Henzoid-Crocket Proposal: When Day Breaks Up
rating: +5+x

You find the access tunnel, hidden within a Wendy's bathroom stall.

You don't need a key card, the door is a jar. You grab some pickles and move on.

It smells here. Duh. You're in a public bathroom, idiot.

There is a slick trail that leads from the stall next to you and into the depths of the site. If it's blood or shit, or something that smeared off one of those things1, you cannot tell. You make a point to avoid it.

You're still receiving the distress signal. Sighing, you turn your pager off.

Your footsteps echo throughout grimy sewers. You wish the site wasn't in such a gross, horrible place, but then again, so do they.

Elevator is down, so you take the stairs, ending on floor B935: The Authorization Hub. You run for literally hours because 935 floors is a lot of fucking stairs.

You try not to think about 087.

The trail takes you to another Wendy's, which is really weird, because you are very far underground. The door is closed, so you grab a big rock and throw it as hard as you can at the door. It opens with ease, because it wasn't even locked, you just didn't check. Dumbass.

Something throws itself at you like a horny teenager with daddy issues and tries to confront you. You tell it to piss off and run past it.

It seems hurt, and leaves.

You finally find the source of the signal in a room near the back. It's dark and covered in trash, as if the resident was raised by raccoons and could never successfully navigate the social norms of humans.

The single desk lamp casts a gray haze on a copy of playboy magazine. You attempt to open it, but the pages are sealed shut. It emanates a smell so bad that it almost smells good, like a shit covered integer overflow. It smells like a masturbating hobo with syphilis, like, I'm talking really going at it — two hands and everything. It smells so bad it doesn’t even deserve a goofy simile. It’s ruined the concept.

You scan the room. Soiled clothes, half eaten food. Despite the presence of an adjoining restroom, there is excrement in a bucket in the corner. A hole connected to the kitchen suggests a diet of only chicken wings, as the entrance to the hole is stained with special sauce.

There's grease on the floor, forming a sickening puddle. You spot three cans - further inspection reveals them to be expired bud-light. They're all empty.

There's a desk with a computer atop it. Approaching the terminal, you can see an Alienware logo clearly pressed into the side.

You take a seat. Turn it on.

Emergency Protocol Activated. "Homework" Folders Opened. Full Access Granted.

Secure. Contain. Protect.



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You hear footsteps just outside the door, and squelching.


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Authenticating...

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A knock on the door startles you, and you drop your phone in a vat of oil. Fuck.


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Authenticating...

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Authenticating...

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You tense up, hoping that whatever's outside is just smelling the sauce on the floor, and not you.


Please Wait...

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Please Wait...

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Bitch, you better still be waiting...

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The knocking stops. You sigh as the extremely slow computer finally shows you the file. Thanks for nothing, Wikidot.


Opening File

πŸ”₯ AUTOMATED SECURE SYSTEM NOTIFICATION ON WINDOWS (ASSNOW) πŸ”₯

There has been an error in retrieving the current iteration of the SCP-001 file. You are currently viewing revision #5. Newer revisions can be accessed at the bottom of this page. Thank you for coming to Wendy's, and we hope you have a mom-tacular day.