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Description: SCP-2661 is an illegal street drug known variously as 'asterion', 'zezna', and 'tojkef'. SCP-2661 began surfacing in late 2014 in Asia Minor and has since made its way to North Africa, Europe, and North America. Street-level dealers have proven useless in discovering its source. Even under strenuous interrogation, they have proven ignorant of how they came into possession of it. Tissue samples have revealed that they had been administered amnestics in the past 90 days.
Typically smoked, SCP-2661 behaves as a psychedelic and stimulant, producing a very short lasting experience typified by a feeling of euphoria accompanied by vivid hallucinations. SCP-2661 is highly addictive, with a dependence potential comparable to heroin. Spectrographic analysis has proven contradictory and inconclusive.
Of note is the unusual degree of agreement between users of the drug in the kinds of imagery experienced: highly recursive geometries, marked by proliferating angles and avenues. After using the drug even for a short time, the desire to recall these experiences becomes pronounced, typically leading users to attempt elaborate, highly detailed reproductions. Failure to yield to these compulsions (when, for instance, confined or under medical care) produces a sharp sense of anxiety or dread. Amnestics have proven only partially successful in addressing these symptoms. The obsessional effects are distinct from the more conventional physical withdrawal produced when the drug itself is unavailable. Those have proven amenable to conventional addiction therapies i.e. counseling, 12-step programs, Ayahuasca, etc.
Roughly 1 in 1,000 users suffer an atypical reaction. This group is characterized by a difficulty achieving REM sleep, a manic concentration, and an almost savant-like ability to recall and articulate the drug experience. This group is at great risk of dying due to sleep-deprivation and exhaustion motivated by their desire to work on their reproductions without interruption.
Recovery Log: SCP-2661-Alpha — one of such reproductions — spans over 70 acres of farmland. It consists of intricate alley-ways and corridors constructed with ad hoc materials such as plywood, cardboard, stone sheeting and other detritus. The owner of the farmland, a Mr. James █████, appears to have built it over the course of 100 days.
Local authorities became concerned for the man's well-being, but no action was taken as he appeared lucid and cheerful when questioned and appeared to pose no danger to himself or others. He maintained that, being of advanced age, he had decided to devote what time he had left to an artistic endeavor that might outlive him. Foundation agents interceded when reports surfaced that his butchered remains had been discovered by a census taker.
Footage recovered from surveillance cameras on the property show that on September 8th, 2015, a boviform humanoid emerged from the construction. The entity (classified SCP-2661-Beta) then consumed Mr. █████ over the course of several hours. Mr.
█████ put up no resistance, though he appeared in great pain. After he expired, the entity dug a make-shift grave and deposited his remains in it. It then knelt beside the grave for a period of 45 minutes, after which it fled.
Foundation agents discovered that the construction's walls bore marks made in blood, apparently measured out at regular intervals with the remains of Mr. █████'s intestines.
Their purpose remains unknown. The entity in question has not been sighted since.
Further review of Mr. █████'s remains revealed a symbol engraved in his skull. Its significance is unknown.
Addendum: The following are excerpts recovered from Mr. █████'s diary: + open April 29th …and the Mediterranean I miss most of all. I shouldn't have waited so long.
April is the perfect month before the heat becomes exhausting. I'll always remember the kindness of my Moroccan hosts. I was touched by the parcel they gave me. As promised I didn't open it till I got home. Beautiful figurines, fresh dates, Maghrebi mint tea, and the book I'd said I admired, a first edition of The Sheltering Sky. How funny of their teenager to include some kif. I suppose I could have gotten some attention from the TSA. That's the advantage of old age. Nobody looks twice at a 75-year-old man. I must remember to write them a thank you note. Maybe I'll try the kif this weekend.
I haven't smoked cannabis in 30 years. I wonder when I'll find the time to go back… May 5th …that was a nasty surprise. Goddamn him. Whatever I smoked was for Christ's sake not kif. I tripped for 24 hours. Still coming down off of it. The visuals were intense. They're still running through my mind… May 7th …if I had to actually live off the land I'd starve. I can't even keep the modest vegetable garden in shape. Not sure of what the locals must make of me, a city dweller retiring to a farm. Still can't get any writing done. I'm still messed up from the kif… May 9th …I still can't work. I can't get the hallucinations out of my head. So intricate.
Like a Cubist mandala. Fathomless. Defiant of characterization. I've been trying to paint them, see if I can just get them in front of me on canvas.
May 13th …felt strange. Sharper. My sleep's been off. Don't seem to need as much of it anymore. Probably age. The painting is glorious. Discovering more and more about the Vision as I get more of it down. I'm amazed how well I can remember it. Not like the experiences I had on LSD in college. So intricate.
So definite.
May 14th …when I had a Revelation. I've been confusing Figure and Ground. Must abandon the canvas in favor of some concrete attempt, a sculpture maybe.
Never thought I had an inclination for this. I guess their Moroccan teenager knew what he was doing. Must remember to write them that note… May 19th …for this first time since I started this, I took a break. Worked twelve hours straight and went to bed, but woke up a few hours later unable to go back to sleep. I don't know why I was so anxious. I can't keep up this pace. Maybe try to do some writing instead.
May 22nd …and felt awful. I had a picnic over at the stream and couldn't relax. Felt like I was being watched. Dreadful. All that seems to relax me is revisiting the Vision. I'm not sure if I'm going mad or not. Good thing there was so little kif. I find I've been craving it.
June 1st …haven't had much time to write. I'm exhausted. Forgot to buy groceries.
Will have them delivered. I need lumber. Lots of it. I'll try the dump tomorrow.
May have to hire some summer kids to help.
I'm reminded of Richard Dreyfuss in Close Encounters. Or Kevin Costner in Field of Dreams. But I'm not worried. Shouldn't I be worried at not being worried?
That was strange. I just went blank there for about an hour. Not sure where I went. Came-to with the realization. What I'm working dwarfs my writing. My novels have meant nothing to no one. They're Trivial. Puerile. Meretricious.
This is my true work. This will be my testament.
June 17th …hired two dozen kids last week from the high school that the principal recommended. Told him I'm working on an art project. They're good kids and work hard. I give them lunch and they seem happy. It's going well. I am content. I seem normal.
July 28th Had a visit from a councilman. He brought a police officer. Probably a good idea to show my face around town once in a while. Spread some money around and buy some good will. While I talked to them and served them coffee, I felt like I was existing on two tracks at once. On track one: I am genial, make self-effacing jokes, respond disarmingly to their concerns. On track two: I am dreaming awake. The Vision accompanies me there, overlaid on their dull faces like a Veil. I am a bird of prey. I will leap from the sky and tear their features from their skulls, never once interrupting their childish prattling, their inanities. It's strange living as two people at once. One a mask worn to keep the profane world at bay. And beneath the mask: a resolute countenance. Contemplative. Patient. Awaiting instruction from the Divine.
August 10th Had a glorious dream last night. Hadn't thought of these things since I abandoned the church as a kid. In it, Christ appeared to me. He gave me the sweetest, kindest smile. He said that I will be with Him soon. He had traveled so far and underwent such hardships, such weariness. I knew what I must do. I carved pieces from my flesh and served them to Him. I opened my veins and let Him drink.
The ritual of Communion is prideful, backwards, peasant ramblings. How could we imagine eating of His flesh and drinking of His blood? Blasphemous hubris. We must do the offering. That we may live forever. In Him.
September 4th …It's almost done. I've let the kids go, with a generous bonus and my sincere gratitude. The rest I can do on my own. It will be soon now. I can smell Him in my dreams. The stench of His flanks. The sweat from His hide. I can see his sweet, kind smile before me. His wide smile. May He deign to accept my humble offering.
May I be His succor and His sustenance.
May I kneel before Him and serve Him always.
His morsel, His sweet-meat, His consort, His bride, His handhoofmaiden « SCP-2660 | SCP-2661 | SCP-2662 » ‡ Licensing / Citation Cite this page as: "SCP-2661" by Requitefahrenheit, from the SCP Wiki. Source: https:// scpwiki.com/scp-2661. Licensed under CC-BY-SA.
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