The SCP Experience - The SCP SCP | SCP-2891

Episode Date: November 28, 2022

Check out my brand new UFO podcast here: THEY'RE OUT THERE SCP Foundation EUCLID class object, SCP-2891: The SCP SCP This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-2891, and is released under Creative Commons Sharealike 3.0. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/ Author: Matt Doggett Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/MatthewDoggettAuthor/ Website/Newsletter sign up: matthewdoggettauthor.com New Book Releases: https://www.amazon.com/Matthew-G-Doggett/e/B08FD5378Z DISCLAIMER: This episode contains explicit content. Parental guidance is advised for children under the age of 18. Listen at your own discretion. #thescpexperience #scp #scpfoundation #scpencounters #securecontainprotect #scpstories #scpexplained #whatisscp Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Two vehicles flashed past on the two-lane road just as I'm pulling my cruiser into a parking space to stop for lunch. I was right when I'm about to eat, I grumble. As I put the vehicle in reverse, I glance in my rearview mirror at the Mexican restaurant that has the best carneasada burritos this side of the Mississippi. I flip on the siren and look both ways before hitting the gas and bumping out of the parking lot, crossing the southbound lane and centering the cruiser in the northbound. I grabbed my radio. This is 237 in pursuit of two speeding vehicles heading northbound on Hobbs Road toward Redstone Road.

Lead vehicle is a white sedan of unknown make and model. Rear vehicle is a black American SUV. Two cars pull over to the side of the road as I roar past. Dispatch answers, affirming that she heard my call. I can see the back of the black SUV about a quarter mile ahead. I put the pedal down and glance at the speedometer, seeing the needle touch 80 miles an hour. Soon, I'm close enough to see that the SUV doesn't have a license plate. I can't see if the sedan has one, but it's pretty clear that the SUV's chasing the little white car.

It also becomes quickly clear that neither car is going to pull over for me. This is 237. Be advised. Neither vehicle is pulling over, I say. The SUV is a Ford expedition. No license plate. I have to swerve as the white car nearly hits a slow-moving vehicle. This is getting dangerous real fast. It's just a matter of time before they cause an accident. The two vehicles slow down, and I ease my foot back.

There's a street coming up, one leading into a neighborhood. I'm guessing the sedan's going to turn into it. And I'm right. I follow closely, sirens still screaming, as the two vehicles make a screeching left turn. Heading west on Hunt Cliff Road away from Hobbs, I say into the radio. We blow past houses in the upper middle-class neighborhood, doing nearly 50 miles an hour. I'm just thankful it's a chilly, overcast day.

Otherwise, kids might be outside enjoying their Saturday. Soon enough, I see the sedan jump a curb ahead and roll right over someone's lawn, crashing into the port steps of the large white house. The SUV comes to a screech. sideways halt. I do the same, requesting backup to my location, and then quickly jumping out of the cruiser and leveling my gun at the SUV. The way I figure it, the sedan's not going anywhere. Two guys jump out of the SUV and start toward the house, both wearing street clothes and dark windbreakers. One is white and one is black. Don't move! I yell. Put your hands up!

They both stop. The passenger, a white guy with a cruise driver. A white guy with a cruise. cut, glances from me to the sedan. He looks angry. My eyes jump over to the sedan. A wiry man with a goatee stumbles out of the driver's seat. He's wearing a red sweater over a white button-up-collared shirt and dark slacks. He has some kind of small case in his hand. Don't move! I shout at him, but I keep my gun leveled at the guys from the SUV. The wiry man ignores me, clambering over the smashed sedan and up to the house. I notice a woman standing at the open front door, peering with amazement at the damaged porch stairs. She only has the door open a crack, but it's enough.

The wiry man shoulders the door, eliciting a scream from the woman. Then the door is slammed shut and, by the sound of it, locked. That's great! The white guy with the crew cut says. That's just fan-fucking-tastic! This is your fault! He levels a finger at me. The black guy, his hair in tight cornrows, glars at me.

"'Podunk cops,' he says. "'This is not the way to start an arrest, gentlemen,' I say, moving toward them. "'I'm your god right now, so be nice. I get down on the ground, interlace your fingers behind your head.' Neither man makes a move. A gust of wind blows the white guy's windbreaker open, revealing a holstered pistol on his right side. I'm starting to get nervous.

Keep your hands away from your sides. I shout. Get on the ground. Listen, buddy, the black guy says. There's about to be some weird shit happening. And the longer you hold us up, the weird of this shit's going to get. So if you'll just take a minute to let us explain who we are, all will become clear. Are you cops?

I ask. FBI, DEA, NSA, CIA? No, we're not. We work for the foundation. I've never... You've never heard. of us, I know. But if you keep holding us up like this, look, the white guy says, pointing toward the house. I look that way and have a moment where I think I'm dreaming. What I'm seeing shouldn't

be possible. A fence is now surrounding the house. A reinforced chain link fence that wasn't there before. And it's not like it's surrounding the yard either. It's close to the house. No more than a three-foot gap between the structure and the nine-foot tall fence. But that's not the only thing. There are now bars over all the windows and a padlocked mechanism on the door. What the fuck? I mumbled. What did I say?

The black guy says. Weird shit, right? Did you drug me? I ask. What did you do to me? It's real. The white guy says. And we don't have a lot of time until it gets worse.

The screech of tires erupts from behind me. I assume it's backup coming to help me. Perfect timing. But as the vehicle comes to a halt in my peripheral vision, I can tell it's not a police car. It's another SUV, and several men in street clothes and dark windbreakers are suddenly out, moving toward me with weapons drawn.

I know when my goose is cooked, so I lower my weapon and allow one of the newcomers to take it from me. Then I look back at the house, blinking to see if it will change anything. It doesn't. My head hurts. What should we do with him? One of the guys, says.

The black guy walks up, studying me. His pals are coming. We'll have to deal with him anyway. Maybe we can use their help. Besides, he was just doing his job. Hard to hold that against a man. I look at him and around at the other guys. A couple of them run alongside of the house to the back,

creating a perimeter, I guess. What the hell is going on? I ask. I'm Simmons. The guy says, extending a hand. And there's a reason you've never heard of the foundation. Hours have passed. Houses immediately surrounding the target home have been evacuated.

Onlookers have been pushed back to the edges of a wide perimeter. My fellow police officers have begrudgingly constructed. The deputy chief showed up about an hour ago to tell the other uniformed officers and me to extend every courtesy to these mysterious foundation agents. That was when I realized the first. foundation as deep connections. The two guys from the SUV, Simmons and Hughes, have kept me close. We've set up shop in a house across the street, along with about two dozen other

foundation people that showed up. I don't know if they're keeping me around because I saw something I wasn't supposed to see or because they think I'll be of use when we raid the house. Either way, it doesn't really matter. I'm trained in special weapons and tactics. It's a collateral assignment for me since our police department isn't big enough to have a full-time SWAT team. And there's a reason I went out for that collateral assignment. Because when this shit goes down, I want to be there. Only, I'm having my doubts as I listen to these foundation guys, talk about what we might meet inside. I may be trained in SWAT, but I've never raided a house that suddenly grows fences, bars on the windows, and secondary locks on the doors.

And in the hours since the man ran into the house, those haven't been the only new additions to the building. There are now security cameras all over the house, along with rolls of barbed wire atop the fence. How many hostels do you predict? Hughes asks a guy who just showed up. The guy, sporting a gray mustache and wearing a rumpled brown suit, seems to consider this. Wait a minute, I say. What do you mean? We saw one guy go in there. That means one. one hostile, right? The guy in the rumpled suit looks at me, then over at Hughes and Simmons. They exchange a look. Simmons nods. Rumpled suit guy turns back to me. I'm Dr. Thurman, he says. And I helped design the item the man in that house stole, so I can tell you, there will be more

than one hostile in there when you go in. How many exactly, I can't say. I shake my head. You're saying that guys with guns will, what, just appear out of nowhere? Derman looks at me. I thought you were here from the beginning, he says. If you saw the fence and bars show up out of nowhere, why wouldn't you assume the same can happen with men with guns? I opened my mouth to argue, to say that it's not possible. But, as the last few hours have clearly demonstrated, my definition of what isn't possible is way off. So I just ask another question.

Why would you make something that does this? It's a liquid, Thurman says. Kind of a gel, actually. And when you apply it to a living organism, it goes to work, creating barriers and developing various ways to not only protect the organism itself, but also to keep it from escaping. Okay, but why?

Because, Officer Dalton, we deal with some unsavory character in our line of work. My team and I developed this product to make it easier for agents like Simmons and Hughes here to capture these characters with minimal bloodshed. So how did the guy in the house get a hold of it? I ask. Thurmond sighs.

Hellrod is... was a member of my team. He was going to try and sell it, as best I can tell. As you can see, it has capabilities that could interest various criminal or terrorist organizations. I only wish you would have breached the place before even an hour had passed. Yeah, well, Hugh says, we'd like to know what the hell we're dealing with before we make a move. It helps us stay alive. All we were told was to stop the guy.

Now you know, Thurman says. Don't delay. Get in there before the fortifications get any worse. That is my advice to you. Things will only get more difficult from here on out. Like how? say scoffing. Will gun turrets show up? Lasers that can cut you in half? A whole company of magical soldiers? Thurman looks at me with pursed lips. There's no humor in his eyes. And I realize my guesses are right.

Holy shit, I say. When we create something, we do it right, Thurman says. It was never supposed to fall into the wrong hands. Plus, it's not finished. We're still figuring out how to control the security forces the product generates. A couple of armored foundation agents come into the living room. Gentlemen, the lead guy says. Our best bed is to go through the back bedroom door. It's glass. Getting through the fence won't take long. We can take out the security cameras from the neighbor's yard beforehand.

Simmons nods at the guy, then turns to Thurman. There's at least one hostage in there. How likely do you think she's still alive? Thurman shakes his head. I don't know. He says, We haven't come to that phase of testing yet. Fan fucking Tastic.

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We're in the neighbor's yard behind a wood slat fence that's been cut for easy removal but remains in place for now. Snipers are in position on the neighbor's roof. Simmons gives the command and I hear the rifle shots.

A sniper yells over the radio. The man nearest the wood fence lifts the large, pre-cut piece out of the way, allowing us to move through. We take up position around the chain-link fence, aiming our weapons at the windows and doors of the target house. Meanwhile, two men go to work cutting through the metal. When they're done, they give the word and we move through,

lining up on either side of the sliding glass door. It's backed by curtains, so we can't see inside. Simmons takes a small piece of metal with a blunt, pointed tip out of his tactical belt. Facing away from the glass door, he uses a backhand motion, slamming the pointed tip into the glass, causing it to crack. He hits it again, creating a hole there. He quickly steps out of the way while Hughes steps up and throws a flashbang through the hole. The concussive blast erupts inside, and we go in. Gunshots sound even before I'm through the door, and when I make a make a shot,

get inside, I see two dead men dressed in urban camouflage in the corner of the bedroom. They're wearing helmets, goggles, and black armored vests. I move into the hallway to see Simmons go down as a commando with a shotgun, blasts out his left kneecap. I fire at the commando with my M4 carbine, hitting him in the chest at the base of his neck. He goes down. We clear the downstairs, using flashbangs before going into rooms. I shoot two more commandos, but I count a total of 12 dead ones by the time we get to the last room in the house, an upstairs bedroom. It's just Hughes and I at the final door, and we're out of flashbangs.

I'll go, I whisper to him. Damn right, you will, Hughes whispers. He grabs the doorknob and then counts down with the fingers of his other hand. Three, two, one. He throws the door open and I rush inside. I almost vomit. There are five figures inside, and two of them are armed commandos. The other three figures are no threat,

but that fact doesn't keep me from freezing for a crucial split second. One of the commandos fires at me, hitting me in the chest. I fall to the ground, somehow managing to get a couple of shots off to kill the guy. Hughes steps past me, firing his weapon, taking the other commando out. He clears the attached bathroom and the closet while I see. struggle to pull into breath. You good, he asks, coming back over to help me up. I nod, finally able to breathe again.

The shot hit me dead center in my bulletproof vest. Otherwise, I'd be a dead man. I look at the bed, curiosity and revulsion mixing in my gut. There's a body on the bed, the body of the woman I saw at the front door when this all started. Her head has been chopped off. It's on the floor next to a bucket. Her headless corpse is positioned so the blood drains into the bucket. Next to her, a teenage girl has suffered the same fate.

There are black tubes going from the buckets to the figure sitting at the foot of the bed. It's the wiry guy with a goatee, hellrod. The tubes disappear into the mess of straps and chains that hold him in place, secured to the floor. His eyes are wide with pain. and something that looks like a rectangle of leather is stapled to his face. What the fuck is this? I ask. Hughes steps up next to me.

The idea is to keep the target alive, I guess, he says. I'm betting that's another kink they're still working out. I look from the headless mother and daughter over to the wiry guy. What are you going to do with him? This asshole, he's the newest member of our D-class personnel, Well, Hughes says, not bothering to hide the anger in his voice. I have no idea what that means, but Helrod apparently does. His eyes go even wider, and he shakes his head.

I can hear him screaming ineffectually against the thing over his mouth. Yes, sir, Hugh says. I'll personally see to it that he gets the most fucked-up assignment there is. Good, I say, looking at the headless bodies again. Good. SCP 2891 is an anomalous liquid that can cause an environment to undergo significant changes when applied to a living organism via direct skin contact. When applied to a living organism, now known as SCP 2891-1,

manifestations of structures and objects designed to defend dash one, will begin to appear in the local environment. The amount of land affected by SCP-2891 differs depending on the location and specific environment that it is used in. SCP-2891-2 is the designation of objects and structures formed by 2891. Often, these structures take the form of security cameras, turrets, and, eventually, humanoid containment cells. These containment cells are consistent with standard humanoid. containment cells designed by the foundation. Over time, SCP-2891-2 instances begin to become more and more complex, often found to be equipped with security cameras, automated turrets, electronic

keypads, barbed wire, landmines, steel doors, and tear gas. Additionally, humanoid entities are found to manifest at varying times in the stages of SCP 2891. These humanoid entities, designated SCP-191-3 are all genetically identical to each other. SCP-2891-3 instances often have identical uniforms and use similar weaponry as local enforcement officers in order to appear as said officers. It should be noted that while instances of SCP 2891-3 are capable of speech and the language predominant in the affected area,

It is not currently known if instances are capable of understanding said speech.