"| could lose a piece of me to you," Kit murmured huskily, narrowing 
his eyes and taking a slightly wider stance. The man grimaced. He 
had seen far nicer at the Meat Market, and for far cheaper. 


"Go piss, kitlet, you're not worth the shit on my shoe," the man 
growled, uninterested in what was in Kit's pants, unless it was... 


"Jack me some Bloom," he ordered, his flashlight eyes now staring 
at Kit's sleeping bag so as not to blind him further. Kit felt his face 
burst into a grin. "Oh man! If only you knew, | already had a plan — | 
have a house on fire!" He said, proud of both his situation and his 
remembrance of the slang. 


The man shrugged, not moved by Kit's sudden change in emotion. 
He finally moved his boot off the knife and picked it up in an 
unnaturally large hand, staring at it with slightly dimmed eyes. To 
him, it was barely worth keeping — blunt, and well worn, with 


something sticky on the handle and something rusty on the blade. 
But to Kit, it was clearly worth something. 


"Then it's a graft," the man agreed, nodding. "Bloom for your 
persuasion." 


Bloom was what Kit had been planning to get anyway. Bloom — 
Bloom was the cure. Bloom was the beautiful drug he had 
discovered amongst all others — Gloom, Twinkle, Enigma and Fluff 
all did nothing for him. But Bloom, Bloom, Bloom — oh, did she ever 
live up to her name. Kit could practically feel himself 
photosynthesising at the thought of how Bloom made him feel, and 
how Bloom would fix everything. 


How Bloom would make him forget and help him sleep, and how he 
could follow a conversation, and follow his own thoughts, and, and... 
He'd done it again. Staring blankly at the man in front of him who 
was waiting for a reply, a guarantee. Kit's brain had been on another 
plane, thinking of flowers, and butterflies, and freedom. 


Now he was back in piss-alley, and the tall man was looking rather 
impatient. His flashlight eyes had turned to red. A dull red, but a red 
none-the-less. 


"It's a lock!" He agreed now, nodding sharply and spinning on his 
heel, hoping he wasn't running too late and that the alleyway 
wouldn't suddenly change its length or reveal new passages. It did 
that every now and again. Especially if someone was running late, 
or if Someone innocent to its behaviour came along. The alleyway, 
even with its friendly bricks, liked to mess with its more human 
visitors. 


So, Kit walked quickly, with purpose, like he had been here a 
hundred times before, when it was probably more like... more like 
less than the digits on his hands. If he stared too long at his hands, 
sometimes some of his fingers disappeared and it showed the exact 
number of times he had entered the alleyway with a desperate 
hunger — he wondered what would happen when he came here over 
ten times. Would he be granted more fingers? Could he keep them? 
He knew someone in the Meat Market who would be keen for spare 
fingers and would exchange it for Bloom or a blow. 


SCP-889: Hybridization 


SCP-889 prior to containment. 


Item #: SCP-889 
Object Class: Euclid 


Special Containment Procedures: SCP-889 has been completely 
sealed with concrete, save for a single airlock entrance for research 
purposes. The building is surrounded with a standard security fence 
and written warnings, under the cover of a government medical 
research facility. For the next one (1) year, a mobile task force is to 
take bi-monthly sweeps of the surrounding countryside. Any pre- 
containment products of SCP-889 are to be neutralized and/or 
captured and brought to Bio-Research Area 32. Local rumors or 
sightings concerning strange animals are to be pursued with utmost 
diligence. 


A quarterly swab is to be made of the interior of SCP-889. If any 
prokaryotes are discovered exhibiting the effect of SCP-889, or if 
any staff members contract an unusual illness, SCP-889 is to be 
incinerated and sealed indefinitely. All staff members and equipment 
are to be decontaminated fully. 


Description: SCP-889 is an abandoned cattle barn located several 
miles north of , Montana, USA. A series of farming buildings in 
various states of disrepair surround SCP-889. No signs of human 
habitation are nearby, and no information is available concerning 
current or previous owners. 


Within SCP-889, a combination of male and female animal or plant 
gametes from any two species produces viable offspring. This 
process occurs through a novel rearrangement of chromosomes 
during fertilization. In cases where gametes of different genome size 
or of different ploidy meet, chromosomes are often doubled or 
combined. The full extent of the progression is still under research. 


But today, he didn't look at his hands. He balled them to fists at his 
sides, and tried not to mentally count his digits to assure they were 
all still there. His head filled with vague memories that Bloom 
pushed away — that guy, sitting, staring at him, questioningly, but 
curiously. At a bar, after an awkward introduction; at work, maybe? 
A strange, short time stalking him on social media, when Kit could 
access the internet. Then the kiss, the first kiss ever, tasting of a 
cocktail he was drinking but couldn't even remember the name of. 
Dammit. 


The Bloom withdrawal may have sucked physically — Kit couldn't 
sleep, couldn't eat, couldn't stay warm, couldn't get cold, could fight 
the world and then burst into tears over a stray kitten — but mentally, 
it hurt more. It hurt more to remember him, in the doorway, standing 
there, being him. It hurt more to hear him again, in his memories. 


"I'm sorry, Kit. This isn't working. You can't just... burst in here and 
graffiti on my walls. You can't burn experimental blue rice in the 
kitchen and, at the very least, not clean up after yourself. | didn't 
appreciate that time you set the toilet on fire. And | really didn't 
appreciate the time you pretended to be dead. 


| can't do this, Kit. | love you, but... | don't need you." 


Those words hurt a lot. The guy he thought was the love of his life, 
pointing out all his flaws in one deep breath. People here, this 
alleyway, he heard them calling him ‘loskon' - someone with no 
emotional control, someone with their brain rattling with a thousand 
bad experiences and no filter on their anger or sadness or grief. 
That hurt, sometimes, but not as much as his partner saying, saying, 
saying... there was love, but there was no need. The amount of love 
didn't weigh up against the amount of crazy. Kit couldn't change 
what was him, and that sometimes hurt the most. 


But, as Kit had discovered recently, the best way to get over 
somebody was to get into somebody else. 


He found them waiting on the corner, like they had been the last 
several times he had ducked in. But this was the first time he had 
gone as far as to approach them. He put his sleeping bag down in 
the most dry corner he could find, but kept his backpack on, in case 


this turned out to be a mocker — he couldn't afford losing anything 
else to a conman. Or woman. Or some unidentified third gender. 


He ran a hand through his hair, which didn't do much for the building 
grease, but made it look vaguely more tamed, and cleared his 
throat, forcing it into a husky purr. 


"| caught speak that you wanted a boy-ya. You know what I'm 
jonseing for, right? Go on, quote me the sun... stars, shit, whatever. 


He fucked up the last bit and lost whatever sex appeal he was trying 
to give. But they still turned to him regardless, head tilted, looking at 
the man on offer. Humans, they so rarely made it this far, and the 
being was rather thirsty. They were not entirely sure that this human 
would taste of much beyond salt and grass, but the chance to 
experiment with someone new was hard to turn down. Slowly, one 
eye pushed itself forward from the empty face, and opened wide to 
reveal a Magic 8 ball that simply said the word 'Yes'. 


Kit was beyond pleased, but tried to keep his cool, to keep what he 
felt was a mysterious, alluring air, unaware that the being in front of 
him was just thirsty and curious enough to effectively humour the 
young grifter. 


"Then it's a lock, knock, boss," Kit said, fist curled to gently knock 
himself on the head — an effective way to seal the deal when the 
creature you were dealing with had no hands to shake. 


There were certainly no hands, but suddenly, there were a thousand 
tongues. Kit felt his dirty clothes pulled off by them, curling their 
muscles into tight, intense grips. His breath tightened in his chest, 
and for one lucid moment, he thought - 


"This was the worst idea I've ever had." 


But luckily enough for Kit, his lucid moments were fleeting, and the 
awareness of his naked form was just as quick. Or, what was left of 
his form, anyway. He felt like he was bobbing along in an ocean, a 
bundle of nerves; a jellyfish. The tongues were tracing him, and he 
could feel it shuddering throughout him, taking over the electric 
pangs of withdrawal. A gasp formed from a mouth that felt a million 


kilometres away — it could be a million kilometres away, it could be 
on someone else's face, it certainly didn't feel like it was on his own. 
His dick twitched from flaccid to curious, and his eyes stared blankly 
as suddenly his sight was robbed from him. Piss-alley was gone, 
and darkness welcomed him. A cold darkness, but the tongues, the 
thousands of tongues probing him and following his mismatched 
contours, they kept him warm. 


The creature was tasting him. Testing him. Depriving him of his 
sight, his own static body, and leaving him naked and limp. Well, not 
so limp now. Kit felt a shudder drive up where his shoulders should 
be as a tongue licked along his spine. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuckity fuck. 
He couldn't be enjoying this. Dammit all, he refused to enjoy it! Kit 
bit his lip and tasted metal as his teeth became suddenly, 
inexplicably sharp, and the blood ran down his chin. His body was 
forming back. He was still a bundle of nerves, he was still on fire 
with sexual arousal and lust and a curiosity that disgusted him, but 
he was back in, or with, his body. 


The tongues stopped in their licking, and Kit could suddenly see 
under the hood that had hidden the face before. There were orifices 
all over the otherwise blank face of the creature, and each seemed 
to have a different design — some were jagged like scars, others 
were perfect lines, and other more had lips of various textures and 
bodily variations. Kit felt like he swam forward to greet a sideways 
smile with his own lips, pressing close, exchanging tastes. Kit tasted 
like tobacco and blood and salt — the being exploring him tasted like 
petrichor, luck, and candyfloss. 


As they tasted each other, Kit felt the world spin around them, 
splitting into a constant changing mass of colours - a kaleidoscope 
of every shade one could think of, and then some more. When their 
lips parted, their bodies flew through the air, slowly, smoothly — 
stuck together. Tongues held his legs against the formless figure, 
and Kit arched as something wet experimentally toyed with his lower 
back. 


They were suddenly on a bench, a park bench, visually as far from 
piss-alley as they could possibly be, with the words 'tempus fugit’ 
engraved on it. Time really did flee, in whatever realm they found 
themselves in — Kit felt like he had been here forever and five 


seconds, all at the same time. 
Suddenly, he knew where he was. 


He was inside the being. This was their realm. This was their brain, 
this was their sex drive, this was their version of sex. Whatever was 
beyond the hood, whatever he didn't see when distracted by all the 
lips, had pushed him inside this being in the most literal way 
possible. 


"Shit," Kit exhaled, softly, staring at the park around them. Then he 
realised something else. This wasn't any old park. Minus the bench, 
this was the park where him and his first love had their first time. 
This thing really was testing him. Dragging him to a place he never 
wanted to be again, dragging him to the place where Bloom made 
him forget. 


And then, the formless creature was bending down in front of his 
naked body. Their unique shape flickered, its outline changing 
colours from silver to red to purple. His favourite colour. How much 
was he inside the being — and how much was the being inside of 
him? Kit wanted to say no, that he had changed his mind, that even 
Bloom wouldn't fix this memory, but then the being took his curiously 
twitching dick into one of its many openings. The orifice was velvety 
and had a ribbed spot that his head brushed against. Other tongues 
worked their way into playing with his balls, with licking his thighs, 
with exploring what they could get to on his body. 


Kit dug his hands into where the wobbling outline of the body would 
have had shoulders. Fuck, this was so great, but just over the 
bobbing head between his legs, he could see himself. He could see 
himself and he could see his first time. He could see them rolling on 
the picnic rug, knocking over the wine, staining the grass, laughing it 
off. He could see the exchange of nips and love bites, the marks of 
ownership. 


Just as his first love sunk his teeth into other Kit's neck, the creature 
working on him suddenly bit down too — not hard, but with the 
pulsing sensitivity in his cock, it felt intense. It was teasing him. It 
was bringing his attention back to what was going on right then, 
even though it was the one that had brought him back to the past. 


Greedy bastard. It wanted it all, it seemed — attention, and 
inattention. Distraction, and focus. Just like with withdrawal, and 
tweaking out. Two sides of the same coin. 


Kit was painfully aware of the sound and feel of his own pulsing 
heartbeat, and the sky changed its shade of blue very slightly on 
every beat. It was hard to concentrate on what the being was doing, 
when he couldn't tear his eyes away from a much better time in his 
life. The being withdrew from its job, and somewhere from its body 
came a mutter that sounded like, in tone, it could have been a curse. 
Then suddenly, the surroundings changed. The bench settled itself, 
with them in their same positions, in the middle of a room with walls 
that were a swirling mass of unknown shapes and random objects. 


The being couldn't bare the taste of bitter things. And Kit's taste had 
been nothing but bitter when faced with his first time. Most humans 
had something like that — a bitterness, or a sadness, or a guilt, 
whenever they revisited their first time within its realm. But if they 
didn't, if they were at peace with their own self, then the taste was 
better than anything the being could have otherwise, and it would be 
satiated for days. It was worth the risk, but now the being set about 
getting the horrible taste out of its mouth in its blank canvas room of 
emotion-free colours and shapes. 


Kit, meanwhile, felt like he was getting the best head he had ever 
had. His breathing caught and his neck jerked back. Sweat trickled 
down his neck. He had to focus, he had to get the words out. 


"Lick my iliac crest," he found himself begging, his hands still digging 
into the spongy form that was the being. He wasn't even sure what 
the lilac crest was, but something was telling him with sharp pangs 
that this was what he needed. Was the being telling him what to say, 
and what to think, and what to need? Whatever it was, he felt like he 
was slowly losing a piece of himself, moment by moment, losing 
something every time he saw that head bob. He felt tired from the 
experience, even though his arousal won outright. 


As one of the tongues gently worked its way along the sharp angle 
of Kit's hip bone, where the iliac crest lay, he felt all power to focus 
leave him, and all the blood leave his head. He was done, spent,