Link to article: Pretzels And Divine Retribution.
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[[>]] [[module Rate]] [[/>]] [[include :scp-wiki:component:author-label-source start=-- |name= TboneBerryhill]] [[include :scp-wiki:component:author-label-source end=--]] The vending machine had eaten Dr. Vivienne Graham’s change for the third time that week, and she was ready to commit a Class-A breach just to get her bag of pretzels back. She slapped the side of the machine. “You know, if this thing were anomalous, it’d at least be interesting about robbing me.” Across the dimly lit break room, Dr. Lily Pearl looked up from her tablet. “You think a possessed vending machine would hand you snacks? Please. It’d probably launch them at your face and demand blood as payment.” “That still sounds better than this.” Vivienne crouched to peer into the slot, where her snack had vanished into the void. “God, I hate night shifts.” They’d both been at Site-16 long enough to know the rhythms, the hum of filtration systems, the muted clink of security boots in the halls, the faint antiseptic tang that clung to every surface. At 22:30 hours, the place felt like a tomb with fluorescent lighting. Normally, the cafeteria would be open until midnight. Tonight, a maintenance notice had gone out: Closed for deep cleaning until further notice. Translation: no food until morning. Lily leaned back in her chair and checked the time. “We could run to town. Gas station’s still open.” Vivienne blinked at her. “You’re suggesting we leave Site-16 in the middle of the night for snacks?” “I’m suggesting we not starve to death over a broken vending machine.” Lily closed her tablet and stood. “Come on. It’s ten minutes there and back.” Vivienne hesitated. Technically, they weren’t supposed to leave without clearance. Technically, they should probably radio Security. But the prospect of another four hours with nothing to eat but breath mints was worse. “Gas station,” said Vivienne, already grabbing her coat. The fluorescent lights of the gas station buzzed like a dying insect, casting a sickly glow over the shelves of processed junk. The clerk a guy with a name tag that just said "Steve?"—barely looked up from his phone as the door chimed. Lily nudged a bag of stale pretzels with her boot. "Cafeteria closes at nine. Nine. Who even does that?" Vivienne tossed a candy bar into her basket. "The same people who think 'nutrition' is a four-letter word." Lily snorted, grabbing a bag of gummy worms. "I swear, if I have to eat one more—" The door chimed again. Two figures stepped inside. Lily didn’t pay them much attention at first—just a couple of late-night weirdos, same as them. But then the smell hit her. Rot. Not garbage rot. Not "left the takeout in the car too long" rot. Meat rot. She wrinkled her nose, shooting a glance at Vivienne, who had gone very still. Vivienne mouthed a single word: "Sarkic." Lily’s blood ran cold. The first Sarkic was wrong in a way that made her eyes itch. His skin was too loose, sagging in places where muscle had been reshaped, his fingers elongated, tips fused into boneless tendrils. The second was worse—his jaw unhinged slightly when he breathed, revealing too many teeth. Before they could react, the door jingled again. Two more figures entered. These ones moved with a mechanical precision, their steps too even, too measured. The first Mekhanite had a steel plate bolted across half his face, one eye replaced with a red-lit lens. The second’s left arm was entirely prosthetic, the fingers ending in delicate, buzzing tools. A faint tick-tick-tick came from his chest. Vivienne grabbed Lily’s arm. "Clockwork heart," she whispered. "High-ranking Mekhanite." Lily swallowed hard. Four cultists. One gas station. And them—two unarmed researchers in the snack aisle, holding gummy worms like a shield. They ducked lower behind the isle, peeking over the shelf. The two pairs of men had noticed each other from across the store. A silent, hateful stare-off. Then— The loose-skinned Sarkic spoke, his voice wet, like words pushed through meat. "Iron filth." The Mekhanite with the clockwork heart clicked his tongue, a sound like a wrench tightening. "Flesh abominations." Lily grabbed Vivienne’s sleeve. **"We are leaving."** They inched toward the register. **CRASH.** The second Sarkic—the one with the unhinged jaw—lunged, his body stretching unnaturally as he slammed into the nearest Mekhanite. The impact sent them both crashing into a display of energy drinks, the Mekhanite’s metal arm screeching as it scraped against the floor. The store erupted. Lily and Vivienne hit the deck, crawling toward the exit. Shelves toppled. Glass shattered. The clerk—Steve?—finally looked up, eyes wide. **"HEY! KNOCK IT OFF OR I’M CALLING THE—"** The Sarkic with the tendril-fingers whipped an arm out, wrapping it around the clerk’s throat. The Mekhanite with the faceplate slammed a fist into the clerks ribs knocking him against the wall. Lily and Vivienne exchanged a look. "New plan," Vivienne hissed. "Crawl faster." They scrambled over fallen snacks, dodging flying fists and the occasional thrown energy drink. They were so close to the door— Then two of the cultists crashed directly in front of it, blocking their escape. Lily’s ID slipped from her pocket. Shit. The men stopped. Looked down. Looked up. The cultists turned toward them, united in sudden, vicious interest. "Oh," said one Sarkic, grinning. "Lab rats." The other Mekhanite cracked his knuckles. "Out of their cage." Lily forced a smile. "Hey, guys. Don’t mind us. Just gonna… mosey—" **"You burned our temple in Albuquerque,"** the Sarkic spat, flesh rippling with rage. **"You stole the Gear of Divinity,"** the Mekhanite snarled, his clockwork heart whirring faster. Vivienne scoffed. "Oh, come on! You were mutating a whole town! And that thing was gonna fry the power grid!" The cultists paused. Then, in unison: **"AND?"** Lily and Vivienne shared another look. "Ugh," Lily muttered. "Fanatics." What followed wasn’t a fight. It was a catastrophe. The Mekhanite with the prosthetic arm unfolded it into a spinning blade. The Sarkic’s jaw split open like a snake’s. Lily kicked a rack of motor oil—bottles smashed, liquid slicked the floor. The Mekhanite’s metal feet screeched as he lost traction, crashing into his ally. Vivienne yanked a fire extinguisher off the wall and blasted the Sarkic in the face. Flesh bubbled where the chemicals hit. The remaining Sarkic howled and charged—only for the last Mekhanite to tackle him mid-lunge. They slammed into the freezer door, glass exploding outward. **"CAR. NOW,"** Vivienne gasped. They bolted, shoving past the dazed clerk, sprinting for the parking lot. Lily fumbled for her keys. **"MOVE MOVE MOVE—"** The car unlocked. They dove in, slamming the doors just as the clockwork Mekhanite slammed into the hood, his red eye flaring. Lily turned the key. The engine roared. She meant to reverse. Instead— **CRUNCH.** The Mekhanite went flying, his metal limbs sparking as he tumbled across the asphalt. The airbags deployed. Lily shoved hers down, wheezing. **"OH, FUCK YOU—"** Vivienne grabbed the wheel. **"DRIVE, YOU IDIOT!"** They peeled out of the lot, nearly clipping the last Sarkic who flipped them off as they sped away, screaming something about "divine retribution" as they sped away. Lily’s hands were locked on the wheel, her breath ragged. **"This,"** she hissed, **"is why I applied for a gun."** Vivienne slumped in her seat, rubbing her temples. **"Next time, we starve."** Behind them, the gas station’s lights flickered. Steve the clerk sat up, rubbing his throat. He sighed, picked up his phone, and went back to scrolling. "Just another night." They drove on. Site-16’s silhouette rose out of the dark ahead. Neither of them said it aloud, but they were already in agreement: when the report went in, this night never happened.