I made it? I actually made it? I’m still alive,
by some miracle – or maybe by sheer luck – I made it to the end of my sentence. Over three months
of the most horrific work I’ve ever had to do, with no other alternative. But it’s paid off,
because any minute now, they’ll be coming into the dorm to let me go. I can walk out of here with my
head up. I can’t wait to get out of these orange overalls that I’ve had to live in since I arrived.
It seems like so much longer, in all honesty. The only way I’ve been able to keep track of how
many days I’ve been stuck here is by putting tally marks on the wall next to my dormitory
bed. A hundred, I’ve been a member of D-Class personnel for the SCP Foundation for the last
one hundred days. And here’s how I survived… They didn’t waste any time early on; I’ll give
the Foundation that. I’d barely been out of my sentencing hearing for a few days. Put on trial
and convicted for a crime I didn’t even commit. There had been a string of murders, and someone
who had either been involved or was responsible laid the blame on me. But whoever they were, they
had powerful friends. The cops were in on it, planting evidence to frame me and make it look
like I was guilty when I was really innocent. That’s what landed me in prison, serving a
sentence of twenty-five years to life behind bars. And it was during my first week of incarceration
that he showed up. The recruitment specialist, a clean-cut, blunt, Agent Smith type came
to visit me. I hadn’t even been in prison long enough to have visitor privileges, but
the shady agent seemed to know which strings to pull in order to ask me an important question:
“What would you do to get out of here?” he’d said. To which my answer was “Anything.”
That was my first mistake. Immediately, the next day I received a letter
detailing more about what exactly Agent Smith was offering. It was folded and hidden in the
spine of a book that a guard handed me during reading hour. Unfolding the message, it all
felt like an old-school covert spy tactic. “To Mr Emil Carker,” the letter read. “We
understand that you recently received a criminal conviction. There are two options
currently before you, as detailed below. One: you can serve out the remainder of your
sentence in prison. Or two: you can be released into the care of our organization. While with
us, you will be helping to further scientific advancements through hard work. We have devised
a system that allows convicts such as yourself to perform a vital role within our organization, in
return for a reduction in their prison sentences. “We have no interest in or intention of
determining any guilt for the crimes for which you are currently convicted. We merely seek
to present this opportunity to you. We ask that you destroy this letter once you have finished
reading. Should you be interested in our offer, then please recite the phrase ‘it’s a yes’ to
a prison guard with the badge number: 47890.” Naturally, as cryptic as an offer like that
was, I didn’t need much time to mull it over. I was trapped in prison for something I
didn’t do, with no way to appeal for my freedom or prove my innocence. So, taking up
a mysterious job opportunity from a shadowy group seemed like a much better alternative at
the time. After all, I could either work off my sentence through employment, or rot away in a
cell for the next two and half decades at minimum. All I had to do next was find the right guard.
I tried not to make it obvious that I was eyeing every prison guard’s badge number as they
stood around, keeping a close eye on me and the other inmates. But it was while out
in the yard that I saw him: number 47890. I had gone to bed with a knot in my stomach.
Hours earlier, I had done exactly as the letter said and approached the guard, making
sure I was close enough for him to hear me, but trying to make it clear that I wasn’t
looking tor start any trouble either. “It’s a yes,” I told him.
In response, 47890 had furrowed his brow and scrunched his mustache, seemingly in disgust.
“Back up, inmate,” he commanded sharply. I backed away with my hands raised, confused as
to what had just happened. I spent the entire rest of the day thinking about it; maybe the
note had been a prank, some kind of initiation, seeing as I was the newest prisoner. But that
didn’t explain the agent who had shown up before. What was going on? The questions that were
spinning around in my head eventually wore me out. And while I slept, that’s when
someone put a bag over my head, drugged me, and snuck me out of prison.
When I woke up, I was somewhere new, a room filled with other convicts. Although not many of them
seemed to have come from the same prison I had been sentenced to; plenty were sporting different
jumpsuits, but their gruff demeanors told me all I needed to about them. I was surrounded by
a more violent breed of criminal, some of the worst of the absolute worst. The atmosphere in
this pen full of murderers and monsters was so tense that it felt like the slightest accidental
bump could explode into a full-blown fight. Suddenly, a hatch in the ceiling opened, and a
pile of clothes came thumping down from above. It was a mass of orange, enough matching overalls
for every inmate in the room. Of course, I held back from the initial clamor some of the others
made, grabbing their new prison garb, snatching orange overalls from each other, and arguing. When
I eventually got mine, I noticed an unfamiliar logo emblazoned on the front of the uniform.
After being made to wait a whole day in the pen, the other prisoners and I were filed out of
the room by heavily armed security guards. We were all directed towards a hall, nobody
was daring enough to challenge the officers, even the more violent among the prisoners.
I spotted that the guard’s uniforms bore the same insignia as the overalls we’d been made to
wear. It must’ve been the logo of the mysterious organization that had offered me employment.
We were given an orientation talk led by someone who introduced themselves as a Junior
Assistant Researcher. They explained that our current location was highly classified, as was
the true identity of the group that had arranged for us to be released. All we were told was that
this was an unspecified form of research facility, and that we had to cooperate with the facility’s
staff if we wanted to secure our release. It seemed straightforward enough, although
the Junior Assistant Researcher seemed to make a lot of jokes about us dying during
these tests. I think they hoped it would alleviate some of the tension… it didn’t.
After sitting through the orientation talk, I still had more questions than answers. The
one thing I had learned was that being tattooed hurt. Exiting the hall, the other prisoners and
I had been directed to get a designation number tattooed on our wrist and across our chest.
When someone had asked why the chest, the Researcher conducting orientation had answered:
“Well, in the event of an explosion, it's most likely that it'll be the largest intact chunk of
meat left.” This was another of their ‘jokes’. Still feeling sore as my tattoo healed, I read
the number now permanently inked onto my body: D-2152. ‘D-Class Personnel’ that’s what they
called us now. We were directed into a dormitory, a lot less cramped than my old cell. But
still, being surrounded by violent criminals when I knew I didn’t belong there, it
felt no less isolating. One of them, who took the bunk next to mine, introduced himself
to me as ‘Shiv’. Worried he might try to kill me, I did my best to be friendly towards him.
Shiv and I didn’t exactly bond, but more sprung up conversations because there was little
else to do. I was still worried about some of the flippant comments made about us all dying,
until he pointed out something far stranger. “Don’t you wonder why they’re
making us wait?” he asked. And the moment he mentioned it, I did start
to wonder about that. It seemed odd that this organization had wasted little time
in getting us all here. It had only been a week ago that I entered my prison
cell for the first time, now I was here. “I think it’s their way of telling us,” Shiv
went on. “That we aren’t here to be helpful, to be a workforce for them. They’ve
brought us all here to die.” That comment made me look around, and actually
acknowledge the people I was trapped with. They were some of the worst criminals imaginable,
irredeemable killers. Would this organization really let those people back out into the
world after helping out with a few tests? I’d soon find out, because Day 8
was the last day before I found myself working directly for the SCP Foundation.
I picked up the name from a few places around the facility; nametags, lab coats, and security
uniforms, always with the same logo. Me and the other D-Class personnel were woken up early in
the morning by a bell and issued with assignments. From the very first day the work started, I
noticed that not all the others came back to the dorm at the end of the day. Shiv was one of those.
My tasks mostly consisted of cleaning up with a mop, hosing down empty testing chambers that had
a worrying amount of blood sprayed over the walls and floors. The regiments were strict, and I made
sure to do exactly what was asked of me to avoid causing any trouble. It felt a lot like being back
in prison, but with the only added caveat of being able to move around the facility, even if it
was to go and wipe up the Foundation’s mess. Although the other classes of personnel didn’t
seem to take kindly to my help, making snide comments as they passed me in the hallways. We had
been told not to address the other staff unless spoken to, which was frustrating. I certainly
had a few things I would’ve liked to say to them. After two and a half weeks without so much as a
hint of any trouble, I was given my first testing assignment that wasn’t just cleaning up. You
would think that would be exciting, but having seen some of the carnage left behind after other
tests, I was anything but eager to take part. Luckily for me, and pretty surprisingly,
my first test was pretty straightforward. I was shown to a room containing a
white bowl decorated with light blue flowers that the researchers referred to
as SCP-348. I had received a nasty splinter from my mop’s handle the day before, and was
instructed to sit down and eat from the bowl, which was filled with soup. Naturally, I eagerly
ate it all, despite how bitter it tasted. It was better than the food from the D-Class canteen at
least. But when I finished, I noticed a message had appeared at the bottom of SCP-348. It read:
“I don’t believe you were framed. Goodbye, son.” After that, it was as if the floodgates had
been opened, and every day I was asked to do another test with a new SCP. Most were harmless
anomalous creatures or objects, like one of the bigger experiments I was involved in, which
focused on SCP-999, this friendly gelatinous orange blob. Electrodes were hooked up to me
while I just sat calmly in a room with SCP-999. Being around it made me feel great, the best I had
felt since arriving and joining D-Class. Although I did hear one of the researchers making the
comment that SCP-999 was ‘not quite ready yet’. Even so, the Tickle Monster had given me a new
positive outlook on my role at the Foundation. It was odd work, but I could find a rhythm to
it that would hopefully make the time pass by a little quicker. And if it meant getting out, it
was worth all the dirty looks from other classes of personnel. This was an outlook I didn’t want
to lose. After a month, we were told to take a pill that the guards handed out to us, something
called an amnestic that would make us all forget the previous month. But, wanting to hang on to my
newfound optimism, I secretly flushed mine down a toilet. In hindsight, I should have taken it.
My next big test quickly brought me back down a peg. I was handed a katana, SCP-572, and instantly
felt like I was unstoppable. The sword made me believe I was a powerful warrior, as if I could
maybe fight my way out of the Foundation facility with ease. Unfortunately, the moment I tried to
use it didn’t lead to freedom. I had an accident, broke my arm and suffered a series of internal
fractures, all while the research team mocked me. Embarrassed, I felt like a total laughing stock.
Things only got worse from there. I had barely set foot outside of the infirmary before a
different team of personnel told me I was going to be assisting them with an important
task. They dragged me to an old wooden door after briefly explaining what was going on;
although I struggled to keep up. Beyond the door – which they called SCP-2317 – was a
vast salt pan. Following their instructions, I acted as an assistant to the rest of the team as
they performed a strange ritual. I had to scatter a mix of holy water and chicken blood around
a circle of seven stone pillars, then recite: “Blood for the Old Gods, Water for the New King.”
It was an unusual practice, to say the least, but apparently, I was helping keep a
powerful, vengeful demigod imprisoned. That did little to soften the news that I
heard when we returned through SCP-2317. While I was gone, one of the Foundation’s
security team had been infected by something known as SCP-2193, a phenomenon that makes
people believe that every month a large group of D-Class are to be ‘terminated’. When I heard,
I actually considered taking my amnestic for this month to forget just how many had been killed…
It had been a whole two months since I had actively started work as part of D-Class
Personnel, and there weren’t many of my fellow prisoners left. I was sent for a mandatory
psychological evaluation; the Foundation wanted to know if I would still be able to perform tests
for them. I doubted it came from a place of actual concern, it’s not like they cared all that much
if the things I had seen were taking a toll on me. Sitting across from the researcher performing my
evaluation, I did my best impression of a normal person. I had to pretend like none of it was
getting to me, all the horrors and the close brush I’d almost had with death by Monthly Termination.
I wouldn’t have lied about it normally, But I’d been told I had a month left before I was due to
be released. Apparently, not many D-Class made it that far, given the dangerous nature of testing.
All I could think about was how good it would feel to eat real food again; I started to daydream
about getting a cheeseburger on my first day out. Almost instantly, my hopes for freedom were
dashed the very next day. I was told I’d be going on a longer assignment, this time it would
be an expedition into an anomalous location called SCP-432. The Foundation’s researchers outfitted
me with a flashlight, plus extra batteries. A headset and microphone linked to their control
center were placed over my ear, along with a camera unit mounted on my shoulder; they said
it would wirelessly transmit back to them, and they’d see what I saw. I was also given a
couple of bottles of water, some energy bars, and a few sticks of luminous marker chalk.
But when they had said ‘anomalous location’, the last thing I’d been expecting was
to climb into a rusty metal cabinet. The next two weeks were like living inside a
nightmare. Inside the cabinet was a huge maze, a literal labyrinth all made out of the same
rusted steel of the exterior of SCP-432. It was so dark, even with the use of my flashlight and
the few lightbulbs affixed to some of the walls within the Cabinet Maze. Before long, I ended
up losing my bearings, lost with no way out. But being trapped in the maze and the
dark wasn’t even the worst parts. There was something else in the labyrinth, some
kind of creature lurking through the metal corridors. My flashlight eventually ran
out of power, so I never actually saw it, but every time I tried to sleep, I’d just lay
awake, listening to its growls. I couldn’t help what kind of horrible thing was out there, and
might be looming over me in the dark. Even when I opened my eyes, I still wouldn’t get to see it.
Eventually, another D-Class was sent into SCP-432. By some miracle, he was able to not only find
me, but guide me back to the entrance of the Cabinet Maze. The moment I was free, I yelled at
the research team, demanding they let me go. I didn’t just mean let out of SCP-432, I meant free
from D-Class, from the Foundation, from all of it. I was sent for another psyche evaluation
and deemed to be fine, just suffering from heightened stress. When they asked me if I’d been
taking my amnestics, I lied and told them yes. Ten days before I was set to be released and they
couldn’t help but assign me to one last test. “Don’t worry,” a researcher sarcastically assured
me. “This one will be nice and easy on you, you’ll just have to jump into a paddling
pool. You can do that, can’t you, D-2152?” The paddling pool in question was SCP-120.
Every time a different glow emanated from it, I was instructed to jump in. The exact second I
did, I found myself transported somewhere new. I got The Himalayas on my first go, Greenland
and the Sahara Desert on the next two tries. Every one of the locations I ended up
at had some kind of Foundation facility established nearby. They’d pick me up, and I’d
be taken back to SCP-120 to continue testing. It felt like I was being deliberately,
intentionally tortured. The Foundation was giving me these momentary glimpses of freedom every time
I was teleported by SCP-120. It was a carrot on the end of a stick that they were keeping just
out of my reach, and I hated it. It made me realize that I had never been there to work for
them, being part of D-Class Personnel wasn’t a job. All I was to them was a human lab rat.
Now it’s my last day. They’ve promised me that by the end of today, I won’t be here anymore. I just
want to be out, done with D-Class for good. The Foundation’s researchers have given me one last,
simple test to do before I go. They said if I do, then I’ll be gone. All they want me to do is wear
this amulet for someone called Doctor Bright. How hard can that be? And they said they’d let me
go after this one last thing, so it can’t be anything all that bad, right? Right…?
Want to own an SCP of your own? Go to scpswag.com for premium anomalous merchandise!
Now go and check out “WHAT IF STARS ARE ACTUALLY EXPLODING D-CLASS – SCP-2193” and “SCP-2317
- THE DEVOURER OF WORLDS/A DOOR TO ANOTHER WORLD” for more strange stories taken
from the ranks of the SCP Foundation.
