A pair of SCP Foundation researchers open
the door of a containment cell and find themselves staring at something unlike anything they’ve
ever seen before. Sitting in the middle of the room is a giant
lump that appears to be made, of what can only be described as… flesh. The two look at each other in disbelief, just
what is this thing? They circle the huge blob, looking it over,
wondering what on earth it could be. One of the researchers finally gets the courage
to actually feel it. He finds that it’s warm to the touch. And does he detect some slight movement? He slowly moves to place his ear against it
to listen… but a sudden shudder from the mass sends him jumping back in fright. Just then the other researcher calls to him
from the other side of the sphere, it sounds like he has found something. As he approaches, he too sees what caused
his partner to call out. There in the middle of this tumorous ball,
is a door. It’s a circular iron hatch, the kind sealed
by a valve… and it’s open. Now the researchers are really confused. A massive lump of living flesh is strange
enough, but why does it have a door? One of the researchers peeks inside… is
that a couch they see? And a table? Does someone live in this thing? Things are getting beyond strange. The two researchers look up at the observation
window where their supervisor is watching them. The supervisor does not hesitate. He nods at them, and the researchers know
what they must do. Rock… paper… scissors… shoot! The researcher who lost winces. He knew that coming to work at the SCP Foundation
meant that he would be dealing with some strange, dangerous, and disgusting anomalies, but he
never imagined he would have to climb inside of a giant orb of meat. His partner opens the hatch all the way and
offers a hand to help him. Knowing he has no other option, the researcher
steps inside. Inside the air is hot, thick, and moist, like
a cramped gym that’s had too many bodies exerting themselves on a warm, humid day. He walks through the short entranceway and
his eyes adjust to the dim light to find that he’s standing in the middle of a cozy little
room. A single, small lamp on a table is giving
off just enough light for him to see that the room is sparsely furnished with a few
pieces including a small couch and a twin bed. Outside, his partner calls to him, asking
what he can see. As the researcher turns to answer… the door
snaps shut. The valve spins on its own, locking itself
tight. Try as he might, the researcher can’t get
it to budge. He bangs on the door and yells. Is he alright in there? Is everything ok? His only response is a muffled scream from
inside the ball of flesh. He keeps pulling at the door, twisting the
valve with all of his strength but it won’t move. The sounds of gurgles and wet sloshing come
from inside the meaty growth. An alarm starts to sound as he strains against
the door, exerting himself so hard that he feels like a vein in his head might burst. Suddenly the valve loosens and the sudden
lack of resistance causes him to fall to the floor. The valve spins on its own and the door swings
open once again. The ball of flesh is quiet once more. The researcher picks himself up off the ground
and slowly, carefully, peeks inside. “Hello? Are you ok? Is anyone in there?” There’s no response, that is until a blast
of hot air comes rushing out of the hatch, blowing the researcher’s hair back. When it's over he peeks inside again. His fellow researcher is nowhere to be seen. Inside is the same couch, bed, and table with
a small lamp. But there’s something new there too. Across from the couch, where there was nothing
before, is a small television. While this may seem strange, it’s just another
day at the SCP Foundation, where anomalous objects and creatures are studied and contained. Including SCP-002… also known as… The Living Room. SCP-002 is the designation given to a large,
tumorous, fleshy growth. It’s roughly spherical, with a circumference
just over 15 meters, giving it an estimated volume of around 60 meters cubed. Located on one side is an iron valve hatch,
similar to what might be found on an old submarine, which leads into the interior of the ball. Those who step inside are surprised to discover
a small room that resembles a low rent, studio apartment, complete with furniture and even
a small window. Strangely, the outside of the ball of flesh
shows no windows, and indeed no openings at all save for the iron hatch. The furniture in the room displays no anomalous
properties, though examination has revealed that the furniture appears to be constructed
of sculpted bone, woven hair, and other biological substances, all coming from human bodies. Analysis of samples taken from the furniture
has shown each to be constructed from independent and fragmented DNA sequences, several of which
correspond to SCP research personnel who have been lost inside of SCP-002. To date, the Living Room has been responsible
for seven members of staff going missing. At the same time, during the course of its
containment at the SCP Foundation the room appears to have added multiple additional
furnishings including two lamps, a throw rug, a television, a radio, a beanbag chair, three
books in an unknown language, four children's toys, and a small potted plant. Tests have been performed using a variety
of non-human entities in order to see if they would provoke a similar response from SCP-002
to that of humans. Various lab animals including those with close
DNA to humans such as chimpanzees have been placed in the room, but so far all have failed
to make The Living Room react. Human cadavers were also tested, but they
too did not produce any effect. It is unknown what causes SCP-002 to engage
in its behavior, but whatever process it uses to convert organic matter into furnishings
seems to only be triggered by the presence of living human beings. SCP-002 was discovered in northern Portugal
following reports of an object falling from Earth’s orbit. There in the bottom of a small crater, was
SCP-002. It was encased in a thick shell of rock, but
the anomaly’s fleshy exterior could be seen through cracks that were likely created by
the impact. A local farmer was the first to spot the object
falling to Earth and brought word of what he found to his village. At the same time, a Level Four SCP Foundation
agent stationed in the area detected elevated levels of radioactivity and traced the source
back to the crater. An SCP collection squad lead by General Mulhaussen
was dispatched to the impact site and quickly secured the area. Test subjects from the nearby village were
recruited for initial analysis of the object with three men being individually sent inside
of SCP-002, all of whom disappeared. Having confirmed this anomaly’s deadly properties,
General Mulhaussen then issued a Level 4a Termination Order that would apply to any
local witnesses in order to ensure that no knowledge of the object reached the outside
world. He then oversaw its transport to an SCP containment
facility. As Foundation staff prepped SCP-002 for relocation,
four members of the security personnel were seemingly mesmerized and drawn inside the
object where they too disappeared. This was the first hint that SCP-002 possesses
some form of subtle mind control, with the ability to influence humans into stepping
inside of it. It was after these losses that it was first
noticed that the object appeared to “grow” new furnishings following someone disappearing
inside. After these mishaps, General Mulhausen ordered
all staff to wear HAZMAT suits when dealing with SCP-002, and following the General’s
own termination, SCP-002 was placed in containment at the secure facility where it currently
resides. Due to the ongoing danger presented by SCP-002,
the risk it poses to any who step inside of it, and the mind control abilities it possesses,
it has been classified as Euclid. It is to remain connected at all times to
a suitable power supply to keep it in a charging mode of some kind, which appears to make it
more docile. In the event of a power outage, staff in the
immediate area are to be evacuated and the object’s containment cell emergency barrier
is to be closed, sealing it off from the rest of the site. Once power is reestablished, strobing x-ray
and ultraviolet lights are to be activated in the containment cell until SCP-002 is returned
to its charging mode. Research teams investigating SCP-002 that
will come within 20 meters of the object must consist of no fewer than two members. Personnel should also maintain physical contact
with one another at all times to confirm that the other is present and not experiencing
any feelings of confusion, dulled perception, or other forms of bewilderment that may lead
to them entering The Living Room. No personnel at all below a Level 3 clearance
are allowed inside of SCP-002, and any staff that have contact with the anomaly are to
be escorted no less than 5 kilometers away and must undergo a seventy two hour quarantine
and psychological evaluation. SCP-002 is one of the oldest anomalies in
the SCP Foundation database, but remains one of the least understood. Perhaps one day we’ll understand what it
is and why it was at one time sitting in the orbit of earth. Did someone send it here, intending us to
one day find it? Did it come here of its own volition? Or did we put it there ourselves, in an attempt
to keep it away? Thanks for watching this anomalous entity
from the SCP Foundation’s classified archives, and make sure you subscribe to Dr. Bob and
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