Link to article: FILE SCP-9224-194B: HAZARDOUS ENTITY ACQUISITION AFTER ACTION REPORT.
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[[>]] [[module rate]] [[/>]] _ [[div style="float:right"]] [[image specolpro_seal.png width="170px"]] [[/div]] [[=]] + TOP SECRET United States of America Special Collections Program Victorville Holding Site, CA **__DO NOT DISSEMINATE__** [[/=]] _ __**FILE SCP-9224-194B: HAZARDOUS ENTITY ACQUISITION AFTER ACTION REPORT**__ **Author:** Fmr. CPT E. Parr **Subject:** [[[SCP-9224]]] **Unit:** Retrieval Team-6 (RT-6), SCP Paranormal Activity Response Corps (SCP PARC) **Location:** Santa Monica, Los Angeles County, California **Date:** [withheld] BEGIN REPORT. We spun up out of Edwards by helo to intercept the entity in LA County. Thing was about two klicks south-southwest of our insert by the time we got boots on the ground. Five of us, company strength, moved to link up with RT-2 in Santa Monica AO. From the air you could see the path the thing had carved out. At the time we thought it was another one of those lamprey things they keep penned up at Site Black that had gotten loose again. Should've known better, cause I never seen a hostile lay through the I-10 like that. Touched down at Position Golf and got word to push due east on the entity. RT-2 had a head start on us, maybe 800 meters out, so we buckled in and got ready to hump it. We were rolling with five M249 SAWs and those special riot shield things that the eggheads at Site Blue shipped down from Fairbanks. Lucky us, because apparently RT-2 hadn't come equipped with one of these bad boys and we saw how that shook out for them. Commander [@@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ ] drilled our asses about the whole op. We had no idea why he had that big a stick up his ass going in. But setting down just short of McClure Tunnel started putting things in perspective. Paramedics were already swarming the whole area, total mass-cas posture, and I swear to God the people were stretched out like balloons. There was this one guy, FBI I think, who I deadass mistook for a [@@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ ] his lower half was so blown up. And the legs were totally dislocated, rotated outwards like hands on a clock. I swear I could see up his guts. No idea how the man was still breathing, but here we were. Command got on the net and barked at us to start running, so that's what we did. I heard blasts in the distance, people screaming. The thing was that they only happened every once in a while. The screaming was constant, all around us, but underneath it there was just nothing. No small-arms, sometimes you would hear concrete grinding and sometimes not, just total dead air for a few seconds before another massive boom and more people screaming. We tracked the thing to a half-collapsed parking garage in central Santa Monica. I am not exaggerating, whatever this thing was, it had plowed a lane straight through the neighborhood. Entire houses split clean down the middle like something out of those autopsy videos or those industrial safety tapes. And people everywhere around us, medics, civvies, three-letter guys, a whole lot of them just hemorrhaging out the ass. Down on all fours. Gagging, retching, completely done. We cracked jokes. As the guy in charge of my element, I can own that much. We cracked jokes that [censored for decorum] and all that. That's just the gig. But honestly, I had zero frame of reference for what I was looking at. I could not tell if the black stuff on the ground was blood or shit or bile. I could not figure out why people were crawling around looking like fucking Teletubbies. In all my time in, I had never seen anything close. We pushed into the garage around the same time as RT-2. They had gotten there a hair sooner, good on Benson, and had already started clearing upward to the top levels where the thing had apparently bedded down. Williams started gagging from the smell but waved off the sick bag. Good kid. The smell. Imagine an outhouse, or a public bathroom, 7-11 or something. Imagine getting swirlied at school after the fat kid just went. Imagine getting your nose socked in and smelling the blood running from your nostrils. Imagine choking on your own vomit. None of that gets you there. The closer we pushed, that was the only thing in my head. It was like catching a fist to the face. Zero vis. Power was out across the whole grid. All we had were weapon lights and handhelds, and even then, with all the dust and crap in the air, you could maybe see three meters ahead of you. We could hear screaming from above, structural popping, wet slurping noises, and gunfire. We hauled ass, full sprint up the ramps, but we were too late. The last scream cut off with one final wet pop. We got closer. The smell kept getting worse. I didn't even know how that was physically possible. We approached the top, and I remember Connor just dropping his flashlight. I put my light on the thing. Dead quiet. I looked ahead through the dust and saw a gut. This white, bloated stomach, the bellybutton all deformed and pushed open with a glistening pinkness in the center. Dark striae the size of fingers running everywhere. Whoever it was, the guy could barely breathe, crying the whole time. And his little arms, God damn it. His little arms, poking out from the top, just wriggling around over his balloon-shaped head. I do not know why I did what I did. I killed my light and hit the deck. Stop, drop, and roll, the whole deal. That's what I did. I can't explain it. He brought his SAW up and opened up on the thing. Sounded like rounds hitting wood, and the poor bastard inside started crying out, almost oinking. I could barely make out what he was trying to say. 'Please help'. 'Help me'. 'My head', I think. 'Aim for my head'. Connor was behind me. I was facedown on cold concrete in total darkness. I heard the SAW going. Then nothing. Then a wet pop. Then Connor, strained, gurgling, crying. I rolled over and got my light up on it. Connor was on his back, weapon tossed off to the side, and I saw the thing, this bloated pole of stretched-out flesh, for just a second, pushing into him. Going straight up his ass. I watched his hips blow out, then his gut balloon, stretch marks ripping across his skin like fucking paper. I watched his head swell up, flatten out, change shape. His skull stretched long, the vertebrae cracking one after the other, and the skin just wrapped tight around the outline of the thing. Then it was upright again. I want it on record that I am ashamed of what I did. I have already started the process of giving up my rank, and I understand what that means. I couldn't bear to keep looking at what was left of Connor's face. His eyes had gotten shoved out of the sockets, sticking out like two little knobs on top of the thing's head, pointed up at the ceiling. His arms, squeezed out by the pressure, were still twitching. I puked. Could not see a thing, zero SA, and I just lost it. Then I grabbed my weapon and, God forgive me, I ran. END REPORT. **Afterword:** CPT Parr's voluntary downranking was processed without contest on [date withheld]. He currently serves on janitorial staff at Site-19. His recommendation that SCP-9224 be terminated was forwarded to the Office of the Director and denied following consultation with the Bioweaponry Division, which assessed the entity's fluid agent capabilities as holding significant research and operational value. SPC Connor Caughey remains incorporated into SCP-9224's outer layer assembly as of the most recent imaging survey and has been classified as a non-recoverable casualty. The remains of RT-2 have not been individually identified. _ [[div style="float:right"]] [[image specolpro_seal.png width="170px"]] [[/div]] [[=]] + TOP SECRET United States of America Special Collections Program Victorville Holding Site, CA **__DO NOT DISSEMINATE__** [[/=]] _ [[div class="footer-wikiwalk-nav"]] [[=]] [[[Series 0]]] [[/=]] [[/div]]