It Grows On Trees - SCP Foundation

To be frank, Atkinson hadn't expected the object to create cockroach-like entities with thorns covering their exoskeletons. For organisms composed of plant matter, they packed enough of a punch to tear a gash in his right bicep, leaving him stumbling towards the chamber's exit door and staggering back into the antechamber. With a stuffed breathing, he tore open a first-aid kit and began to wrap his arm in some bandaging, after packing the wound.

It was strange. The plant normally only exuded arachnid-based lifeforms, and only every so often. Atkinson was sure that it was not the environment of the chamber - he paid close attention to it, especially with the object's finicky nature. Never before had he seen anything but the arachnids it normally spawned, and the sudden change was rather concerning. He flicked the minor alert button a few more times to try and call for assistance, before finally noticing that he had shouted quite a few times while wrapping himself. It was odd - he hadn't noticed it during the process, but, he could feel the ringing in his ears of his own yells echoing. He glanced through the viewing port towards the plant.

"Atkinson!"

The doctor's head turned as the crew member, Fetters, ran down the hall. He sighed and stowed the first aid kit back on its wall holster, leaning against the wall with a clipboard. "Yes, Fetters? Why didn't someone come sooner? I could have been seriously injured."

"I heard your shouting, just now. But there weren't any alarms."

Atkinson raised an eyebrow. "I was sure that I pressed it. Sure of it. Both the internal and external alarm designators. Are you certain?"

Fetters nodded, then clucked his tongue. "Mechanical malfunction? I don't know. I'll call up to the Sector overwatch."

Fetters grabbed out his clearance card and swiped it, walking back out the antechamber's door and into the hall, pressing on the intercom. Atkinson stared at the small, unilluminated indicator light on the card swipe mechanism. He squinted. It wasn't green, nor had it been after Fetter's swipe. He pulled his own card, swiping it. The door opened, and he saw Fetter standing there, speaking into the intercom. It closed again, and he promptly swiped his Visa. Again, it opened, and this time Fetter was staring at him. "What are you doing?" he asked, letting go of the intercom button.

"Testing the door. What did they say?"

"Nothing. The wing must be malfunctioning. I'll call it in."

Nathan pressed the intercom for himself as Fetters stepped aside. "Hello? Atkinson here."

He waited. And listened. And what he heard was a perfect A flat.

He grabbed Fetters by the arm and yanked him back into the antechamber, pulling the lever to lock out anyone from the containment's control room. Fetters pulled free and shoved Atkinson into the door. "What the Hell, doc? What's gotten into you?"

"A perfect A flat, Fetters."

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"The intercom, Fetters," he breathed. "Something isn't right."

"How would you know what pitch it was playing?"

"I used to be musically invested, to a degree. I almost majored in it, you know. playing the-"

"Get to the point," Fetters asked, impatiently. He turned and began to fiddle with the control panel, finding little to no response, mouthing confused phrases to himself.

"SCP-" Atkinson murmured.

"What?"

"SCP-" There was every indication that Nathan was stating a number to finish off the nomenclature, but no sound rang from his lips. He held up a finger and wrote the designation down on the clipboard: SCP-3142.

"SCP-"

"SCP-" Fetters tried again, mildly irked.

"S. C. P. -"

Fetters sighed. "Okay, explain."

"It's an acoustic anomaly that prevents sound from being transmitted that can describe its anomaly, basically. Long-winded descriptions are fine, but, exact designation is impossible in anything but written records. Hence, you can't finish the name." Atkinson initiated lockdown of the plant's containment, setting down the clipboard. It guaranteed twelve hours of total containment, or at least, he hoped.

"Are you sugges-"

To be frank, Atkinson had not expected that the plant would create cockroaches. And, being fair, of course, he wouldn't have expected that they would catalyze a reaction between Pentaerythritol tetranitrate, a plasticizer, and a small startup reaction to set it all going. It kicked the wall in, and Atkinson and Fetters back into the opposite wall, showered with debris. The onset of plant-insects was immediate and frantic, Fetters grabbing Atkinson off the ground quickly and swiping a card to get back out the door. He shoved Atkinson forward and tried the intercom one last time, looking down the hall. It seemed pristine.

Fetters tried to speak, but he suddenly realized that the both of them were breathing heavily, barely managing a what before wheezing, coughing, and brushing some debris from his clothing. Atkinson had left his coat behind, and his clipboard, which had taken the brunt of the debris. He leaned into the wall, palms planted on it, coughing vehemently.

"I-it… cough means that, if a con- cough tainment breach were happening… we wouldn't hear it, if someone… someone managed to figure out how to use the anomaly. Like the… the plant. Yeah. That was the plant. That's… genetic engineering, for you."

Fetters didn't bother grabbing for his phone. He knew it wouldn't do him much good by now. "So what do you suggest we do, then, huh? Stand here and wait for something to get us? What the fuck, Atkinson?"

Atkinson's oddly nonchalant attitude about things, especially in containment efforts that required a bit more force than he had planned for, had garnered him a small increment of gossip. He rubbed his temples. "Well, for starters, we start buying organic."

"What?"

"Well, I mean, look at it! The plant was obviously modified, look at it. Someone changed it between this current plant and the last seedling."

"Atkinson, focus. What do we do about the breach of Site-88?"

The doctor sighed. "Well, we find a way out. We stay calm. I think I know a way. SCP-3875 has a runoff tunnel that leads off-site. We can figure it out from there. Maybe we can get into the vehicle depot."

"Right, right," Fetters breathed, trying to gain bearings as they began their way down the hall. Somewhere behind them, the scuttling of plastic explosives scratched against the doors.

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