Scp - 012 "A Bad Composition"
Object Class - Euclid
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Site-19, SCP-012 Containment Chamber – June 15, 2025
Dr. Eleanor Greer adjusted her infrared goggles, the dim glow of the containment room casting long shadows. The iron box housing SCP-012 hung like a coffin from the ceiling, its chains creaking softly.
"Why's it suspended?" asked D-8824, a wiry man with pianist's hands, shuffling in his orange jumpsuit.
"Protocol," Eleanor replied, typing commands into the console. "Minimum clearance from surfaces. Reduces… incidents."
"Incidents?"
She ignored him. "Your file says you studied composition at Juilliard. True?"
He nodded. "Before the arson charges."
Eleanor hesitated. This is unethical, she thought. But the O5 Council had approved the test. "You'll transcribe the visible portion of SCP-012. Do not attempt to complete it. Understood?"
D-8824 smirked. "What's the worst that could happen?"
The iron box lowered. Eleanor averted her eyes, relying on the infrared feed. D-8824 leaned over the parchment, frozen.
"It's… beautiful," he whispered.
"Describe it," Eleanor ordered.
"Red ink. No, blood. The notes—they're alive. Like they're crawling off the page." His voice cracked. "There's a gap here. It needs… it needs to be finished."
"Do not touch the score!"
But D-8824 was already biting into his wrist. Blood dripped onto the parchment, sizzling like acid.
"Stop!" Eleanor lunged for the emergency shutoff, but the room's lights flickered on.
White light flooded the chamber.
Eleanor's goggles shorted out. She saw SCP-012 in full light—a writhing tapestry of crimson notes. The music pulsed, drilling into her skull.
D-8824 screamed, clawing at his arms. "It's not enough! I need more—bones! The ink needs bones!" He snapped a finger, grinding the shard into powder, mixing it with his blood.
Eleanor's hands moved against her will, reaching for a scalpel. "No—fight it!" she hissed, but the melody drowned her thoughts. Finish the score. Complete the symphony.
Across the room, D-8824 collapsed, his final note scrawled in marrow. "It's… impossible…" he gasped, before driving the scalpel into his throat.
When the backup team arrived, Eleanor sat hunched over the score, her lab coat soaked in blood. Her right eye was gone, the socket smeared with red ink.
Agent Ramirez yanked her away. "What the hell were you thinking?!"
"It needed me," she murmured, grinning. "I almost got the crescendo right…"
In the containment chamber, SCP-012 glowed faintly, new notes swirling like vipers. On the floor, D-8824's body had dissolved into ash, save for his hands—still clutching invisible piano keys.
Addendum:
From the desk of Dr. Marcus Vail, Senior Researcher:
Test suspended indefinitely. SCP-012's containment protocols updated to include automated light sensors. Dr. Greer terminated via incineration after attempting to carve the score into her skin.
Final Note:
The symphony remains unfinished. It always will.
"Some songs demand a price no soul can afford."
— Incident Report 012-Delta