the cot squeaks as Bender stands. But it's a little easier with a purpose and with allies. You had our back today. We'll have yours tomorrow. Keep doing the same for us, and we'll keep doing the same for you. It's not an offer of friendship. Bender says he was never broken, but I'm not sure if that's true. He's probably lost so many people that he doesn't want to get close to anyone again.

Yet, the invitation is an open one. I join the circle with the other three and take a honey bun that Jive offers. The sugar clashes against the layer of beer on my tongue, but the floor is more comfortable than I thought as I settle into my new life. SCP-864 is a 20-centimeter tall wash basin with a 10-centimeter radius, composed of red metal commonly found in wash basins. The words made in China and cherry imperial goth applications are imprinted on the bottom with black ink.

No company of that name is found anywhere in China. When SCP-864 contains at least 200 milliliters of water, it will manifest an instance of SCP-864-1. Instances of SCP-864-1 designates a series of appendages which have appeared from SCP-864. Instances of SCP-864-1 may attempt to seize a human subject within their reach and violently pull them into SCP-864.

Instances of SCP-864-1 do not always attempt to take the subjects, with tests showing that the majority of SCP-864-1 instances will make no attempt to attack human subjects. No subjects taken through SCP-864 have been recovered.