The SCP Experience - The Perfect Army | SCP-730

Episode Date: January 19, 2022

SCP Foundation EUCLID class object, SCP-730: The Perfect Army  Author: Matt Doggett Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/MatthewDoggettAuthor/ Website/Newsletter sign up: matthewdoggettauthor.com This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-730, and is released under Creative Commons Sharealike 3.0. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/ DISCLAIMER: This episode contains explicit content. Parental guidance is advised for children under the age of 18. Listen at your own discretion. #drscp #scp #scpfoundation #doctorscp #scpencounters #securecontainprotect #scpstories #scpexplained #whatisscp Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

I'm in. I said in a low voice, confident my tiny earpiece would pick it up. Copy that, Perez said. His voice clear in my left ear. Keep us updated. I quickly zip-tied the hole I'd cut in the fence back together. No one would see it unless they were looking hard. I ran between two puddles of orange light toward the corner of the sprawling complex. The night air was crisp, smelling like the pine trees that surrounded the facility. I heard a car engine when I was still yards away from the metal warehouse. There was nothing else to do, but run as the headlights swung toward me, the car engine revving.

I slid down into the darkness bordering the structure as the car passed behind me. No doubt speeding toward the vehicle that had, moments earlier, crashed into the fence at the front of the compound. I turned my head in time to see the security decal on the car door. The diversion seemed to be working. I got to my feet and looked around the corner of the warehouse. I spotted several cameras along my route and hoped Perez was right when he said they were taking care of. I adjusted my backpack and shifted the pistol and the holster strapped to my leg. Then I ran.

I made my way across the face of the warehouse and down its flank to a little alleyway with a surface door at its end. There was a bright halogen light just above the door and a camera right next to it. Once again, I took it on faith that everything was going to plan. I stepped up to the door and entered the code from memory. We'd been gathering information and working sources at this facility for months. I just hoped it was good intel. The keypad beeped and a green light came on just as I heard the lock disengage from the metal door. I opened it and stepped inside.

The massive warehouse was full of metal shelves three stories tall. There were pallets of shrink-wrapped boxes lining nearly every shelf, with gaps here and there of product that had gone out and not been restocked yet. To my left, a row of fork lifts sat quietly, scuffed and used, but ready for the next day's work. I moved through the warehouse, thinking about all the power tools, replacement batteries and hand tools looming above me, ready to be shipped to big box stores around the world. Another door, another code, a beep and a green light. I stepped into an office

area. The industrial carpet was bluish gray, the cubicles gray, and the computers all dark. I moved deeper into the office area. The farther I went, the larger the offices got, until I reached the one I wanted. Bertrand Saracen, director of operations, the door informed me. I pulled a key out of my pocket and inserted it into the doorknob. I tried it. It didn't turn. I messed with it for 30 seconds, trying to get it to work.

It's the wrong key, I said. Shit, Perez said. Is there another way? Sure, I said. I can break it down, but who knows who will come running if I do that? Perez was quiet for a long moment. Break it down, he said. All right, I said.

Get ready to go loud. I pulled my backpack off and set it on the ground by the thick wooden door. I opened it and pulled out a tool that resembled a hammer, in that it had a handle and a flat claw. I swung the flat claw portion at the small area where the wooden door met the metal frame. The sharp ends of the claw shaved a bit of wood. off before hitting the metal and bouncing back. I winced at the sound it made and looked around.

I swung it again and again until I finally managed to jam the tips of the two claws between frame and door, just under the knob. I pressed a button on the handle and felt the tool's mechanical vibration as the top portion of the claws came apart, pushing against the wooden door as the bottom portion of the claws dug into the frame for leverage. The wood of the door started to crack as the tool was to crack as the tool was, worked its magic. I stepped back, positioned myself, and then took one step forward, kicking out with the heel of my right foot. My weight, plus the damage already done by the tool, snapped the door enough to shift the lock and knock the door open. Someone definitely heard that, I said.

No movement out here, Perez said. Security teams are dealing with the accident at the fence. I scooped up the tool, turned it off, and put it back in my bag. Swinging the bag's straps over my shoulders, I stepped into Bertrand Saracen's large and lavish office. There was a wall in the corner of the room, behind his large mahogany desk, that held a plaque congratulating Mr. Saracen on 25 years with the company. I stepped up to it and pressed the small company logo etched into the gold-tinted metal of the plaque. The logo depressed into the wood and generated a sound like a seal breaking as the wall. wall panel swung open to reveal a metal staircase leaning down. I stepped onto the staircase and

swung the hidden door almost flush with the wall. Perez said, I knew what was happening even before asking. What shit? The security details out here, all but one, are suddenly racing to their cars. Must be the door, I said. Maybe there was another step. Damn it. Your call, J.B., Perez said, using my code name. Screw it, I said, running down the stairs while pulling my pistol out of its holster. Let's get this done. A long utilitarian hallway stretched out before me at the bottom of the stairs. Everything was concrete, excluding the exposed metal eye beams at regular intervals down the hall.

I could see intersecting hallways every 30 feet or so, but I couldn't see the end of the hallway I was in. It just seemed to go on forever. Fluorescent lights hanging from chains provided illumination down the hallway. Uh, any idea where I'm supposed to go from here? I don't see anything but a long hallway ahead and a bunch more branching off it. Jesus, I don't know, Perez said. But you better do something.

The time to retreat is about to be gone. I thought about it for a second. Retreat was the sensible thing to do. But then again, I'd never been a sensible man. Just ask my ex-wives. If they're trafficking humans through here, I'd be a coward not to continue, I said, heading toward the first hallway intersection. I checked for hostels before going left into the little hall, seeing that it ended at a

wide metal door. There were no markings on the door and no keypad. I opened it, leading the way with my pistol, finger just outside the trigger guard. The room was dark, but as I stepped inside, automatic light. came on. Holy Christ, I said. The room was lined on both sides with hospital beds. Each one separated from the next by opaque curtains on tracks attached to the ceiling. The four beds I could see from where I was standing contained four women, each strapped to the bed and apparently unconscious, and very pregnant, Perez said. I ignored him, stepping up to the nearest bed and looking down at the young

Middle Eastern woman there. Miss? I said. What do you see, God damn it? Perez shouted. Women, I said. But they're pregnant. They're all pregnant. And they're unconscious.

Listen to me very carefully, J.B. Perez said. To contact with down there. Don't touch them, I said, incredulous. What do you mean? How am I supposed to get them out of here if I can't touch them? Just listen. We haven't been entirely honest with you.

You. This isn't just about human trafficking, okay? I'm going to be sure what we were dealing with until we got eyes in there, okay? The world started spinning as I listened to Perez. I stumbled down the aisle, looking at each of the unconscious pregnant women. What does that mean? I said. You've been lying to me? How soon until they get here? A long pause. 30 minutes.

30 fucking minutes? I yelled. The door behind me burst open, and gunshots filled the gunshots filled the the air as I dove next to one of the beds. I crawled behind two beds and then jumped out into the main aisle, sliding on my side on the smooth concrete floor. Two security guards and tactical gear looked dumbly down at me before I shot them. I scrambled up and got to the door I'd come through, stepping over the man I'd just killed. I checked the main hall and then ducked back toward the metal staircase. Bullets ricocheted around me as men fired on me from the top of the stairs. I backpedaled and started running down the hall.

More shots came from behind, telling me that the men were following me. I ducked into the third hallway intersection, pulling the door open as the sound of footsteps grew louder behind me. This room was the same size as the one with the pregnant women, but there were no beds. Instead, children stood in little alcoves against both walls, wearing only black sweatpants and t-shirts. They looked to be between eight and twelve years old. They were a mix of male and female, I thought. But it was hard to tell. They were all bald.

All their eyes were closed, just like the pregnant women, and each had several tubes coming out of the alcove wall and snaking to their little bodies. I turned as the door behind me opened, and a hand appeared, tossing a grenade into the room. I had stopped, just inside the door, dumbstruck by the sight of all these children. So I was in the perfect position to make a move.

I swatted the grenade with my left hand, sending it bouncing back through the closing door. I jumped away as it went off, the blast blowing the door off its hinges and sending chunks of concrete bouncing along the floor. You're still with me? Perez asked. What's happening? I coughed, getting to my knees. They've got fucking grenades.

And there's children down here. Why the hell do you keep saying that? What's... I stopped mid-sentence, noticing the children's eyes on me. Uh, they're looking at me. All along the two walls, the children had opened their eyes and turned their heads to look at me. Listen, J.B., Bress said. Do not hesitate to kill them if they come at you. Just don't let them touch you.

Kill them? Are you insane? They're little kids. They're not. Believe me when I tell you, they're not kids. They're not anything. Believe me. The child nearest me stepped away from his alcove at the wall. The tubes automatically detaching and retracted as he did. Then the next one did the same, and the next. Ah, they're moving, I said. Get out of there. The children near me tensed up, their eyes hard, harder than a child's eyes should be. As one unit, they started running towards me. I booked it, jumping over the mess of body parts that had once been security guards. I landed right in a puddle of blood on the floor in the hallway and slipped, crashing to the ground. A chewed up torso was

propped against the wall next to me, a grenade hanging from the vest there. I snatched it as I got to my feet. The lead children chasing me slipped on the blood as they came out, creating a bit of a pile-up. I looked over my shoulder as I ran back toward the stairs. There were teenagers and adults crowding the hallway behind the children, struggling to get up from the bloody floor. They were all bald, and they were all staring at me with those same hard eyes. I turned back around to see the hallway in front of me, crowded with younger children, maybe ages four to eight. They were pouring out of the rooms I'd bypassed when the security guards were chasing me, and I was bearing down on them. Don't touch them, Perez had said several times. There was no way I could stop, so I tried for the next

best thing. I jumped. Their little hands reached up towards me as I pulled my legs in, trying to clear them. I felt one of them touched the back of my pants as I landed, but I just kept running. I lunged up the stairs three at a time and came to the secret door. It was wide open, and there was no one in the room as far as I could tell. I swung it shut and pressed the button I'd used to open it, but it didn't do anything. I could hear the stairs clanging as the whatever they were continued chasing me up the stairs. God, forgive me, I whispered, remembering the grenade in my left hand. I pulled the pin, opened the door, and chucked it down the stairs.

Then I ran, Perez told me later. when I'd made it out of the complex and was forced to remove my pants so they could be incinerated. Passive carriers, but it causes children to be born without anything more than basic nervous system functions. So if you'd been infected, you could have infected to feel emotions, to speak, or to interact with the world in any way. But apparently they can be programmed or taught, I said. While a guy in a hazmat suit tested me for the virus, Perez was in his own hazmat suit, standing a fair distance away. We were still talking over the radio in my ear.

Perez said an agreement. Those women were all trafficking victims. They'll be under our care now. Was making his own army. We had our suspicions, but needed to be sure. That's some James Bond type shit, I said. Figures. What else is the richest man in the world going to do?

Not take over the world? Imagine if the virus got loose, Perez said, talking more to himself than me. In a generation, the only people giving birth to normal humans would be the ones Carlson deemed worthy. The rest of the population would either be brain dead or under his control. Nothing to say to that. It was too much to think about. The guy testing me gave Perez a thumbs up.

I wasn't infected. So those security guards, I said. They were regular people? Perez nodded. If they weren't, You'd be infected, I said, trying not to think of the lives I'd taken, or how close I'd become to being quarantined for the rest of my life. Happy to help, I guess. It's what I joined the Bureau for. I'll welcome you to the SCP Foundation. You fit the profile.

The what foundation? I said. Perez smiled. SCP 730 is an engineered retrovirus originally developed to produce animals without higher brain function, which could be raised for meat production. It infects and mutates, developing mammalian embryos, including humans, causing abnormal fetal development. Infected individuals grow to term as physically healthy fetuses, lacking any significant features beyond the brainstem. The vestigial brainstem is capable of passive maintenance of the body's functions,

including heart rate, respiration, digestion, homeostatic function, and waste elimination. Adult organisms cannot be infected by the virus, but act as passive carriers once exposed. The virus is spread by contact with any bodily excretion, including sweat. Once exposed, an individual will continue to harbor a reservoir of the virus without experiencing any ill effects until they contact and expose a pregnant woman, whereupon the virus's symptoms manifest. Antivirals and inoculations have thus far been ineffective in cleansing carry, of the virus. Lasagne sur-joled,

puissance-molyne for 15 minutes. We'd say that's the hour dojo. Pre-a-jou? Vive the pleasure with the Ojo the casino in-line

that proposes the most recent machines to buy-a-sa-Bas-Bonanza without without any of the payments and with the payment instantane.

Hey, I've gained. Woohoo! Scenture the pleasure. Play-O-JO-JO-JO. 18-T-Doo! 10-TURTURT on 50 tours to the machine-a-sue to

are responsible. The conditions apply.