He’ll Rip Your Face Off and Wear It Home | SCP-2744

The first day jitters are no joke. I can hardly sit still, hardly breathe right. Part of me thinks this is all a ruse, like I'm about to be ambushed and grilled regarding the incident. It's a paranoid notion. Guilt is a hell of a thing. Sitting in a comfortable but too quiet waiting room, I think about the four dogs I have at home. Rosie, Gracie, Bear, and Roxy. I hope they're doing okay without me, even though I've only been gone for a few hours. The new dog sitter seems nice enough. She'll take care of them. I almost didn't accept this job because of my dogs, but in the end, civic responsibility and not a little bit of guilt won out. My khaki-clad right leg bounces on its own. A perpetual motion machine I have no control over. The receptionist cuts her eyes at me, again, a manicured eyebrow raising. I give her a weak smile. She goes back to typing on her computer. A moment later, Detective Sipes' office door opens. A man in a smart gray suit steps out. Charcoal black tie tucked into a vest. A worn leather shoulder holster containing a pistol visible under his open suit jacket. My sidearm is in a hip holster. I wonder idly if shoulder holsters are required for Foundation detectives. Ever since the incident, I've been thinking about getting one anyway. He extends a hand. Ackley, I'm Sipes. Nice to finally meet you in person. I shake his hand, standing. He's at least 20 years older than me, although he wears it well, with his shimmering gray black beard and his immaculately styled head of hair. You too. He releases my hand, his friendly expression morphing to consternation. Apparently they messed up, didn't give you a shot you were supposed to get, but that's something we'll remedy, lickety-split. Follow me. We leave the two quiet waiting room. The receptionist manicured eyebrows behind. A short elevator ride and some small talk later, I find myself in a sterile environment, sitting on crinkly paper. A man who I assume is a doctor fills a syringe with some kind of clear liquid. The black lines of a tattoo are visible beyond the unfastened top button of his collared shirt. I try to recall if I've ever seen a doctor with tattoos before as he jabs a needle into my arm. Sipes leans against the wall, talking about the case we're going to work. The fourth strange murder in the blood district in the last week. The GOC boys are pretty much useless, so we've been called in to help. I'm sure they'll feel like we're stepping on their dicks, but what else can you expect from those morons? I mean, sorry, I say. Blood district? What's that? Sipes grins. He must have sucked off someone important in your past life. You're getting a peek at the undercity on your first case? Damn, man. That's wild. I didn't go down there until I was working homicide for... shit. Three years, I think? It's the reason for that shot you're getting. Inoculation against some wild shit floating around down there. You're done. The doctor says, might feel some zornus. Keep the bandage on for at least half an hour. I look down at my shoulder, seeing a green Scooby-Doo bandage over a ball of cotton at the injection site. Makes me think of my dogs. I hope they're okay. Thanks. Buttoning my shirt, I follow Sipes out of the room. Back in the elevator, I'm pulling my suit jacket on when a wave of nausea hits. Vision blurring, I stumble against the metal wall. My tongue feels thick. My eyes go hard and dry. Sipes grabs my arm to steady me. You okay there, buddy? 50-pound weights are suddenly tied to my eyelids. I can't keep them from closing. But as soon as the lids meet, the episode passes. I open my eyes and straighten, feeling normal again. Sipes grins. His eyes seem to morph, going from blue to green and back to blue again. I blink, shake my head, and study him. His eyes are back to blue, unchanging. Some people have a wild reaction, he says, letting go of my arm. You'll be okay. Yeah, I'm good. I look at the floor indicator, which says we're going down. I could swear we were heading up. Where are we going? I told you, blood district. Okay, right. The indicator goes to sub-level 10 and stops, but the elevator keeps moving. I want to ask, but I keep my mouth shut. Two minutes later, the elevator stops. The doors open onto a windowless capsule like a tiny subway train car. 12 seats line the walls, six on each side, facing each other. Sipes tells me to take a seat while he does something with a control board on the wall next to the door, entering a code, I guess. He sits down across from me. The car starts moving, zipping along an unseen track. Tell me about the incident, he says, all hints of humor gone. Is that what it was? An incident? Sipes shrugs. You tell me. I read the report, but I want to hear you tell it. We've got some time. I sigh, knowing he won't take no for an answer, and I proceed to tell him how, as a security guard at site 33, I took a man's life. The story I tell him is not the truth, because if I told him that, I would surely be out of a job before the ride was over. The real story is this. The place was in chaos, alarm clacks since peeling, gunshots erupting from somewhere at the other end of the corridor, shouts and screams, and exclamations of surprise and pain. I'd been escorting a couple of D-class toward a testing chamber, along with a guard named Gidden when it happened. Both Gidden and I turned around to look toward the source of the noise, forgetting for a moment about the two violent offenders in our charge. Suddenly, there was an arm around my throat and a hand clutching at the pistol in my holster. I knew who it was without having to look. Marlar, a big, mean bastard who'd been convicted of killing two families, both with young children. I gripped his arm with one hand, trying to pull it away from my throat to ease the pressure on my windpipe. With my other hand, I tried to fight him for my pistol. I failed at both. He jerked back with his arm. The cartilage in my neck crackled as it compressed. Sucking oxygen through a hole the size of a needle, I tried desperately to breathe. My vision pulsed with encroaching blackness. Marlar gripped my right index finger and wrenched it out of its socket. If I had been able to scream, I would have. He pulled the gun out just as Gidden turned around. It had only been moments. Too much was happening too fast. Without hesitation, Marlar fired my gun into Gidden's face. The man collapsed in a haze of pink mist. Panicked and losing consciousness, I was barely aware of the hot gun barrel pressing to the side of my head. Marlar jerked once. The gun fell away from my head. He jerked a second time, and his chokehold loosened. He fell to the floor as I dropped to my knees, throat whistling as I sucked in greedy gulps of air. When I looked back, I saw the other D-class guy standing there, rubbing his left elbow with his right hand as he gazed at me. His name was Valverde. Unlike Marlar, I didn't know much about him. He was a new transfer. I grabbed the gun out of Marlar's limp hand, assuming Valverde had elbowed him in the head twice to knock him out. By the time I looked up again, the man who'd saved my life was running down the hall. Before I could think of what to do, Marlar awoke again and lurched at me. I shot him in the throat. He still managed to climb on top of me, the wound in his neck, pissing blood as he tried to strangle me. I shot him twice more in the chest before he finally died. I only found out later that Valverde had been killed while trying to escape the sight. In my panic, with Marlar's blood soaking into my uniform and the stench of Gidden's evacuated bowels stinging my nostrils, I doctored the scene. I put Gidden's gun in Marlar's limp hand and pulled the trigger with his finger, firing into a wall. When I was asked what happened later, I told the story as if Gidden had been the one whose weapon had been taken. I said he'd been shot with his own gun before I could get a bead on Marlar. Valverde had run away in the process. And that's the story I tell Sipes as we ride toward the blood district. As soon as I finish, Sipes studies me, Frank disbelief on his face. I'm sure he's about to call bullshit when the train car comes to a smooth stop. He stands swiftly. I drag my gaze from the scene I've been staring at for I don't know how long. Sipes stands ten yards ahead on the strangely spongy sidewalk, jaw set, eyes hard waiting for me. Forcing myself to take a step forward. I can't help but look back at the wall of the tumbledown row house. A creature that looks like a character from the most isly cantina lies slumped against the wall, green gray skin shimmering with moisture. Every so often, the creature opens its vertical mouth and makes a heinous retching sound. Half a dozen critters scurry from the mouth, each one looking like some cross between a lizard, a spider, and a moth. The wall next to the creature's head morphs in a blink, changing from crumbling brick to pink flesh. An iris-ing hole opens in the middle of this fleshy circle and two long black tendrils snake out, snatching up the critters before they can scurry away. I'm walking slowly, watching this, but when the wall goes back to normal, I look ahead to see Sipes turning a corner. Hurrying to catch up with him, I'm unable to stop myself from glancing around at the blood district. Everything is painted in dim red lighting, which does little to hide the grime, decay, and disrepair of the place. The ceiling is stone, some hundred feet overhead, but strange, fleshy plants grow upside down in places, snatching at the equivalent of birds that look like bats with three heads and sharp beaks. There are no cars on the narrow streets between jammed together buildings, mostly pedal vehicles and the occasional moped. The creatures that make their way around this frightening subterranean city come in all shapes and sizes, many of them buggering the imagination. How does this place exist without me knowing about it? Will I be amnestized when I get back topside? Is this where the anomalies we contain come from? The questions create an unceasing merry-go-round in my head as I race to catch up with Sipes, dodging past a three-legged creature that's nearly ten feet tall and has no discernible head. Most of the things ignore me, but some glare while others point and laugh. At least I assume they're laughing, it's hard to tell. Sipes stops next to a building and talks to a uniformed officer wearing a G.O.C. badge. As I hustle toward him, he gestures at me, the cop nods. Sipes takes a flight of stone steps down into the building's basement. I follow along behind. The humanoid cop inclines his head at me and lets me through. In the basement, Sipes glances at me before addressing the plainclothes woman in the living room. Hello, nice to meet you. I'm Detective Sipes, and this is Officer in Training Ackley. The woman reluctantly shakes our hands and introduces herself. Her name is Garmin, and when I look close, I see slits in the side of her neck that look like gills. They flutter as she breathes. You know the master. Garmin asks as she leads us to the bedroom of the small, sparsely furnished apartment. Yes, of course. Sipes says, the musician and artist. I raise an eyebrow. Never heard of them. Well, Garmin says, gesturing at the body on the bedroom floor. That's him. Jesus, really? Sipes asks, staring at the mutilated corpse. Someone has torn not only the skin, but large portions of the man's facial features away. I can see deep into the nasal cavity, and the eyes are gone, leaving only delicate optical nerves that sit in the bloody sockets like nestling worms. What's left of the skin is in tatters around where the face once was. The brass wants this solved now, Garmin says, which we can do on our own. But I guess having the foundation's resources helping out isn't the worst thing in the world. I bet they do want it solved, Sipes says. How many under city celebrities is that now? Four. That's right, Garmin says, checking her watch and then glancing toward the bedroom door. You expecting someone? Sipes asks. Yes, my partner should already be here. He said he was only five minutes away when I talked to him 10 minutes ago. Sipes grunts his acknowledgement, looking around the room. What other similarities have there been between killings? I mean, I already know about the face removal. Anything else? Garmin clears her throat, a noise that seems to escape from her gills. Yes, actually. Each one of them received a message that looks to be from the killer. She pulls a plastic evidence bag from a pocket and hands it to Sipes, who gives it to me without looking. Time to earn your key, he says. Tell me what you think. Inside the bag is a letter with a small block of text over a picture of a creepy looking humanoid figure with what appears to be a burlap sack over its head. The sack has a zippered mouth shaped into a long smile. The eyes are diamond shaped black lenses sewn into the burlap. In the blurry picture, the figure wears all black and appears, judging by its build to be male. I turn my attention to the text and read it aloud. Tell one, tell all. The tattletale has come. He'll find you wherever you are, no matter where you roam. He'll rip your fucking face off and wear it all the way home. His smile is considered nothing but a dream. His teeth all clack together, but they are not what they seem. If you search for tattletale, the last noise you ever make will be a fucking scream. Well, that's pleasant, Sipes says. A thread? Garmin nods. Seems like it. What do you think? Sipes asks me. I'm not sure. I read the words over again, but before I reach the end, a shout startles me. It's the cop from outside yelling for help. Garmin dashes out first, followed closely by Sipes and me. We rush up the stairs to the street and down the block, weapons drawn. Half a block down, we turn into a narrow alley. My shoes crunch on broken glass from a shattered light. The alley is shrouded in darkness, but I can just see Garmin up ahead, crouching next to a man's faceless body. He's still alive, I realize as he grabs hold of Garmin's arm, blood spurting from the massive wound that used to be his face. It's her partner. Up ahead, Sipes turns the corner, running down the connecting alley. As I slow, Garmin screams, get the fucker! As she waves me on. I resume my efforts, racing down the grimy alley and exiting onto a street just in time to see the uniformed cop from outside the crime scene, running up some stairs into a building. Sipes is on his tail. I follow, taking the stairs three at a time. As I rush through the door, entering the lobby of a ramshackle apartment building, I realize I've lost sight of Sipes and the uniformed guy. From somewhere down the corridor in front of me, Sipes shouts for help. I sprint past the sagging stairs down the dimly lit hall. I come to a T-intersection as Sipes calls for help again. He's to the right, so I check left, making sure that hallway is empty before I pivot around the corner, leading with my pistol. Sipes sits in the middle of the hallway floor, alone. His nose has been ripped off, blood spews from the wound and floods his eyes, blinding him. I rush over, ensuring the doors lining the hallway are all shut. There's no sign of tattletail. Holstering my weapon, I reach down to help Sipes up. A powerful forearm snakes around my neck, jerking me upright from behind. A crushing sense of deja vu descends as I feel a hand grabbing for my pistol. This can't be happening again. The scratchy sensation of burlap against the side of my head is soon followed by excruciating pain as my attacker bites down on my right ear. The cartilaginous crunch is deafening as the teeth rip my ear off. Pain and panic compress my lungs, even as the forearm clamps my windpipe shut. I reach up with one hand, trying to pull the arm away from my throat. My other hand goes to my holster to battle for the gun. Just like last time, I know what happens next. Sipes gets shot in the face with my gun. I've relived that incident so many times in my head, thinking about all the things I should have done differently. Here's my chance. Keeping my hands where they are, I yank my knees up and drop my hips, forcing my attacker to take all my weight. As I hoped, he bends forward at the waist, unable to hold me up. Halfway through my fall, I kick my legs against the floor, shoving backward, knocking my attacker off balance. We both stumble backward, but I propel us with my legs until we slam into a wall. The impact loosens his arm. I suck in a painful breath. Seeing my chance, I let go of his hand on my still holstered gun, hoping my gamble will pay off. With both hands, I grab his arm across my neck and yank it down as I jerk forward at the waist, flipping my attacker over me and onto the floor. As he lands, I see that I've made a mistake. He has my pistol in his hand. Smiling with his zipper mouth, he aims the gun up at me. My first instinct is to flee, I quash it, knowing it would be a death sentence for Sipes. Instead, I throw myself onto Tatletail, even as he fires the pistol into my chest. The bullet's impact rips my breath away, but I manage to get my hands on the pistol, even as blood rushes from the wound. As we battle over the gun, I get it aimed at his neck and pull the trigger with his finger. An eerily familiar act for me. The bullet rips through the burlap hem of Tatletail's mask and into what I now see is the white-skinned flesh of his neck. A gout of blood spurts up. His hand goes limp on the gun, and I rip it away. As I'm scrambling off him, I glimpse the edge of a tattoo and the divot at the base of his neck. It looks strikingly familiar. Feeling the energy drained from me, I look over my shoulder to see that Sipes has passed out. At least, I hope he's only passed out. Turning my attention back to Tatletail, I reach out and pull the burlap mask off. The doctor from back at the Foundation site looks up at me. He smiles, despite the considerable amount of blood leaving his body. What the hell? I ask, growing tired, leaning against the wall. The doctor sits up, still smiling. I raise my gun, but he moves fast, pulling it from my hand, not urgently. It's okay, he says, leaning over me. Just close your eyes, go to sleep. It's okay. I glance at my blood-soaked shirt. I think of my dogs. I hope when the dog sitter doesn't hear for me, she'll take care of them. A wave of sadness engulfs me, as I think about them being brought to a kill shelter. My eyelids flutter and grow so heavy I can't lift them again. Darkness swarms me. It's okay, you're okay. I gasp for breath and try to sit up, but my body feels as if it's about a thousand pounds heavier than normal. With great effort, I open my eyes, wincing at the lights, shining down from the ceiling. The doctor's face comes into view. He's still smiling. I twitch, trying to raise my hands to fight him off. Then another face comes into view. Sipes. His nose is intact. His face completely uninjured. I do a mental sweep of my body, realizing there's no pain in my chest, my ear, or my throat. How's the blood district? Sipes asks with a smirk. My mouth tastes like my dog bears perpetually bad breath, and of course he's the one who always wants to lick my face. I manage to get my mouth open. What the shit is going on? Sipes and the doctor share a look. While they do, I glance around, seeing that I'm in the doctor's exam room, where he gave me the shot earlier. A complex-looking machine rests next to me, a bunch of wires trailing from sensors arranged into the form of a helmet. It was a simulation, Sipes says. It wasn't real. You passed out in the elevator and we brought you back here. The blood district is a construct, a virtual reality, same with Tatletail. Why? I ask, but I already know the answer. You're smart enough to figure that out. Sipes says with a hint of disappointment. I nod. You already knew what happened with Marlar and Giddon in Valverde. Sipes nods. There isn't an inch of any foundation facility that isn't under constant surveillance. So why not just fire me or terminate me? Why put me through the torture of experiencing that again? Terminate you. Come on, Ackley. Give us a little credit. Good agents are hard to find. You experienced something horrible. People died. You could have done better in that situation, but you didn't. Fine. These things happen. But guess what? You learned from it. You handled Tatletail beautifully. Finally able to sit up, driven by a sense of indignation and anger I shake my head. These things happen? Are you fucking serious? I got Marlar killed. It's my fault he's dead. And then I tried to cover it up. Like I said, you could have handled it better, but it wasn't completely your fault. Do you remember what you said to Marlar when you met up with him that day? He already had the two D-class subjects with him, remember? I think on it for a moment. He went against protocol getting them out of the holding cell before I got there. Right. And what did you say before you started out? It came to me. I asked if we should bind their hands. Right. And Marlar, your superior, said you didn't need to. I sat with that for a moment. Somehow, I'd forgotten about that. I should have pushed him on it. I should have. How many times must I say it? You could have handled it better. Now you know that. And now I know you have what it takes to join my team. Thanks to Tatletail. He smiles. Really? Really? You start tomorrow. Now, go home and see your dogs. As I get up from the bed, the doctor who was leaning against the counter says, don't forget to take your bandage off when you get home. Need to let the wound breathe. I look down at my arm. Remembering the Scooby-Doo bandage he put on, the vivid memory of me ripping Tatletail's mask off comes to mind. Cute, I think. Smiling. Real fucking cute. SCP-2744 is a fictional anomalous humanoid used in simulacrum testing of certain Foundation operatives. Any operative failing this test will be dealt with on a case-by-case basis as the O5 Council sees fit, with the minimum outcome being complete amnesticization to erase any knowledge of the simulacrum test. Those operatives who pass the test are sworn to secrecy. As of this writing, Dr. Kester, who designed the test, is the only one allowed to perform it on operatives.