The SCP Experience - The War Demon | SCP-4715

Episode Date: December 2, 2022

Check out my brand new UFO podcast here: THEY'RE OUT THERE SCP Foundation KETER class object, SCP-4715: The War Demon This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-4715, 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

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depop Minimimimum of 10 dollars. Veilie! of a way responsible. The conditions apply. I watch from the observation room as the man enters the chamber. He's wearing an orange jumpsuit and has a smear of blood on his forehead.

The large creature, SCP 4715, sits in one corner, using its powerful dark fur-coated tail as a kind of stool. Its bear-like legs are bent at the knees, and its two pairs of arms are in a relaxed repose at its side.

There are hash marks and accompanying numbers on the wall behind it. Its head sits at the 14-foot mark. It watches the man with mild interest as he walks into the room, carrying a wicker basket full of raw meat. I'm looking through the reinforced ballistic glass observation panels directly down into the chamber on the right. The chamber on the left is currently unoccupied. Once the procedure is finished, we'll corral the creature into the other chamber so we can work on cleaning and preparing the the one that's in use right now.

I glance over my shoulder and look at the monitors in the observation room. When dealing with a creature this powerful, it pays to have a bunch of fail safes in place. To my left, just under the row of observation panels is a button that will immediately close reinforced steel shutters if something should go wrong. And if that happens, we can use the monitors to view the creature's movements. We have regular and thermal cameras, along with motion. sensors and an array of aerosolized weapons we can use on the creature. My research assistant, Gilroy Turpin, is at one of the two chairs in front of the monitoring station, ready to take

action if anything goes wrong. I doubt it will, though. We've used D-8763 for the procedure for the last three months. He has a down pat. Still, it's good to be prepared. D-8763 moves toward the creature and sets the wicker basket down. He starts pulling meat from the container and placing it in a specific arrangement. The creature stares down at him with its intelligent, forward-set eyes. Its long, vaguely feline snout is partially open, revealing large, pointed teeth. Two massive curled horns sweep back from its skull, one on either side of its head. Uh, Doc? Turpin says from his seat at the security station. We may have a problem. I spin around and walk toward him. What is it? An answer. Turpin points a slender finger at one of the

monitors. It's not a feed from a camera in either of the chambers, though. It's a feed from outside the chambers. In an adjacent hall. Two men in jumpsuits are arguing in the hallway. Oh, Christ, I say. What the hell are they doing there? Call Langford before this gets out of hand. As Turpin reaches for his radio, I watched the screen. Both D-class guys have mops in their hands. They were clearly working together to clean the hall and got into some ridiculous argument. I turned my head, looking up at one of the monitors from inside the containment chamber. The creature's getting antsy. It's no longer sitting. Now it's leaning forward on its two longer, claw-tipped arms. At the end of its shorter arms, its seven-digit hands are opening and closing. Despite the change, it's changing,

in posture. Its head is now at the 17-foot mark. It's growing. D-8763 glances over his shoulder at the camera. Fear clear on his face. Back on the other monitor, one D-class guy throws down his mop and lunges for the other. Shit, I say. Turpin is talking to Lankford, but who knows where he is, or how long it will take for someone to break up the fight. The two D-class guys fall to the ground, wrestling. I reached down to grab my radio to tell D8763 to get out of there, but it's too late. The creature swipes him up with one of its long, muscular arms. He screams, but it doesn't last long. The creature crushes his ribcage and clamps its teeth around his skull.

I look away just as the man's head collapses. It throws the dead man into the corner of the room and roars. The sound, a mix between a bear, a cat, and a barrage of gunfire. It's still growing, feeding off the animosity of the two D-class inmates. Get ready to use the aerosol spray. I tell Turpin as he's putting the radio down. Langford's coming, he says to me. Should see him any moment.

Sure enough, he runs on screen, nearly slipping on the wet floor as he approaches the two fighting men. Another security officer runs behind him, and they quickly break up the fight. SCP 4715 is stalking around its cell, huffing and grunted. As I watch, it slows a bit, and then finally looks around as if confused. I breathe a sigh of relief. It's calming down. But we still have to finish the procedure, which means getting another D-class in that room before the night is through. I grab my radio.

Langford, come to the observation room when you've got those two sorted. I don't bother to hide the anger in my voice. Langford knows better than to have anyone unattended near the containment cells. especially when it's time for the procedure. He looks up at the camera and snaps a lazy salute, his other hand holding one of the sullen D-class men. I shake my head. Maybe after this incident,

I'll finally convince the site commander to transfer Langford to a safe SCP, somewhere he can't mess up and get people killed. Five minutes later, Langford comes into the observation room. The entity has shrunk back to its normal size, which is still pretty big. Why were two D-class personnel unattended in the access hallway? I ask Lankford. He shrugs.

He seems disinterested, like it's no big deal. I study him, noting the difference between his attitude and his appearance. He's well-kempt, his uniform pressed and clean, his hair trimmed neatly, face-clean-shaven. If only he took as much care with his job as he did with his appearance. You don't know? I asked. I thought you were in charge of D-Class personnel for this facility.

Was I wrong? Sorry, Lankford says. Come here, I say, pointing down into the cell. Look at that. Lankford comes over and looks at where I'm pointing. D-8763's crushed body is against the wall, motionless and surrounded by a pool of blood. The meat he'd been setting out hasn't been touched.

We'll have to get more meat and start the whole thing over again. That man is dead because of you, I tell him. He doesn't seem to care. He says nothing. I exhale sharply and gather myself. Please tell me you have another D-Class ready to perform procedure-waining moon. Of course, he says. That's what I was just going to work on when you called me up here.

Fine. Go. Hurry up. We'll get 4715 into the other cell so your people can clean your mess up. Lankford nods and walks away. Whistling. Turpin and I work to move SCP 4715 into the adjacent cell, using strategic sprays of aerosolized RTX, which causes irritation to the eyes and respiratory tract.

It's our main weapon against 4715, because it doesn't seem to have an immunity to it. It can pretty much take everything we throw at it, and since it feeds on violent intentions, we want to be very careful how we use our weapons against it. Since we're not really trying to hurt the creature, it moves into the adjacent cell with minimal prodding. We shut the large connecting door and wait for Lankford to show up with the other D-class so we can let him or her into the airlock. After about 15 minutes, I see Lankford on one of the camera feeds. The security officer is escorting a man I don't recognize to the containment cell. Who is that? I asked Turpin.

He looks up, adjusting his glasses. I don't know. I don't recognize him. Must be a new transfer. How did he train a new transfer so quickly? I ask. Turpin doesn't answer. He knows I'm just thinking out loud. I watch as Turpin cycles the airlock and allows the orange jump-suited man into the cell. Like D-8763, he's carrying a wicker basket full of meat, and he has a smudge of blood on his forehead. So far so good. I move over to the observation panels to look down at the procedure with the naked eye.

The creature sits in the middle of the room, studying the D-class guy. I hear the door lock behind me disengage. Glancing over my shoulder, I see Lankford walk in. My first thought is to tell him to leave, but I suppress it. Maybe he's come to make a sincere apology. It doesn't really matter. There's no time now. I have to ensure the procedure goes exactly as it should.

I turned back and look down into the cell. The man is spreading the meat out on the floor in the precise shape outlined in the ancient document. I feel Langford hovering around behind me, looking over my shoulder. That's Calb, Lankford says. He's got a photographic memory. He proved it to me. Just one glance at the instructions, and he remembered every word. Pretty cool, huh?

I ignore him. Watching his Calb places the final piece of meat on the ground, completing the design. He sets the basket aside and then prostrates himself in front of the creature. This we offer for your continued torpor, flesh of your time, blood of my blood. The tension slowly releases from my shoulders as I hear Calb speak the words loudly, enunciating them clearly. Soon, the procedure will be done and will be good for another month.

But I keep watching, just to be sure. He repeats those three sentences twice more. But then the words changed. My blood turns cold as I hear what he's saying. The children of the sun be damned. Demon born of war. Take your place among the mighty. Return the earth to its balance.

Avenge the slaughter of the children of the night. Endless rotation ends now. May the hairless usurpers suffer at its hands and pay for their transgressions. What is he doing? I scream. Slapping my palms on the thick ballistic. glass. Colb's words turn from English to something like guttural grunting noises. But they aren't

just random noises. I know that much. They're a chant. SCP 4715 roars and shakes. It's growing faster than I've ever seen it grow. Flood the chamber with RTX, I say, turning to look at Turpin, only to see Lankford dragging a blade across his throat, releasing a spray of crimson liquid. Afraid not, Dr. Grissom. Langford says, throwing Turpin's convulsing body to the floor. I'm afraid your time has come. Your death will not be in vain, though. It will help make the war demon even more powerful.

It will help return balance to the earth. He steps toward me with his knife held at his side, Turpin's blood dripping off the blade. Balance? I say, backing up, thinking furiously. You put those D-Class in the hallway on purpose, didn't you? You need a D-8763 to die. So you could get Cobb in there.

Langford smiles. It's amazing what a hundred bucks in a commissary account will get you. Turns out, not so much it costs to throw the human race into chaos. Below us, down in the chamber, 4715 keeps roaring as Calbs chanting continues. The floor shakes as the creature slams one massive hand against the wall. We have fail safes in place, I say. Langford is shaking his head even before I finish the sentence. Not anymore, you don't.

I've disabled all the RTX dispensers and bombs. I shake my head. How? Let's just say that I'm not the only child of night working in this facility. The floor is steadily shaking now. I glanced down through the panel at the corner of the room and see that the creature's head is nearly to the ceiling of the 60-foot-tall chamber. It's roaring and banging on the walls.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Lankford lunge for me. I throw myself the other way. but I'm not quick enough. His blade slices my arm open. I shout as I roll and get up to my feet on uneven ground. Lankford turns toward me, is back now to the observation panels. Holding my injured arm with my right hand,

I quickly go over what Lankford has just told me, and I smile. What about the thermobaric bomb? I ask him, shouting over the constant roaring and rumbling. It won't kill the entity, but he will still stun it long enough for backup to get here. Still grinning, Langford shakes his head.

Nice try, Doc. You can't bullshit a bullshitter. There's a reason why we have different security clearances. I say to one, backing up toward the security keypad on the wall next to the door. There's one near every door, but they're not just for opening and closing locked rooms. They're also useful in case of a breach like this one. Langford's grin is waning, but he's still moving toward me in a crouch. His arms held out for balance.

Behind him, a giant, clawed hand crashes into an observation panel. It flies out of its reinforced frame and slams into the ceiling. Lankford flinches, half turning as the ballistic glass crashes to the floor a foot behind him. I spin around and lunge for the security keypad, quickly entering a code. A small, hidden panel just below the pad opens up and presents two oval-shaped screens. Excruciating pain races through my body as Lankford sinks his knife into my upper back, I grunt and spin around, wrenching the embedded knife out of his hand. Then I headbut him, smashing the curve of my forehead into his nose.

He stumbles back, dazed, but I grab his arms and yank him close. There's only one problem with a thermobaric bomb, I say to one. Just one person can't set it off. A yank his right thumb and press it to one of the oval pads. I press my thumb to the other one. A loud beep sounds. He pulls his hand away, his momentary stupor clearing. He looks at me with disbelief.

The failsafe beeps with increasing frequency. What did you do? Screw you, Langford, I say. I knew he should have transferred you. SCP 4715 is a large hexapodal mammalian carnivore with chimeric morphology standing at a minimum height of 15 feet and weighing around 5,000 pounds. It has a robust frame and a vaguely feline skull

with a carnivorous dental structure, forward-set eyes, and a stout muzzle. SCP 4715 is highly aggressive and has been observed attempting to attack most sapient life it has encountered. However, when observed in situ, it appears disinterested in most other fauna. It has never been observed hunting or pursuing other organisms, and larger fauna avoids it, instinctively fleeing from its scent. In the event that SCP 4715 perceives an entity intending to harm another, including itself, it will rapidly gain mass, proportional to the number of such entities and the intensity

of these feelings. The source of new mass gained during these episodes is unknown. The most egregious breach saw SCP 4715 reach a height of approximately 80 feet and a weight approaching an estimated 123,000 pounds. But depictions in recovered historic artifacts suggest the potential to grow larger, given sufficient exposure to situations of conflict. SCP 4715 has proven highly resistant to most forms of conventional weaponry and physical trauma. Additionally, it has shown the ability to regenerate and heal injuries quickly. To date, nothing has proven capable of causing damage to SCP 4715's cranium, verteble column, or central nervous system.

and nothing has proven capable of neutralizing its capacity for regeneration.