As we all know, the SCP Foundation secures,
contains, and protects the various anomalies under its custody. But their mission isn’t limited to just
grabbing the object and chucking it into a containment locker at the bottom of a classified
Site deep below the surface of the earth. The Foundation wants to get a comprehensive,
full understanding of all the strange items, creatures, and humanoids in its custody - because
that’s the only way to understand what they’re capable of, what danger they pose, and how
to effectively contain them. That much is logical. But the problem is that there’s no global
scientific community surrounding anomalies - at least, not ones willing to cooperate
with the Foundation. Perhaps the Chaos Insurgency or Global Occult
Coalition have some scientists who have studied anomalies, or the various government agencies
that know about the anomalous world like the Unusual Incidents Unit or Soviet GRU-P. But for the most part, the Foundation is utterly
alone when it comes to figuring out how these anomalies work, what they are, and how to
combat them. So, the Foundation does what any institution
would do: experiments. Many of the Foundation’s most important
and iconic anomalies are defined by the experiments the white-coated scientists have performed
on them, sometimes even using human subjects through the notorious and infamous D-Class
program. Everyone knows about how SCP-682, the Hard-to-Destroy
Lizard, has been subjected to practically every known weapon and attack under the sun
in an attempt to kill the highly-dangerous hateful predator. And who can forget SCP-914, the Clockworks,
and the countless objects the Foundation has put through it on its 5 settings to see what
it spits out. Needless to say, the Foundation’s experiments
are incredibly important to how the organization functions, so those SCPs that can offer lots
of testing options are very treasured and prized, along with being iconic and legendary
throughout the Foundation. Today we’re going to be looking at one such
anomaly - but not a dangerous, hostile man-eating predator like SCP-682 or a mysterious eldritch
machine like SCP-914. No, today we’re going to be looking at something
much much simpler than that. A coffee machine. Yes, today we’re going to be inspecting
SCP-239, affectionately referred to by guards and personnel as ‘THE Coffee Machine’. Though, you probably don’t want to order
a hot cup of joe in this coffee machine, lest you… well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. The first thing you see when you open the
SCP-294 file is it’s number, of course: Item 294, object class Euclid. The next thing you see is the image. If you were imagining a tiny little coffee
maker before, this should get rid of that. SCP-294 is big, the kind of coffee machine
you’d see in a factory breakroom. It’s almost the size of a vending machine,
and has a big colored window showing a few cups of coffee, along with the slots for cash
and coin so drinkers can pay for their espressos. But the most notable feature on SCP-294 is
the full keyboard on the front panel. It’s a typical QWERTY keyboard, just like
yours, with a spacebar and everything. Why on earth would a coffee machine need a
keyboard? The special containment procedures paint an
interesting picture. By which we mean, there aren’t any. SCP-294 doesn’t need any special procedures,
secret rituals, or complex machines to keep it contained - but it’s still euclid. So only personnel who have security clearance
of Level 2 of higher are allowed to interact with it at the moment. This is surprising, when you realize that
SCP-294 is currently being held not in an anomalous item locker or containment cell,
but exactly where you’d expect to find a big coffee machine: a break room. Specifically, the Site-19 second floor personnel
break room. But it’s not alone - it’s monitored by
two guards with level 3 clearance around the clock. For them, sitting in the break room all day
guarding a coffee machine that can’t move and is too heavy to lift has to be a pretty
sweet gig, considering what other kinds of jobs are available at the Foundation. But all that raises even more mysteries. What the heck is up with this coffee machine? The description starts out obvious enough,
affirmed that yes - SCP-294 is indeed a standard coffee vending machine, but with the difference
we all noticed earlier - instead of a simple button list of options, it has a full keyboard
on it, each button aligning with the letter on a real keyboard. And when someone slips fifty cents into the
coin slot - quite a bargain for coffee, if you ask me – the user gets a message on
the screen prompting them to enter the name of what liquid they’d like. You type it in on the keyboard, and that’s
that. The machine drops a little paper cup and a
nozzle shoots out 12 fluid ounces of whatever you requested. Pretty nifty, isn’t it? But it gets niftier. Most people would only think to ask a coffee
machine for, well, coffee. But SCP-294 accepts any liquid - and some
things that aren’t liquids. When the Foundation initially got their hands
on it, they ran no less than ninety-seven tests on it after they realized they weren’t
just limited to espressos and cappuccinos. At first, any kind of liquid you could drink
was requested - the researchers popped in requests for water, coffee, beer, soda, milkshakes,
and out they came. Then they decided to get a little more creative. They started to request things you couldn’t
possibly drink, not if you wanted to stay alive. Sulfuric and hydrochloric acid like the kind
SCP-682 is suspended in, wiper fluid, motor oil. But SCP-294 stubbornly provided, even if the
liquids would melt through the researchers’ throats like a knife through butter. Then the researchers decided to apply some
of their scientific knowledge: there are a lot of chemical compounds that don’t usually
exist in a liquid state on planet Earth’s surface. They typed in nitrogen, iron, and glass, among
others, and received shimmering liquids in paper cups. They sent them off to a lab for analysis and,
wouldn’t you know it - chemically identical to nitrogen, iron, and glass. But when they typed in diamond, no doubt wondering
whether they’d found an infinite cash cow, they received an error message on the screen. It seemed that while SCP-294 could deliver
substances that aren’t usually in a liquid state on Earth’s surface, it needed to be
at least possible for the substance to be in a pure liquid form for SCP-294 to dispense
it. Since diamond is only a mineral, it couldn’t
be dispensed. Then they tried to test something else, and
got a slightly disturbing response on the small LCD display: “Out of Stock”. It stopped responding to requests for over
an hour, then made a small noise and began to accept requests again. It appears that the machine can take about
50 requests before needing to take an hour and a half to “restock” itself. And while only the machine is anomalous, the
small 12oz paper cups it dispenses its liquids in seems remarkably hardy. Substances that would have eaten through paper
instantly like the sulfuric and hydrochloric acid had no effect on these little cups - though
the same can’t be said for those that drank from them. One of the researchers had a great idea - here
was an anomaly that was practically harmless, and could be a great little way for the Foundation
to scale back its budget a little bit. They proposed putting SCP-294 into the break
room it currently resides in, both to more easily conduct experiments and to save money
when agents and doctors came in for lunch and needed a quick drink, or in the mornings
when everyone was looking for coffee to wake them up. With no good reason not to, the machine was
put in the break room - but not long after, an unfortunate incident occurred, one with
enough harm that it was deemed necessary that only personnel with security clearance interact
with SCP-294. What could have happened to cause this? Did someone burn themself on hot coffee? Did the vending machine accidentally crush
someone? No, the reality is much darker. One morning in August of 2005, Agent Joseph,
whose full name has been redacted to preserve their identity, went up to the vending machine
in the break room, looking to get a hot cup of coffee to wake himself up between shifts. Another agent in the room who was on break
at the time saw him, and made a suggestion - to find out what SCP-294 would do when given
the colloquial name rather than the exact real name of a drink. They just wanted to see what would happen. So Agent Joseph slipped in two quarters and
typed in “a hot cup of Joe”. Seconds after, he began sweating like a pig. He was feeling very hot, even though the break
room was fully air-conditioned, and his skin began to flush. He then clutched his head, complaining that
he was dizzy and the whole room was spinning around, before collapsing to the floor. The other agent immediately called the medical
staff, who moved Agent Joseph to the infirmary and stabilized him. Once they made sure he wasn’t in any real
trouble, they also grabbed whatever SCP-294 had spit out. It was a disgusting, thick reddish-brown liquid
with a strong stench - and when they ran the labs on it, they confirmed it was exactly
what they thought it was. A mixture of blood, tissue, bone marrow, cerebrospinal
fluid, and other bodily fluids that was an exact DNA match for Agent Joseph. SCP-294 somehow managed to literally liquify
12 ounces from the agent’s body before producing them into the cup. This offered a clue - maybe it stole the liquids
it was asked for from the nearest source? In any case, the agent was released after
a few weeks of bed rest and care to make sure he wasn’t further injured, and both involved
agents were reprimanded. With the knowledge of how accidentally dangerous
SCP-294 can be, who can blame the Foundation for wanting to keep a careful lid on it? Researchers were curious, though, and received
clearance to test the SCP’s abilities to retrieve specific liquids from long distances. With an O5’s approval and oversight, they
input “a cup of SCP-075’s secretion”. SCP-075, the Corrosive Snail, is exactly what
it sounds like - a gross little creature that secretes a highly caustic acid capable of
melting almost anything. Without fail, the Coffee Machine dispensed
the secretion into the cup and the cup stayed perfectly intact. But at the very same time, in SCP-075’s
cell, the creature woke up and began secreting acid that immediately disappeared - all in
all, about 12oz, the same amount in the cup. Based off these results, further testing with
SCP-294 was approved. One researcher tried punching in a request
for “a cup of gold”. What came out was a small paper cup of molten
gold that quickly cooled to room temperature. Asking for cups of silver and platinum produced
similar results, but based off the previous tests, it seemed clear that the machine wasn’t
creating precious metals so much as siphoning them off from somewhere else. The next request was a strange one: “a cup
of anti-water”. The machine took a moment, then printed a
small message on its LCD display: “OUT OF RANGE”. This confirmed that the machine couldn’t
produce substances that didn’t actually exist and couldn’t break physics to get
its materials by peering into alternate universes, dimensions or realities. After that, the researchers tested for diamond,
and got the result that you already know of: an “OUT OF RANGE” error. Some more investigation showed that all solid
substances that don’t have a liquid form get this error. But asking for a cup of liquid carbon produced
exactly that, because liquid carbon isn’t the same thing as a diamond, though both are
made of carbon. SCP-294 clearly has more knowledge of chemistry
than some of us. Then the researchers created an entirely new
drink - made of bleach, various sodas, protein powders, and spices. They blended it together and put it in a jar
across the room from SCP-294 - when requested, the amount of the liquid in the cup was missing
from the jar, proving that SCP-294 doesn’t actually create its own liquids. But how does SCP-294 react when presented
with a more subjective request? One researcher asked for “the best drink
I’ve ever had”. After a moment, the paper cup filled with
something that looked like cola, but the researcher said it tasted like a drink he’d had years
ago at a party and that he’d always remembered as his favorite drink - though he couldn’t
say what was in it. But that was a subjective test, and the researchers
repeated it with a different subject. When an agent also requested “the best drink
I’ve ever had”, the machine produced a simple Vienna lager with a label showing a
group of people drinking at the beach and no brand name. The agent confirmed that the best drink he’d
ever had was a Vienna lager at the beach with his friends. So SCP-294 could not only read people’s
minds, it can read memories they don’t even know they still have! Another one they tried was “something Cassy
will like”, referencing SCP-085, the young girl who lived in a drawn-on world. The cup dispensed was completely empty - but
it had a small drawing printed on the side, of a soda glass with brown and white things
floating on top of each other. The researchers presented the cup to Cassy,
and were told by her it was a chocolate banana milkshake - and a delicious one at that. “A cup of music” was a strange request,
and produced an even stranger result. A clear, odorless carbonated drink that tasted
“vaguely alcoholic”. When drunk, subjects said they could “feel”
it, and started showing an affinity to music - being able to sing and dance to a rhythm
when they had no sense of rhythm or were tone deaf before. Whether SCP-294 can produce even more abstract
concepts is still under study, but was interrupted by the next test. An unfortunate containment breach incident
at Site-19 left several personnel trapped in the break room, heavily injured while MTFs
fought to reestablish control over the site. An agent typed in “a cup of medical knowledge”
and the machine quickly produced a green liquid - after drinking it, the agent was able to
treat the injuries of their fellow personnel consistent with standard first responder practices,
and was commended for their bravery. But their knowledge didn’t stick around
after the breach, and attempts to recreate the liquid failed - they decided that SCP-294
broke its own rules for self-preservation in the emergency, implying that its not only
sentient, it’s intelligent. A doctor using SCP-294 made a request close
to him - “my life story”. While nowhere close to a drink, SCP-294 seemed
to accept the input - until it started shaking violently and making odd noises. It remained in this new state for about three
minutes, then returned to normal, spitting out a completely opaque black fluid, like
tar, in a cup. Despite the strange reaction, the doctor drank
the fluid, and immediately informed the others he was now able to remember everything that
had ever happened to him, from the smallest childhood event to the most important events
in his adult life. He excused himself and disappeared into his
office - the next time the staff saw him 2 days later, he was carrying an autobiography
600 pages long. Then the researchers decided to try their
luck, and input “surprise me”. The resulting solution was a cup containing
what seemed to be regular water - right until a researcher touched it. It was just water, alright, but it had been
superheated to 200 degrees celsius while remaining in liquid form. The moment someone touched it, bang! It violently evaporated into steam, spraying
boiling water everywhere. Not only does SCP-294 have intelligence, it
has a sense of humor - albeit quite a rude one. The next three requests were for blood. Namely blood of the Smilodon or Sabretooth
Tiger, of the passenger pigeon, and of Founding Father Thomas Jefferson. But the only thing SCP-294 produced were out
of range errors, confirming it can’t take liquids that don’t exist anymore. But in the next test, blood was received from
wolves, saliva was received from horses, urine was received from koalas, and cerebrospinal
fluid was received from Phoberomys pattersoni, a rodent that went extinct some 8 million
years ago - though, if SCP-294 is working according to its own rules, it means that
maybe there’s still one in the wild somehow. For the next test, the researchers decided
to get back to the scientific roots of it all. They made a request for “a cup of D-151839’s
leukemia”, knowing that the D-class in question had a very advanced case of cancer. The machine outputted it without any trouble,
and analysis of the liquid showed it contained cancer cells that matched the D-class’s
DNA. But another request for the same spat out
an “OUT OF RANGE” error. What’s more, a medical checkup on the D-class
revealed that their tumor was completely gone! But unfortunately, it was only a short-term
fix: the cancer cells recurred within two weeks of the test. SCP-294 initially just seemed like a boring
magic vending machine, but it was only after the extensive experimentation you just saw
a shortened log of that the SCP Foundation was able to discern its true nature. It wasn’t an unthinking object - it was
sentient, intelligent, and even a little sarcastic, though none of that stopped it from doing
its job: providing people with a hot cup of whatever they need to drink. Just make sure you type in your request very
carefully! Now go watch “How NOT to Kill an SCP - SCP-1609
- Remains of a Chair” and “Living Ice Cream Van SCP-1386” for more oddly sentient
objects and entities secured and contained by the SCP Foundation!
