I Was Locked in a Cell With a Garbage Monster | SCP-1030

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Seeing another human's face was like cool spring water to a desert weary traveler. Even if that face was scowling and positioned behind the heavy plastic visor of a guard helmet. I strolled along down the corridor, not daring to ask if I was going back with the general population. Fantasies of playing chess with my old friend. Dorian surfaced in my mind. I barely gave any attention to the depressing thought that my fantasies no longer involved being a free man again. Those were too grand to contemplate and too depressing when they inevitably came crashing down. The two guards escorting me, one in front and one behind, brought me through a series of security doors. As we reached a windowless containment chamber door, I noticed a lot of people were looking for me. On the door, I noticed a cracked water pitcher sitting on the concrete floor nearby, like one that would filter water. Only this one was missing the inner components, leaving only the cracked and scuffed outer shell. The lead guard picked the empty pitcher up, shoved it into my bound in front of me hands, and then opened the door. Get in! The other guard said, punctuating the command with the boot to my backside. As I stumbled into the cell, those old feelings of defiance coming to the fore again. On the outside, back before I pissed off the wrong powerful man, I had been fairly calm and quiet. Back then, anyone who knew me would have said I was the least likely guy to fly into a rage, but my time as a prisoner of the foundation had changed me. So as I stumbled into the cell, I had to quell the urge to turn around and hurl the water pitcher at the guard who kipped me. It was too lightweight to do any damage, and only would have earned me another beating. The bruises for my last one were only now fading. As the door closed behind me, I stared at the pile of trash at the other end of the windowless, single door cell. It resembled a person, with two arms and two legs and a head, only made of trash. A doorless microwave, several bundles of wire, an orange Home Depot bucket, plastic and glass bottles, a coffee maker without the pot, dozens of other things. Some of them smashed so much I couldn't tell what they were. Then the thing moved. I backpedaled, running into the closed and locked door as I dropped the plastic pitcher to the floor. At first, I thought I was looking at the front, but as it moved, glancing over its shoulder, I saw something resembling a face. Two red indicator lights were the eyes, the edge of a computer mouse as the nose, but two-slot toaster as the mouth, making it look like the thing was grimacing or grinning without humor. An upside-down stainless steel cooking pot comprised the thing's head over those glowing red eyes. But since the pot's handle was sticking out over its back, it resembled a backward baseball cap, more than an actual head. Then there was the long and complex symbol etched into the back of the pot, just above the handle. I couldn't make heads or tails of it, but I didn't really care. Just then, the thing turned all the way around to face me. I tried to press myself through the door. It didn't work. The giant, a good eight feet tall, stepped toward me. Friend! I said, raising my hands. I won't hurt you. I'm a friend! The thing stopped, staring at me with those unblinking red lights. A milk jug in the left side of its abdomen started moving on its own. The jug looked like it had been sitting in some landfill for a decade. The plastic was thin and brittle. Green-black mold clung to it in places. It toppled out of the thing's abdomen, falling to the floor. Then the water pitcher I'd been told to bring in flew up from the concrete, as if on an invisible line. It slotted into the spot recently vacated by the milk jug, its edges contorting to fit snugly. Okay? I said. A voice coming over some hidden speaker made me twitch. Is this not what you want? Said the familiar voice. I gritted my teeth and glared at the ceiling, where I assumed the speaker was. I was focused on that voice, Dr. Bastion's voice. Not again. It was a miracle I'd survived his last experiment. Now, here I was again, acting as a guinea pig. Or worse, a sacrifice. No! This is not what I meant when I said I wanted a cellmate! I shouted. Shut up, 14. I'm not talking to you. The trash creature continued staring at me, but it made no move. After a long moment, it turned and crouched over something at the other end of the cell. Something I hadn't seen because the creature's bulk had been blocking it. Changing my angle, I saw an oversized keyboard on a platform jutting from the wall. Using its fingers, made mostly of plastic utensils or bits of bent metal, the creature typed on the keyboard. When it was done, it moved into the corner and sat down, the sound of its body scraping against the white painted concrete walls, sending chills of discomfort up my spine. You are testing my patience. Dr. Bastion said over the speaker. But I'll play along. I shrugged and looked around, finally spotting the tiny camera in one corner. I flipped at the bird and shouted, What the hell is going on? Did it talk to you on the keyboard? What did it say? A panel next to the door opened, revealing a sort of pass-through chamber about four feet tall and three wide. Inside was an ancient Kirby vacuum cleaner and a knife. I immediately snagged the knife. Give both items to 1030. Bastion said. Screw that. I don't want to get stabbed by a pile of trash. He can have the vacuum. If it wanted to hurt you, it would have no trouble, even if you were armed with a machine gun. Besides, do you think a knife will actually damage it? I looked at the knife. I don't know, maybe. Give him the fucking items. Bastion screamed. I smiled. That's the doctor I remembered, always losing his shit. Okay, chill. I grabbed the vacuum and wheeled it over next to the creature, careful not to get too close. And a knife. Bastion said through gritted teeth. I could almost hear the enamel coming off as he ground them together. What knife? I shrugged, knife still in hand. Motherfuck. The word cut off. I knew what was coming next, but I couldn't help myself. Two guards came rushing through the door. The first one fired a rubber bullet at me, pegging me in the chest. Growning in pain, I dropped the knife and fell to the floor, curling into a ball. The guard fired again, hitting me in the back. Another pained groan escaped my lips as I tried to catch my breath. Then the second guard was on me, hitting me with a collapsible baton. Okay, that's enough. Bastion's voice was no longer coming over the speaker. He was in the room. As I uncovered my head and glanced up, I saw that both guards had their weapons trained on the creature. Bastion, who had the face of a 90s soap opera star in the build of a filing cabinet stacked on a pair of stilts, glared down at me. His nostrils flared, his eyes verdant with blooming rage. I requested you special for this 114. You're both stubborn little shits. He jutted his chin toward the creature, which remained sitting in the corner. By the end of this, you'll both be broken. Still grimacing, I managed to wink. Bastion's face contorted at my insolence. Give me the baton. He demanded of the nearest guard. The guy gave it over. I protected my head again. It didn't help. I stared at the symbol 1030 had scrawled into the vacuum cleaner as I pushed the appliance down the empty corridor. My head pounded, vision swimming from the beating. As far as I could tell, the symbol looked identical to the one I'd spotted on 1030's head. This one was carved into the head of the appliance, right on top of the metal brush housing. After putting the symbol on the Kirby with a knife blade, Bastion had made the trash giant control the vacuum. It rolled around the room on its own, the motor humming, despite not being plugged into anything. As it came toward me where I lay in a ball of paint on the floor, I scrambled away into the corner. But the vacuum stayed a few feet away. At Bastion's command, the Kirby went up and down the walls and across the ceiling. It floated in midair and jerked around like it was alive. Bastion had commanded 1030 to attack me with the vacuum, but the trash giant was either unable or unwilling to do it. Which made it okay in my book. Now, it was my turn to do Bastion's bidding. As I neared the end of the long hallway, a single door opened on the right, just like Bastion said it would. The Kirby started vibrating in my hands as I pushed it. Now that 1030 wasn't controlling it, I wasn't sure why, but I kept pushing. Maybe the trash giant is still controlling it, I thought, putting my back into it. I angled the vacuum inside and was surprised to find two other D-class guys in the room. I recognized one of them as my old cellmate and friend, Dorian. The other was a guy I had never seen before. Like me, they both had their wrists bound in front of them with flex cuffs. Dorian, I said, how the hell? The vacuum roared to life and shot out of my hands, sipping straight toward my old celly. Dorian got his hands up and the business end of the Kirby slammed right into them. Blood spewed everywhere. Dorian screamed as he backpedaled, the vacuum going right along with him. As I darted forward, the other D-class guy ran toward the door, but it slammed shut before he could escape. I gripped the handle in both hands and yanked it away. It fought me. I braced my feet against the floor as Dorian stumbled away, his hands mangled beyond repair. Suddenly, the Kirby stopped fighting me and whipped around, darting toward the other guy, still trying to get out of the room. I held tight to the handle, but my prison slippers slid across the floor as it dragged me. I shouted. The guy dodged away. The vacuum spun to follow. My hands were slick with sweat, starting to slip. The power cord suddenly unwound and whipped toward me. As I ducked, not wanting that thing wrapped around my neck, my hands slipped off. I fell to the floor as the vacuum hurtled toward its victim, catching him in the back of the head. His feet flew out from under him. He hit the concrete hard, but not as hard as the vacuum hit him next. The thing slammed into his head like a guard stomping on a back-talking inmate. As I scrambled to my feet, the vacuum hit him again. This was a quality metal one from back when things were made well, not some flimsy plastic deal. It split his skull open like a baseball bat to a pumpkin. Dismay weakened my legs. I thought back to Bastion commanding 1030 to carve that symbol into the vacuum. It had just been an old, junky vacuum before then. Now, knowing either Dorian or I would be next, I lurched for the malevolent cleaning appliance. The cord whipped at my head again. This time, it wrapped around my neck several times and started squeezing. The very end of the cord zipped toward my face. I got my hands up and caught it. The twin metal appendages struggling to dart at my eyes, even as the rest of it choked me. After obliterating the dead man's head with one more stomp, the vacuum zoomed toward Dorian, who sat against the wall, lost in his pain. Quickly using the last of my oxygen and with blood flow to my brain cut off, I stumbled after the killer Kirby. It attacked Dorian's face with its business end, shredding his skin and obliterating his nose. Still holding the end of the cord, fighting against its strength, I lurched for the brush housing where the symbol was. Using the metal prongs, I scratched at the carved symbol in a frenzy, hoping it would work. As my vision narrowed to a tiny pinprick, I continued scratching at the metal. Suddenly, the cord stopped trying to fight me. The motor noise died, and the vacuum fell away from Dorian's face, landing on his outstretched legs. I unwrapped the cord from my neck and collapsed, taking deep breaths through my raw throat. When I had regained enough of myself, I looked at Dorian, and then away again. His face had been shredded, his eyes destroyed, lips sheared off. If he wasn't already dead, he would be soon, and that was probably for the better. Bastard. I breathed. You bastard. In my rage, I wasn't sure if I was talking about Bastion or 1030, or both. From working title, producers of Bridget Jones and Love Actually. I'm looking for this girl called Emily. I'll help you find her. Comes the truly feel-good British romcom that's being called a five-star instant classic. Tell me, you didn't have the school email, what message every Emily. Hailed as hilarious and original. Hey, Emily. It's Notting Hill for a new generation. I don't think I was wrong, Numbit. Just didn't write number you, did you? Finding Emily. Only in cinemas May 22nd. Book tickets now. I don't know how you keep surviving these experiments. Bastion said over the speaker as I lay on the floor in 1030 Cell. But you won't survive this one, you little shit. I stared up at the trash giant that loomed over me, a knife in its hand once again. It was the same knife it had used to carve the symbol in the vacuum. The tip of it hovered a foot above my forehead. The indicator lights that served as eyes stared at me. Please. I said, struggling against the binds around my hands and feet. Don't do it. I'm your friend. We can play chess. You know what chess is? Do it. Bastion barked. Or you know what happens next. The trash monsters had twitched toward the speaker. Its unchanging expression made it impossible to tell what it was thinking. But it had been hesitating. Clearly, it did not want to carve that symbol into me. I had no idea what would happen if it did. But I doubted it would be pleasant. Aside from the obviously painful carving itself. The giant looked at me again and inched the knife toward my skin. Maybe checkers is more your speed or tic-tac-toe? The giant swiped the knife down deftly. Cutting first through the flex cuffs around my wrists and then the ones at my ankles. In nearly the same movement, it lurched to the nearest wall and started carving into it with the knife. My eyes, already wide with surprise, widened even more when I considered what that might mean. Could the giant make the wall move? Could he make it attack Bastion in the guards? Wouldn't that be amazing? But before it could finish the carving, a brain-jarring, long-vibrating hum erupted from the huge metal plate in the ceiling. 1030 flew apart. All its metal components tearing from its body and flying into the plate, smacking it with pangs and clanks. The non-metal parts that remained mostly stayed where they were, keeping the rough humanoid shape. But was left of 1030, stumbled away from the wall and fell to all fours. Its body language that of sheer pain and torment. A shard of porcelain that looked like a broken sink basin migrated up from 1030's back to take up residence at the back of its head. The symbol that had been on the cooking pot suddenly appeared in the porcelain. The monster remained on all fours, shuddering, writhing, clearly in pain. I couldn't handle it. I scrambled over to the suffering trash monster and put a hand on its back. My hand accidentally slipped into a hole vacated by what appeared to be a piece of dryer drum. Oh shit, sorry, didn't mean to slip inside you. Feeling stupid, embarrassed, and ineffectual, I did the only thing I could think of. I twisted my face toward the camera. Bastion, you fucking coward, leave him alone. Why did you pick on someone of your own species? Like you? Bastion said over the speaker. You couldn't touch me in a one-on-one fight and you know it. That's why you hide behind guards. I looked up. And giant magnets. Only cowards hide behind guards and giant magnets. Chuckling, Bastion said. Do you know I'm good friends with Governor Gendelson, right? I arched an eyebrow. No wonder he had it out for me. I had thought it was just a perfect storm of me being a smart ass and him being a total dick. But no. He was trying to have me killed on behalf of the governor. Still with my hand on 1030's back, I smiled, suddenly realizing something. Holy shit, were you there that night? Did you? No. Bastion exclaimed. No, I was not there, you disgusting wretch. I was laughing now. He who were, you were there. I remember now. How did the soup taste, Bastion? I was not there. Are you about to cry, Bastion? You've tasted my piss, haven't you? My piss has been in your mouth. I started laughing so hard my abs were hurting. Admittedly, it had been a nasty thing to do. But the good governor had overseen the approval and construction of a massive data center two years before that fateful dinner. We had voted to keep data centers out of our town. But Gendelsen used some obscure quasi-legal workaround to skirt the local ordinance. The well-water most homes depended on was no longer safe to drink within a year. Our electricity bills had skyrocketed and the jobs it was supposed to create turned out to be bullshit. Even the construction crews who built the place weren't local. So yeah, I managed to get on as a server during a dinner for the governor and his wealthy donors. And taking my cue from Fight Club, I pissed in their seafood bisque. Unfortunately, I was caught on camera. Luckily enough, that was after they had all finished the soup. They didn't like having ingested my piss very much. They accused me of biological warfare, called me a terrorist, locked me up and threw away the key. Until that moment, listening to Bastion lose his shit over the speaker, I had generally regretted my decision. But now I wasn't so sure. Getting my laughter under control with some effort, I said, I just have one more question for you boss. Have you eaten any soup since then? I lost it again, slapping 1030 on the back. I imagined him laughing along with me, even though he had pretty much no head anymore, and he still looked to be in pain. The magnet was still on, keeping all of his metal parts on the ceiling. The door to the cell opened and Bastion came rushing in. His face lobstered and a guard's baton in his hand. As he raised the baton, the magnet ripped it from his hand. He looked up at it, confused for a moment, and he got even more angry. I was still laughing when he kicked me. I got my arm down to block it, but it still hurt, the pain cutting my laughter off. Then he punched me in the jaw. I collapsed beside what was left of 1030, unable to get up, thanks to the multiple beatings I'd already taken. Bastion raised his foot to stomp on my face. This was it. He was finally going to kill me. I had no doubt he would get away with it, just like the governor and his cronies got away with screwing my town over, poisoning people, ruining their lives. I stared at the bottom of his fancy dress shoe, literally waiting for it to drop. He sent it hurtling toward my face, but he missed. His foot coming down on the other side of my head, leaving me staring up at his crotch as he straddled me with wide legs. Still dazed, I pulled myself out from under him, moving gingerly. When I looked into his face, I knew something was off. He hadn't just missed me. Something else was at work. His face, once lobster-red with rage, was now snail-shell white with fear. He seemed frozen in his splay-legged pose. Then his leg, the one he'd nearly stopped me with, raised off the floor and stretched out toward 1030. The trash monster I now noticed was no longer on all fours. He was standing on what passed for his knees. If he'd still had some semblance of a face, he would have been looking at Bastion. The sound of flesh tearing started slowly, but quickly built to a roar in my ears. Bastion screamed in agony as his leg ripped from his body and flew the short distance to 1030. It twisted and folded, bones snapping, until it was the perfect size to fit in a space vacated by a piece of lawnmower on 1030's abdomen. Realizing what was happening, I got to my feet, stumbling, barely walking straight. I slammed the door shut and pressed my back against it, knowing the guards would be coming soon. Next to go was Bastion's left arm, which slotted nicely into a vacant space on 1030's back. Bastion screamed as blood spewed from his wounds. Guards slammed into the door. I hunkered down, buying time. As Bastion's other leg came off and his screaming ceased for a lack of oxygen in his lungs, I couldn't help myself. I yelled, Your trash, Bastion! Trash! With a fresh lungful of air, Bastion screamed again. His legless torso floating in the air as his last limb tore off. Next, the front of his skull ripped off and spun around, splatting into place on 1030's head. Moments later, when 1030 was mostly whole again, he used a jagged piece of Bastion's pelvis to finish the symbol on the wall. Looking at me with Bastion's face, 1030 nodded. I lurched away from the door, letting the guards stream in. The wall ripped from its place and then crashed into the guards. I could hardly walk thanks to my encounter with the guards, the vacuum, and then Bastion. So 1030 carried me on his back. We raced into the next cell in line, which was thankfully empty. The door was locked, but 1030 made quick work of carving the symbol into the front wall. In this manner, with walls clearing the way, we escaped from the facility. It was afternoon, the sky bright blue. As we slipped into the woods outside the fence, a stretch of it having been flattened by one of our trusty walls, I couldn't help but look up at the symbol carved in the chunk of porcelain sink that made up the back of 1030's head. Such power in a symbol. The vacuum, I asked. Did you make it attack us? 1030 shook his head. I believed him. I'd gotten the impression that the whole vacuum thing was Bastion's doing. My new friend, the trash monster, hadn't even wanted to carve the symbol out in the first place. Could you have done that the whole time? I asked. Taking Bastion's limbs off like that? The creature shrugged. I chuckled. Desperate times, I guess. 1030 looked over its shoulder with Bastion's face. I shuddered. Hey, do you think we could find a better face for you? I hate that one. 1030 nodded. Thank goodness. Then we'll play some chess. How does that sound? 1030 nodded again. I was sure Foundation foot soldiers would catch up to us eventually. But maybe we could get one game in first. I found myself grinning as we moved swiftly through the forest. There was one less asshole in the world. The sun was shining and we were free. So many reasons to smile. SCP-1030 is a humanoid figure approximately 8.5 feet tall, constructed of various disparate objects. Said objects corrode, rot, or otherwise decompose at an accelerated rate. Heavily damaged objects are expelled and replaced by an unknown force, using other nearby items capable of roughly filling the vacated space. Objects may contort or break if necessary, but preference is given to those requiring a minimum of effort. The entity has shared via text that keeping damaged items integrated is painful. The only constant feature on SCP-1030 is the presence of a complex symbol that becomes engraved on the back of whatever analog the entity is using for a head. Any objects marked with this symbol by the entity becomes animate. SCP-1030 will retain some control over the objects as long as they are within 15 yards of the entity. Beyond that range, marked objects invariably become hostile, seeking out and attempting to harm nearby humans in any way possible. Removal or destruction of any portion of the symbol reverts such items to their original inanimate state. SCP-1030 is notified every time a new episode is released.