Cater Duty - SCP Foundation

"Delivery, Spicy Crust Pizzeria!" Tyrone said as he pounded on the home's front door. He didn't usually do deliveries, but their regular driver had called in sick. If it had been up to Tyrone, he would have told the driver to suck it up, but the Foundation was extremely strict about its fronts following all applicable health and labour regulations so as to avoid attracting any unwanted attention.

The house Tyrone had been sent to was just on the edge of their delivery radius, and in a depopulated neighbourhood that was depressingly run-down and uncannily quiet. All he could hear was the buzzing of insects. "Are those Cicadas? Didn't know they were out this year."

The door creaked opened, revealing a middle-aged man with eyes that sat abnormally still in their sockets.

"Cousin Johnny? Good to see you man, I didn't know you were living out here," Tyrone greeted enthusiastically.

Hold up, I don't know this guy. Why'd I call him Cousin Johnny?

"Turn crumpet anvil pie, Orville meek come coin?" the man said in an emotionless monotone.

"What are you talking about? This is a sweet set up you got here. I would've brought a gift if I had known," Tyrone replied.

Wait, he didn't actually say anything, did he?

"Anyway, I got your pizzas here. You having a party or something?"

"Narrow glue pascal row. Furnace did hiccup bets for singing window," the man said as he gestured towards a dozen or so people gathered in the living area.

"Oh, you're doing a celebration of life kind of thing? With pizza? I mean, it's good pizza, but I'd personally go for something a little classier, like those little triangle sandwich platters. I'm sorry, I don't mean any disrespect, you just caught me off guard. My condolences for your loss. Anyone I knew?"

"Turmoil jelly branch oil monolith. Query off said honor pick nettle very."

"Still, I feel for you."

Okay, something's up. That damn corncrake made more sense than this guy.

"Sorry, you probably want to get back to your guests. I won't keep you with a bunch of platitudes I'm sure you've heard a dozen times today already. Your pizzas are going to be $63.30. How are you paying?"

"Yellow fix heckle plumb inlet," the man said as he handed Tyrone a hundred-dollar bill. "Cheery deluxe, summer little offshore Myanmar?"

"I'm flattered, but I got to get back to the Pizzeria. Ever since they jumped on the fifteen-dollar minimum wage bandwagon they've been a hell of lot stricter about us not slacking off. And someone's got to deliver these things, you know?"

"Lilac coincidence try, fire gander onyx pea?"

"It's tempting, but I still don't think my supervisor would go for it."

"Pisces gravel en suite fume twins?"

"Well if it was a life or death scenario, sure, but the guy's already dead, so that's not going to fly."

"Alley box gym kite pill fly?"

"Even if you pay him my time, no. Rules are rules."

"Hiram neat go vile when tuck?"

"What can I say, man? Better off scrubbing doody than Keter duty."

…

"What?"

Tyrone just smirked and shook his head.

"Just an expression from my time in the service, don't worry about it. Look, I'd love to stay, really, but…"

Seriously, get out of here now. This dead-eyed motherfucker is speaking gibberish. I don't know why I think I can understand him, but there's no way in hell it's anything good.

"Yeah man, it's really considerate of you, but I don't want to impose. I didn't even know the guy. You just enjoy those pizzas man, and thanks for the tip."

"Cradle mock kindle with dreary taste."

Tyrone laughed as he backed towards the delivery truck.

"Oh man, you got to be careful. You know you can't make those kinds of jokes anymore. You take care of yourself Johnny. And again, my condolences."

The man shut the door and Tyrone fell into the cab of his truck, nearly collapsing. His head pounded as his extensive memetic inoculations fought ferociously against whatever the man had tried to do to him. Pulling out his phone, he dialled his supervisor.

"It's Tyrone. I'm at the delivery you sent me on. Something weird just happened, not sure what. I think it's a cognitohazard though and I think I've been exposed. My head's killing me, I can't drive. Get a response team out here now."

Cousin Johnny walked into the living room and placed the pizzas on an end table. He stood before his assembled guests and solemnly stripped off his clothes.

"Gum jump noon clap. Sorry why arrow lent flappy ox."

Johnny laid his nude form down on the coffee table, and his mourning guests respectfully began pulling off chunks of his flesh to devour.

"I still think you were out of line asking him to buy us pizza," one guest said to another as he bit into Cousin Johnny's left deltoid. "This is a ritual, you know, not a buffet."

The other guest shrugged as he piled pieces of Cousin Johnny onto a slice of pizza.

"Traditions are made to be broken old man. If I got to eat Cousin Johnny, the least he can do is make himself a little easier to swallow."

"Cough fight hen odor," Johnny joked with a wriggle of his penis, to the rancorous laughter of all present.

"Cousin Johnny, you're incorrigible."

Don't forget to check our Kinch's version of Tyrone and Johnny's encounter here.