A Hershey’s Chocolate Humanoid Crawls Out of SCP-261 and 1v1s Some Poor Fuck - SCP Foundation

Egrene took off his glasses, fogged up the lenses with his hot breath, wiped them off with his tie and smiled at the beaut before him: SCP-261, the Vending Machine Whose Machinations Were But a Myriad of Mysteries.

His belly rumbled, his mind grumbled, and it was time to eat!

Egrene could only be described as…adventurous…in his culinary journeys. He had heard of the dreadful dangers that damned those daring enough—or dumb enough—to perform the sacrilegious ritual that wrecked many researchers and rumbley tummies alike.

He strode up to the thing, unplugged it and immediately dumped as much yen into the money slot as possible. He stepped back a tad, rubbed his palms together with glee, and was oh, so, NOT prepared for the sight that would initiate fight or flight within his soon-to-be hammering, hungering heart.

Something splashed sinfully with sinister insinuations from behind the food slot and practically shouted, ‘you dare…?’

Egrene’s grin gave the malicious machine the abominably, agonizingly astounding answer: “why yes! Yes I do!”

Thick brown liquids curled from behind the door and slopped upon the tile floor. The slot burst open to unleash a tidal wave of molten chocolate that chuckled and bubbled and emitted smoke acrid enough to assault his olfactory organs.

The chocolate slowly slurped itself into a vaguely recognizable form; it was he! It solidified into a chocolate Egrene, identical in every aspect and every single feature, down to facial expressions, finger size, foot size, shoe size, shirt size, and those adorable little heart-shaped glasses that he wore proudly.

“Hello, me…” Choco-Egrene whispered in a breathy, chocolatey voice.

“Hello, lunch…” Egrene stepped forward and untied his neck tie. Damn thing always made him uncomfortable. To this day, he would never, NEVER understand why half the staff would insist on donning this stupid thing.

“Lunch?” Choco-Egrene chuckled and chided Human-Egrene. “I’m not your lunch. You're MY lunch. I'm hungry…"

“Likewise…” Egrene lowered his stance, one foot in front of the other, just like how his master had taught him so many years ago in those lonely, secluded, mountains.

Choco-Egrene did not just mimick Egrene’s stance; it was one-for-one identical, down to the precise placements of his powerful pose.

Egrene took a step forward.

Choco-Egrene took a step forward.

Egrene took a step forward.

Choco-Egrene took a step forward.

“You gonna come at me or what, you big hunky, chunky chocolate chap?” Egrene drooled at his frightfully delicious foe.

“No, you,” Choco-Egrene blew raspberries at Egrene.

Chocolate rasperries.

Egrene could smell the chocolate.

He had quite the sweet tooth, and that sweet tooth would be answered.

But he knew better than to challenge his own fighting style right off the bat.

He knew better.

And so did Choco-Egrene.

But this little footsie-of-attrition would have to end sometime, sometime soon, for Egrene’s stomach growled and howled with the avid anticipation of his afternoon snack.

Choco-Egrene was the first to break the footsies; he charged Egrene head on with a forward jab.

Egrene saw this coming, for he knew himself well, knew himself better than any of his colleagues. He tilted his head slightly to the side, gave the graceless Choco-Egrene a grin of gluttony and grabbed his arm in a joint-lock.

Choco-Egrene grunted, gritted his teeth and felt one of them break.

Egrene used Choco-Egrene's own momentum against him, pulled him forward to knock him off balance, locked his arm even further, and gave it a firm elbow strike right down the middle, effectively snapping it just below the elbow.

Choco-Egrene roared in pain, stepped back and tightly clutched his gooey, dripping stump as he groaned in agony. His look of pain and rage soon changed to wide-eyed fear when he saw Egrene bring his severed-but-still-moving arm to his mouth and devour the flesh like the mad, mad, manic man that he was.

Gooey, brown sweetness slipped between Egrene's teeth, covered and coated his chin and suit and fell to the floor in little droplets.

“No!” Choco-Egrene shouted. “This wasn't how it was supposed to be, dammit!” Choco-Egrene made haste back to the vending machine and dove straight for the snack slot.

“NO! I’M FUCKING STARVING!” Egrene tossed the remains of the arm and grabbed his snack by the ankles.

“No! Please! I take it all back! Please don’t eat me!” Choco-Egrene scrambled for purchase for any part of the snack slot, any part at all, but alas, ‘twas no use, for his fate was sealed as Egrene's meal.

“No! God, help me!!” Choco-Egrene held onto the snack slot for dear life, only to feel despair and agony stab him straight to the center of his very soul as he saw—in slow motion—his fingers snap from the pressure and fall to the floor and twitch in little puddles of dripping chocolate.

“Please…” He wept tears of sweetness as he felt Egrene straddle him. The deranged agent’s body heat was starting to melt Choco-Egrene. “Mercy…”

“I’m all out of mercy.” Egrene plunged his hand into his lunch’s backside and wrenched out his well-molded and nicely crafted spine, permanently paralyzing his prey before his inevitable fate as free food for him and his sweet-toothed colleagues.

Choco-Egrene trembled beneath the mighty weight and rage of the monster that munched on him with malevolence and malice.

He lost his other arm.

Then he lost both legs.

All while he wept and heard and felt his thick, brown blood drip to the floor and with the sickening knowledge that his high-calorie and sorry little high-fructose-corn-syrupy ass was plummeting down this abomination’s esophagus and into his internal den of digestion and doom.

Choco-Egrene felt his life fading fast, but alas, Egrene had one last evil deed he must do before his afternoon dessert was allowed to die. Egrene knelt down, grabbed Choco-Egrene by the sides of his neck, twisted and felt the satisfying snap of his savory head.

The last thing that sugary, sorry fool saw was a grinning face covered in 54-grams-of-sugar-per-serving brown blood.