A Drink With The Devil - SCP Foundation

Dr. Peter Sacker stared at the Mahogany chair beside him, considering if his plan was truly worth the risk. If they find out… he worried before stopping himself. No, they won't. Being a site director had its perks, one of which was access to SCP-738 for research purposes. Not to mention admin perms for camera logs, Peter smirked as he took a seat. The chair was hard yet comfortable, almost familiar. A whiff of sulfur filled the room, and he was blinded by a flash of red smoke.

"Pete!" The creature's suit gleamed red and gold, its voice poison silk. "How are you?"

"Been better," Peter was taken aback by his sudden reply. In sixty years working for the Foundation little had changed for the man, let alone changed for the worse.

"Figures," the demon grinned, exposing its pointed teeth. "I can't see why else you'd come crawling back here."

"This is different." Peter glanced at the security cameras, making sure they were indeed off.

"Is that so?" The demon looked impassive, but Peter thought he could see its eyes glinting with malice. He shuddered.

"I'm not here for tests or interview questions," the man continued, "I want to make a deal."

Both were silent for several seconds, before the demon reclined and yawned. "Well?" It spoke up, "spit it out already."

Peter recited the words he had thought at least a dozen times already. "Ever since I was five, I wondered what might happen-"

"Yeah, yeah, you're afraid to die." The demon interrupted suddenly. "Let's just skip the boring monologue and get to the point, shall we?"

Peter stuttered, "I… how did you-"

"Lucky guess," the demon chuckled mirthfully, "humans are so predictable."

"Well, erm, yes. By next year I will be eighty years old, and at that point I may not even have a decade left." Peter felt a twinge of anxiety as he continued. "So, what will it cost for me to live forever?"

"Forever?" The demon laughed. "You?"

Peter scowled. "Yes, me. Doesn't a site director have enough to offer for at least that much?"

The demon leaned forward, eyes glowing like hot coals. "First of all, Pete, the things you offer have to matter to you." The creature ran fingers through its jet-black hair, "and you detest this job. It pays the bills, sure, but you'd be happier elsewhere."

It's right, Peter realized with shock, I always dreamed of leaving this place one day. Starting a family maybe, and having some friends in a small forgettable town somewhere. Happiness.

"No…" The demon drummed crimson nails on the mahogany desk. "Your job isn't worth an extra second of life, let alone an eternity."

"Then what is?" the man's anxiety was replaced by frustration, "What can I give you in order to live longer?"

"Loved ones, family, friends, happy memories," The demon rattled off several more sentimental terms, "the value of each varies with its importance, but I'm sure you can scrounge around and find a few to trade." The creature's face was curled into a malevolent smile.

Peter racked his brain for anything to give, but found only drudgery. No father, no mother, raised in an orphanage with horrible teachers and no friends. Even after growing up he had shied away from relationships, busying himself with work in the hopes of building a better future. God, was my life really this pathetic? Peter thought to himself, didn't I do anything meaningful?

"Having trouble remembering?" The demon's voice was laced with derision, "I could help with that, you know."

"Right," the man replied sarcastically, "because you would totally help me remember for free."

"Not for free," the demon retorted, "the price would be paid after regaining your lost knowledge."

Peter was silent for several moments, considering the offer. There has to be a catch, he knew, but what could it be? Fear and curiosity battled within him, but the former ultimately prevailed.

"I accept." Peter tried to hide the tremble in his voice, "give me the memories."

"Excellent!" The demon clapped before snapping its fingers, at which point a glass of gin materialized on the desk. "I'm still working on the aftertaste," the creature winked, "but otherwise it's hardly any different from gin and tonic."

Peter stared at the amber liquid, looking at his reflected grey hair and eyes. Bottoms up, he thought with a grimace, and took the first sip.

The taste was sweet, like lilacs on a summer day. Peter smelled the after-rain air, and saw sunrise over the distant hilltop trees. A woman with blue flowers in her hair lay beside him, one hand clasped around his shoulder. She smiled at him. He smiled at her. Bianca, the name returned with a jolt, how could I have forgotten?

"I had a wife!" Peter spoke with amazement as he awoke from the reverie, "why would I forget that?"

The demon said nothing, but pointed to the glass in the man's hands. There was still much gin that had not yet been drunk. Peter took another swig, closing his eyes as he did so-

-And opened them in a warm tenement surrounded by swirling flakes of white snow. The fireplace crackled, and he heard mom singing in another room. Mom! Peter realized, and rushed towards her. She was holding his brother Garrett in her arms, and dad was reading a newspaper in the table across from them. I had a family, he thought with shock, before opening his eyes once more.

"My family," Peter gasped as he saw the glass now less than half full, "what happened to them?"

The demon only laughed, pointing at the liquor still remaining. Peter gritted his teeth, and took another swig. It burned this time, and he winced as it traveled down his throat.

Peter smelled the forest air, and heard the crunching of green pine needles underfoot. Bianca was in front, pointing out each and every species of tree along the path, while Devon clutched his right hand nervously. My son, Peter realized as tears welled in his eyes, where have you been all this time?

The man's eyes were wet, but there was still a sliver of booze at the bottom of the glass in his hands. "Go on," the demon spoke softly, "you haven't remembered everything yet." Peter raised the glass shakily to his lips, drinking the final drops of bitter draught-

-Then opened his eyes, but this time in the same room as before. I am changed, he thought, younger. "How much for her?" Peter realized the voice was his own, and saw the demon in front of him grinning savagely.

"24 years," the hideous creature bared its gleaming teeth. "Bianca isn't all that special, but I'll offer a bargain prince since I know how much she means to you."

No, Peter shouted in his mind, don't do it! He watched helplessly as his own hand moved towards the demon's and shook. "Pleasure doing business with you," the red-skinned creature grinned cruelly as the young man turned and left. Peter screamed silently, flailing and fighting with all his might to make the nightmare reality go away.

"You made quite a mess this time," the demon spoke nonchalantly as Peter reopened his eyes. Shattered glass covered the cell floor, and there were several new dents and nicks in the mahogany table. The man's chair was on its side against one of the walls, and he felt his chest heaving.

"Take them away!" Peter shouted at the demon, "I don't want to remember!"

The creature's face curled into a cruel smile, fingers steepling as it did so. "Why?" It spoke, "what will you give me in return?"

"My job," Peter gasped, "and my coworkers too."

"Your job doesn't matter to you," the demon mocked, "and you don't matter to anyone."

"I don't care what it takes!" Peter slammed a fist on the table, "I'll give you anything, just take the memories back!"

The demon laughed viciously, "as if you had anything left to give."

Peter searched for a reply as the demon stood up, unfolding its maroon wings. "It's been a pleasure, Pete," the creature smirked with cruel amusement, "best enjoy the remaining years. You paid ever so dearly for them, after all."

And the demon was gone.

Forgive me, Bianca. Peter thought as he rushed towards the medical center. I cannot bear to live with the guilt. The man was disheveled and bleeding from a cut on his finger, but nobody paid any mind. I am like a ghost, he realized with horror, if I died tomorrow, they would pack up my things without a second thought.

Peter reached the med-bay doors, exhaling as he opened it to calm himself down. "I need two doses of class A amnestics," he spoke in his most formal voice, "for research purposes, of course."

The young man running the counter didn't even blink at the request, turning and grabbing a set of pill bottles from underneath. He placed them in a white bag, passing them into Peter's hands.

"The prescription is for-"

"Dr. Sacker, I know." The young man replied with exasperation, as if he'd said the words a hundred times before. "Is there anything else I can help you with?"