Christmas Dinner - SCP Foundation

After Action Report, Incident MC-643

Agents Samuels, Perkins, and Flanders were assigned to infiltrate and gather information regarding a Christmas masquerade believed to have been held by Foundation group of interest Marshall, Carter, and Dark on October 2█, 20██ at ██ ██████ Drive, the location of an estate believed to be owned by one of the founding members of Marshall, Carter, and Dark.

Samuels spoke with a woman wearing a silver Venetian mask, her eyes hidden behind the grey film of her disguise. She was snacking on what Samuels believed to be a wafer of dried human heart, but he wasn't absolutely certain.

"Dearie, you simply must try the punch. It is simply fabulous if I do say so myself, simply to die for. I do believe I will have some more, join me?"

Samuels had already identified the table from which the punch, and most of the food at the party, were coming from. He didn't want the punch.

"I think I'll pass, but thank you ma'am. If you'll excuse me, I must speak with that man over there about acquiring a new contortionist. My last seems to have broken herself, quite tragic."

Samuels strode briskly away from the woman and towards Flanders, ignoring the parting suggestion that he make use of the local bone regrowth facility.

Agents successfully infiltrated the masquerade, all wearing copies of a black full-face mask. Access was gained through a window in the east wing of the mansion after Agent Perkins drilled through the lock.

Perkins was trying to catalog all the anomalous items in the room, and having a hard time of it. In the corner by the door a woman, apparently a nurse, was eating pomegranate seeds. She didn't seem to notice that she never ran out. In the opposite corner, a man entertaining a crowd by changing breadsticks to meat. To Perkins' left, a golden fountain ran out of the wall, a small plaque listing the health hazards associated with it. And across the room-

Perkins cursed under his breath.

"Flanders you fool, what were you thinking?"

Mission integrity was apparently compromised by Agent Flanders twenty minutes after entering the room in which the main event was hosted.

Flanders was in love with the cheese, savoring every bite. The aroma was rich and filling, the savory taste coating his tongue, the soft dairy parting between his teeth in an experience he had never felt anything like before. He would never leave this table again if it meant leaving his cheese, not for anything. The cheese was his world, and nothing else mattered.

Agent Flanders came under the effect of a portion of human liver seemingly affected by SCP-643. Attempted intervention by his fellow agents led to a brief physical confrontation, followed by the loss of Flanders life when an instance of SCP-643 came in contact with his skin. Several other attendees were coated by SCP-643, but did not cease consumption of Agent Flanders to save themselves.

Samuels stumbled out of the hall, his sleeve held up against his bloodstained mouth, his mask askew. Flanders' tortured screams followed him, echoing through the doorway. Samuels nibbled on the finger he had managed to scavenge, and watched as a table was carried past him and into the hall by several huge men. A thick sheet covered whatever was within, golden fluid spilling out from beneath the sheet and turning the carpet to a cheesy yellow substance. He coughed as a piece of bone and fingernail caught in the back of his throat, but he couldn't bear to waste anything by spitting it out.

Agent Samuels was unable to recall any events following his final encounter with Agent Flanders.

Perkins moaned in ecstasy as he bit down on a muscle. Flanders wasn't wriggling too badly anymore, and he was much easier to hold down. He would twitch every now and again when Perkins made a grab for an organ, and he'd really start jerking whenever he tried scooping a bit of brain, but Perkins didn't care.

The hot rush of blood over his tongue was beginning to slow, and he almost cried knowing that his dessert was nearly gone. But then Perkins was distracted by the wonderfully diverse taste of human spleen, and then the hot pulsing of the heart, and then the marrow, oh the bone marrow, the sweet crack of bone, the rush of hot delicious slurry, the wet flopping of juicy muscles struggling to contract with nothing to pull against.

Agent Perkins was found dead the following morning. Autopsies suggest that his body was unable to process the amount of substance consumed the previous evening. This, combined with substantial damage received to his face by unknown means, led to Perkins' death from both excessive bleeding and rupturing of the internal digestive tract.

Samuels staggered back into the hall, his mask tilted diagonally against his face, red blood slashed across the mouth, and a piece of cotton shoved against his nostrils. He fought his way through the orgy of dead and dying cannibals, still trying to force as much of each other as possible down their mouths, and tumbled to the ground where Flanders lay with Perkins inert by his corpse. He shoveled a few more handfuls of Flanders flesh into his mouth, gagged as his stomach protested, grabbed the other agent's earpieces, and crawled out of the hall, a piece of somebody's kidney clutched in his other hand.

And behind him a man smiled, hand pressed against his still-bleeding arm, cut by his own hand. Soon, all who were here would know Their light, would know the joy of giving to the unenlightened that which was most precious, their own flesh. He loved these sorts of functions, the kind he could pin on some outside group as hosting. This time of year was always the easiest time to spread, with its focus on food, and the sharing of it. He felt the worms wriggling through his veins, felt them in the people surrounding him who had been eating his meat throughout the dinner.

He felt a great satisfaction at his missionary work for the evening.