SCP-8679 - When I was a child, I had a fever dream

It was then that I demonstrated the union of the old knowledge of biochemistry and the new knowledge of gods and spells.

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Tema

Breathe.

Remember.

Breathe.

Remember.

I was born in 1961, yes… in a small village, I remember when the wheat became so golden that at noon it seemed like we were no longer on Earth. My mother always kneaded the bread in the early morning and baked it in time for lunch. Dad always wanted bread on the table, it was never to miss like water and wine. How many times did he beat me and Mom when the bread was moldy. He was tired, he always said, he worked all day and deserved to eat decently without us ruining everything. But Mom wasn't to blame. Only when I grew up and was introduced to the truth, I understood that I was the one who cursed that bread every day in my heart out of hatred for my father. I had the talent to do so, but I didn't have the guidance to use it. Yet.

One night, I remember dreaming that I was walking down a white hallway, holding one of the moldy loaves in my hands. Suddenly, I saw a man approaching me. For a moment, I thought it was my father and was about to run away, when he grabbed my arm and snatched the bread from my hands. He began to devour it as if he hadn't eaten anything in years. I woke up screaming. How could I understand the true meaning?

Item #: SCP-8679

In all those years of suffering in that house, I saved money to leave for Northern Italy, where everyone went to work. But I had other plans. I wanted to become a scientist, to become famous like the men I saw in magazines, the Nobel Prize winners who changed the world, free and independent, loved and respected by everyone. I enrolled in the Faculty of Chemistry to specialize in plant and fungal biochemistry: I would discover the secrets of nature like Fleming and McClintock. My studies went very well and after graduation, I planned to apply to a doctoral project, when my supervisor, Prof. Santilli, asked to meet me to discuss some job offers. I thought he wanted to ask me to become his assistant at the Department, but once I showed up at his office, I discovered that what he was about to present to me would be more ambitious than I thought: a position as a researcher for one of the most famous chemical companies in the country, Febris Pharmaceuticals.

During that interview, the professor told me that he had contacts within the company and that he was extremely happy to be able to direct talented young people like me to an institution of this kind, where our skills, our ideas and our research method would lead to great achievements. However, before he could mention my name to the right person, he had to make sure that I had "the right factor". When I asked what this factor was, he took a sheet of paper, placed it on the table and drew a strange symbol on it. I do not deny that I stiffened when he asked me to touch it, but thinking it was some strange aptitude test I did it anyway. The sheet caught fire instantly and I walked away from the table screaming. Santilli laughed and told me that yes, I had what it took to work there. Then he told me the truth about me and this world.

Object Class: Neutralized

Two weeks later, I was hired at Febris Pharmaceuticals in the Research and Development section: in the morning I analyzed the ongoing projects and the products in the formulary, while in the evening I studied the magic formulas and rituals that were used to bend nature like no scientist could have ever hoped. I do not deny that the first few months were pure madness for me, but the support of Santilli and the Section, as well as the clarity that was increasingly making its way into my mind, allowed me to adapt to the objectives required of me.

One of the ongoing projects involved an anxiolytic for which they were evaluating possible active ingredients from some plants that grew in places that I certainly would not have found in a normal atlas. It was then that I demonstrated the union of the old knowledge of biochemistry and the new knowledge of gods and spells: the experimental phases showed an unparalleled effectiveness, although the side effects were beyond what I had studied at university. What university course could have prepared me for iatrogenic astral projection?

The marketing department named it Lotusol and as soon as it was released on the Free Ports market, it was an immediate success. Sleeping and dreaming, what more could one want in a society that was marked by stress, anxiety and insomnia even for magicians and spirits? However, some colleagues slandered that the sales were largely due to a sort of urban legend of Gorična, Curcarsi: a hypothetical dream world where you can do whatever you want, surrounded by guardian spirits called Maschere and other nonsense. I didn't care: as long as we had reported the risks of abusing Lotusol, I didn't care why someone might take it and in what quantities, much less to ascend to a mythical place.

Special Containment Procedures: Given the absence of significant chemical, metabolic, or thaumaturgical activity, samples of SCP-8679 are being held in a minimal-risk section of the Containment Wing pending further examination.

The head of the Research and Development Section took me to one of the company parties for the executives and there I met him for the first time. The CEO, Dr. Fausto Farnesi. The Devil. I shook his hand, accepted his congratulations, but inside I was shivering. There was something alien and indecipherable about him, but I couldn't figure out what it was. I realized that what was said about him, that he was the son of Febris himself, a demigod in a suit and tie, was entirely true. I imagined that if I felt that when he congratulated me on my projects, anyone who made the mistake of contradicting or disappointing him would experience something terrifying. Good old divine wrath, I suppose.

I remember him telling me he expected other great things from me, new drugs to ease the suffering of those who had been turned away from treatments for "normal" people. He said there were common diseases for extraordinary people, as well as extraordinary diseases that could afflict ordinary people. And that everything was in my hands and those of my colleagues. I feared that man, but those words were mixing in my mind as if I were inhaling a perfume, and the fear became pride. He needed me, a being like him needed my talent! What a fool…

Description: SCP-8679 is the nomenclature assigned to a thaumaturgical molecule whose properties are not currently identified. Given the conditions of the discovery of the compound and the state of degradation due to exposure to high temperatures, it is impossible to replicate or understand its structure in its entirety.

Furthermore, although it is possible to recognize metabolites that could suggest that SCP-8679 was originally an anomalous enzyme, the very presence of residual traces of thaumaturgical activities compatible with those already analyzed for the forced creation of chemical bonds makes any study or theory on the original structure impossible. Consequently, it is impossible to deduce what the properties of SCP-8679 were.

The samples collected at the discovery site are functionally inert; from preliminary tests, it is assumed that they are incapable of producing chemical-physiological reactions regardless of the method of their intake by a human being (ingestion, inhalation, etc.).

Several months passed from that evening, but what could I create? What other drug could have achieved the resounding success of Lotusol? I wandered around the laboratories like a madman, studying the chemical and magical formulas as if I were an alchemist searching for the Philosopher's Stone, but nothing seemed to be within the reach of my ingenuity and my magic. In the end I decided to opt for an unconventional path. If Mullis invented PCR under the influence of LSD, winning a Nobel, why couldn't I try the same? As the creator of Lotusol, why couldn't I use it to access the most remote corners of my mind?

Ten drops in each eye, in addition to the dose that had been established on the package insert. It should have worked without burning out my hippocampus or conjuring nightmares in the waking world. Hours passed, but finally it happened. I expected to feel like I was chained to a rocket but it was quick and painless, just like falling asleep. I was there, projected into Curcarsi, a world beyond the logic of thought, where the Maschere showed unsuspecting men the wonders that were not bound by the Laws of the Atom to which I was tied by my degrees and my magic. It was there that fantasy was born and thrived and it was there that I perceived you for the first time. You already knew who I was, right? You already knew that it was I who had offered a key to this and other worlds beyond sleep?

The world around me was constantly changing, sounds and colors were blending and separating like I can never describe and before I knew it, I was walking down a corridor as sterile as a hospital ward. Suddenly, a child appeared in front of me carrying a loaf of bread in his hands. Why was Curcarsi showing me this? Why did you have to stir up my memories?

I wanted to take that bread and tear it to pieces with my hands but that vision started to run away. I grabbed him by the arm and took that cursed bread, but as soon as it was in my hands, I felt inside me the unnatural urge to devour it. I could taste the acrid taste of mold on my tongue, but I couldn't stop. As I swallowed the last crumb, a realization settled in my mind.

Discovery and Recovery: The recovery of SCP-8679 occurred following the explosion of a warehouse in the countryside outside the town of ████ (PG) at 04:37 AM on 03/13/1999. The structure, registered in the name of a small local chemical company affiliated with Febris Pharmaceuticals and known as such on Italian sites, was immediately reached by local law enforcement, as well as several undercover agents due to the potential para-biological risk.

Having ascertained the absence of any health hazards other than the fire itself, the agents were able to search in the field for the presence of thaumaturgically modified compounds typical of the previously known pharmacological and microbiological handbook of FP. By analyzing the remains of the tanks and systems present on site, it was possible to find deposits of a substance later classified as SCP-8679, whose signs of thaumaturgy, although almost imperceptible, led to the seizure of the structure and the release of a communication to the police regarding a normal accident that occurred in the structure for structural reasons, concluding their investigations and allowing further research and cleaning activities of the site from anomalous substances.

Weeks later, I presented the project to the head of the section and he gave me approval to start the experimentation as soon as possible. In short, it was about using enzymes from some common molds to induce methylation processes in the DNA of individuals with specific genetic alterations that are recognized as "paragenes". The hoped-for result? An increase in the body's resistance to the negative effects of using paranormal abilities: comparing some studies, it had been noted that in a significant percentage of the population of the Free Ports there was an increase in degenerative pathologies after middle age and I was sure that a preventive pharmacological intervention could mitigate, if not cancel these effects.

After almost two years, the experiment showed the desired results: the elderly who had been administered the drug had a reduced symptomatic picture. I remember wondering if such an ambitious and revolutionary product could get my name and other recognition: new head of the Research and Development section, perhaps Dr. Farnesi himself would have wanted me on the company board. But I was clouded by my pride and as I would soon discover, my discovery had a price to pay. At the end of the second phase of testing, we noticed an unexpected side effect: the methylation activity, exceeding a certain dose in subjects with psychic abilities, seemed to determine a worsening of cognitive abilities comparable to years of development of dementia in the space of a few hours. I was terrified: with Lotusol I had seen firsthand what could go wrong with parapharmacology, but all this seemed like a nightmare. I redid the calculations, analyzed that molecule with all the machinery at my disposal, sacrificed a dozen chickens to enchant every single electron, but it was all in vain.

The drug that should have opened the doors to success for me was too dangerous to be placed on the market. Once I had given up on the evidence, I contacted my superior for a meeting to explain the failure and possibly, hand in my resignation for having uselessly wasted resources, time and human lives, but what happened that day was even more unexpected and terrible. In the meeting room there was not only him, but also the man I had met that evening and who had further fueled my spirit. He had seen the results of my work and was enthusiastic about how I had developed a formidable agent to annihilate special people like us, a new weapon that could even triple the sales results of Lotusol in the appropriate markets. I do not deny it, I begged him to reject any plan in this regard, I even cried telling him that I would never have thought of designing a chemical weapon, but the only thing I received in response was his expression of cynical disgust at my emotional collapse and it was then that I saw his eyes light up with emerald green. My superior intervened immediately, telling him that I was still inexperienced and that he would assign another team to prepare the shipment of the raw compound, so that I could take a well-deserved vacation. Farnesi walked away in silence, but before crossing the threshold, he only said that the marketing department had already decided on the name of the product. My name.

What could I do? I had given away a weapon to use against the world that had welcomed me after a life of solitude, I had let my vanity lead me to shoulder the burden of a number of deaths that I did not want to imagine. What would the buyers of my chemical son do with it? Political murders? Mass extermination? From an emulator of Fleming I had become the new Haber.

Maybe I could still prevent all this from happening, maybe they didn't expect someone to rebel within the company itself. I had the access codes to the laboratory terminals, as well as a good part of the initial data I had used to search for a solution to the mental degradation. I could not only eliminate the data still stored in the section archive, but trace the place and date of shipment to one of the smaller factories where the final stages of preparation of the drugs were destined.

I drove through the night to reach the warehouse. The guards recognized my badge but had no idea why I was there. I shooed them away with an excuse about checking the purity of the compound, offering them money to buy a drink in the next town. Once alone, I walked over to one of the tanks and took a bottle from my jacket pocket. Ten drops of Lotusol in each eye, enough to save my conscience in the time it took to do everything. I turned the valves and my vision began to blur as the needles turned red and dull noises shook the pipes. I didn’t have time to pray, but I guess even if I had, I wouldn’t have done so as not to be found by any god. And as I was about to pass out, it all came to pass.

Addendum: During the investigation and disposal phases, a charred corpse was found the afternoon following the explosion, carrying with it the remains of several floppy disks and paper documents. The identity of the corpse has been confirmed to be that of Dr. ██████ ████████, already known to the Foundation for his employment with FP in 198█.

The investigation into the presence of the subject on site, his role in the incident, and SCP-8679 is still ongoing.

My time is coming to an end, you can see it too. I have certainly made the worst mistakes, maybe I have done something good, but now I can only beg you not to let me go. This projection of my dead consciousness is about to vanish into thin air and if my soul must go somewhere, be it hell or heaven, I am sure that Farnesi and his men will stir them up to find me and make me pay for destroying their latest weapon.

Lord of Curcarsi, Peppe-Nappa, will you have mercy on me?