The SCP Experience - The Source of Hate | SCP-4266

Episode Date: September 12, 2022

SCP Foundation KETER class object, SCP-4266: The Source of Hate This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-4266, 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

We will make Earth our home once again. Cheers go up from the crowd as the Vice Chancellor's words ring across the square. I stand in the front of the stage, scanning the crowd. My back to Vice Chancellor Shirton Lee. Camera and microphone drones hover in the air near the stage, recording and projecting the speech to remote speakers and screens across the large area. There are thousands of people in the crowd. Most of them holding signs in support of Lee and his agenda to have humans repopulate Earth after so many years.

High above, in the compound ceiling, air scrubbers and moisture catchers do their work to keep the colony livable. Personally, I think it's the blue skies people miss. Even though no one alive has ever actually seen a genuine blue sky, sure, there are screens that approximate what we would have lived under on Earth, but it's not the same. I think the urge to live out in the open is part of our DNA. It's hardwired into us. Just like our amazing capacity for both violence and kindness, it's part of us, human nature.

We will once again live on the wild plains and in the mountains. Shurt and Lee exclaims when the cheers die down. We will breathe fresh air and enjoy majestic views. Cheers go up again. The crowd is into it. Movement catches my eye from the back of the crowd. It's another camera drone, flying up and over the heads and upraised hands of the crowd. Someone's late to the party, I think, as I watch the black and silver drone for a moment.

A sudden jolt of unease ripples through my gut. Something's wrong with that drone. It's not slowing as it approaches the other media drones. I turn, watching it. Words of warning just forming on the tip of my tongue. But I'm too late. The other security guards on the stage see it too. But their reactions aren't any faster than mine.

The Vice Chancellor glimpses it at the last moment in Ducks. It's no good. The drone explodes just over the podium. The air fills with smoke as the directed blast slams into Lee, blowing his face apart in a splash of gore. I'm up on the stage just after Lee's body falls to a heat. Chaos rains in the crowd as people run screaming in all directions. All the other security personnel join me. There's nothing we can do.

Vice-Chancellor Shirton Lee is dead. Somehow, I still have a job the next day. All of us do. The drone shouldn't have been able to even take off in the airspace around the square. The security bubble the tech people set up was supposed to prevent that, unless the drone's ID number was verified and cleared. Strangely enough, the records of each drone's communication with the security system have been erased. The whole thing stinks like a trash reclamation facility. It smells like an inside job.

This is why the entire tech staff is now being interviewed by my colleagues. My job is to search through the footage and see if I can find out who launched the drone. I've been at it for several hours now, looking at different angles from various cameras positioned in the habitats around the square. And I think I've just come across something interesting, but it's not exactly what I was looking for. Part of my job when preparing for the rally was to review footage of any incidents around the area and the weeks preceding our event. At a glance, there was nothing strange about the incidents when I first saw them. They were atrocious, sure. People hurting or killing other people is something I'll never understand or get used to. But it's something that I have to live

with, as all humans do. One of the incidents didn't mean anything to me at first. I watched it, logged it, moved on. But now, it definitely means something. The incident involved three men. Two of them attacked a third and killed him for no apparent reason. They beat him with farming tools used in the agricultural domes here on I.O. And they left him in the middle of the square, dead. At least, he was reported dead.

But now, as I watch footage from the rally, I see that dead man standing at the back of the crowd, alive and well. He looks slightly different. His hair has changed, and he no longer has a beard. But I'm almost positive it's him. So I put in a request to use the tightly controlled facial recognition program developed by law enforcement. Given what happened to the vice chancellor, they have no problem letting me use it. And after feeding the program the footage from both incidents,

it comes to the same conclusion I have. It's the same man. A man that's supposed to be dead. But from the footage of the rally, he doesn't even look injured. Records show he was deconstructed. His usable organs harvested while the rest of him went for agricultural use. So just what the hell is going on? I command the facial recognition program to find out who the man is

by comparing the footage to the colony's records. But the program comes back with an answer. error. So I run it again, and it comes back with another error. So far, this all still reeks of government involvement. But that's not a conclusion I come too lightly. I have to be sure. So I take a different tactic. I tell the program to find the most recent sighting of the man in the colony. It could take a while because it has to search footage from every single camera in the place. That's a lot of cameras and a lot of faces. So I set it to run and step out for lunch. When I come back an hour later, it has a hit. But it's not what I expected at all. On my screen

is the latest footage the program found of the man. It's from the colony police station, and it shows the man, dressed in a uniform. He's a cop. The man has short, dark hair. His crooked nose sets him apart for many others who look similar. He's about average in height and weight. I've been following him since he left the police station 10 minutes ago. He's wearing street clothes now. I guess he's off shift. I had to get into a light rail car with him, but the cars are long and I don't think he noticed me.

We've exited the rail car and are walking through the streets of the Herod District of the I.O. colony. I still have no proof that he had anything to do with the vice chancellor's assassination. But my gut tells me he'll have answers. If nothing else, he'll tell me why he faked his own death. The artificial sunlight is dimming, signifying nightfall. The streets of the relatively poor district are crowded with people shopping, chatting, drinking, and getting food from street vendors. But I keep following the man, staying a safe distance behind him.

He turns off the main thoroughfare and into a thin alleyway between two buildings made from the silicate rock that covers most of the Jovian moon. surface, the vast majority of the colony's buildings are made of silicate rock, although some are made from a special composite material, similar to plastic made in the late 22nd century. There are two other men in the alley. They're drunkards, arguing with each other over the remnants of a flask of liquor. I pause at the alley entrance as the cop walks past. One of the drunkards asks him for a credit, but the man just ignores him.

doesn't feel right. My gut is telling me to proceed carefully. I move into the alley past the two drunkards. I shake my head as one of them asks for a credit handout. There's a T intersection up ahead, and the cop turns right at it. I hurry to catch up. I don't want to lose him. But as I get to the corner, I notice that the two drunkards have stopped arguing. I look over my shoulder to see both men standing, staring at me in the middle of the alley. Suddenly, They don't look so drunk anymore. I turned back around, determined to keep following the cop. But as I round the corner, I see him waiting for me there.

Hello, Thurman Reed, he says. He knows my name. How? Panic erupts within me. I turn to run the other way, but see that the alley is blocked by construction machinery. A glance back the way I came reveals the two drunkards closing in. Their eyes hard, faces set. I'm trapped. I run toward the cop, thinking facing one man is better than two.

He doesn't move. In fact, he crouches, waiting for me to come at him. Thinking I'll bowl over him, I pick up as much speed as I can rushing toward him. But he's fast. He turns, striking me once on the side of the head while simultaneously tripping me. I lose my footing and crash to the hard silicate alley floor. As I'm getting up, an arm wraps around my neck from behind, choking me. I throw one elbow, hitting the man in the man.

the gut and prompting a grunt from him. But he still hangs on, his arm tightening around my neck, cutting off my oxygen. I scramble, trying to wrench him off me. But the two drunkards are now upon me. I managed to kick one of them to the floor, but the other one lands a hard right punch to the side of my head. Lights out. I come too sometime later. Surprised I'm not dead. I'm also surprised I'm not tied up or locked in some kind of cell. I'm in a comfortable bed, in a furnished room, in what must be a nice place touching by the decor. As I sit up in my bed, the door to the room opens, and the cock comes in. Mr. Reed, he says, my name is Sir D. Yates. As you already know, I'm a police officer. And it's fair to say, you're quite the detective yourself. What is this? I ask.

gently touching the knot on my head. This is the day your life changes forever, Yates says. The day you learn the truth. I look at the man, confused. Let's start with something interesting, Yates says, stepping over and grabbing a pop-out chair from against the wall. If you're wondering who killed the vice chancellor, I can put that to rest now.

It was my colleagues and I. What? I say, disbelieving. Why would the police want to kill the vice chancellor? Not the police, Yates says. Although I do work as a police officer, my main job is for the SCP Foundation. Have you ever heard of it? I shake my head, thinking this man is insane.

No, of course not, he says. We wouldn't be any good if you'd heard of us. Does this have to do with recolonizing Earth? I ask. Very good, he says. I knew you'd be a good addition to you. to our team. I'm not joining any team of murderers. Yates shakes his head. You don't understand, Reed. We had to kill him. Just like we'll have to kill any other person in power who gets people

all riled up about going back to Earth. It can never happen. Why not? I ask. And what does this have to do with you faking your death? Patience, Reed. All will come clear. Just pay attention and stick with me, okay? It continues without waiting for my answer. Human history is full of violence, is it not? War, murder, genocide since the beginning of recorded history. But if you remember your history programs, you'll know that violence dropped significantly when we left Earth, right? Yes, it dropped somewhat, at first anyway, I say growing more interested in the conversation. Right, and the history programs attribute that to the need for survival when getting used to living in colonies in space. But then once people settled in, the violence began again, correct? I'm following him so far. Good,

Gates says. But the history programs are wrong, because we want them to be wrong. The truth is, we found that there's an airborne pathogen endemic to Earth's atmosphere that alters human brain chemistry. It reduces our natural capacity for empathy. And despite years and years of research, we never found a way to counter it. Yates pauses, letting what he's just told me to hang in the air. Wait, so you're saying that an airborne pathogen on Earth made us violent? That's right, Reid. Exactly right. Okay, I say. So why is there still violence in the colonies? Because we created. It's not true violence. We have to make it look like human nature is still violent.

Why? I ask. What purpose does it serve? It protects us, Yates says. Humans may not be naturally violent, but there are many, many entities out there that are. And much of what we do at the SCP Foundation is find ways to fight violence with violence. Plus, telling everyone the truth before we left Earth would never have worked. It would have simply created more problems. Those who depended on violence to maintain their power would have denied it outright.

And those who believed it would no doubt have fought wars to get humans off Earth. It would have been a disaster. It might have even ended humanity altogether. I stare at Yates, my mouth hanging open. I recall the lessons from school, going over the implications of what I've just been told. So, I say. The infertility disease was. made up to get humans to leave Earth?

Yes. The foundation designed a reversible infertility disease that was distributed to certain corners of the globe to get things rolling. Once humans were out of the Earth's atmosphere, they could reproduce again. Good God, I say. So the whole thing where you got killed by those two men beating you,

that was faked for the sake of maintaining the lie? That's right. We use people who have died of natural causes to indicate violence as well. And we cooked the books, making it seem like there are more deaths because of violence than there actually are, which is virtually none.

So the only violence is that propagated by this SEP foundation? I ask. I guess you could put it that way, yes. But most of it is fake. Don't forget that. But not the vice chancellor's assassination, right? No, that was real. It had to be done.

If we told everyone the truth now, the foundation would be dismantled, and there would be nothing to protect humanity from all those forces that would do us harm. I think about this for several long moments, weighing the implications in my mind. All the news stories about murders and assaults or lies. My whole view of humanity is suddenly turned on its head. But that's a good thing, right? Humanity is inherently good. So if that's the case, whatever the SCP found,

foundation does to protect us is only done because it has to be. Is the occasional murder of a fanatical, earth-centric politician worth it to protect the rest of humanity? Do the lies told to the masses justify themselves? Can a shadowy organization with as much power as this foundation be trusted to put humanity's best interests first? I don't know. But I guess it's time to find out. Tell me about these entities that wish to do us harm, I say. Yates smiles. Okay.

SCP 4266 is an as-yet unknown anomalous vector present exclusively on the planet Earth that causes lowered levels of empathy between sapient life. This vector is believed to be a compulsion effect responsible for virtually all historical violence between humans. The effects of SCP 4266 were first discovered in 2080, five years after the first successful Martian colony. was established. It was noted that the level of violent crime was far below the expected average, despite socioeconomic disparities and complex interpersonal relationships that were previously thought to be factors in such acts. Psychological testing revealed that colonists had massively

increased levels of empathy as compared to baselines performed on Earth. This was initially thought to be an anomalous effect of Mars 1, but after similar effects were noted on subsequent colonies established on the Moon, I.O., Ganymede, and the various spaceports of the asteroid belt. It was concluded that the effect was indeed localized exclusively to Earth. Lasagne sur-goled, puissance-mojointed, we're playing. We're like the dojo. Preete the pleasure with the Ojo.

The casino in-line that proposes the most recent machine-assin-sou and the games of casino in direct. Profite of 50 tours gratu on Big Bas Bonanza, without exigance of misuse and with the payments instantane. Hey, I! Gagne! Woo-hoo! Senture the pleasure. Play-O-Joh! 18-year-depos only,

exulue in Ontario. 50 tours gratu on the machine a sub-soubeck-bas-Bonanza. Depos minimum of $10. DeVos per year to be the way to be the way to be the way to be the responsible.