SCP-8580

Link to article: SCP-8580.

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[[include :scp-wiki:component:image-block-peppo
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|caption= 3 SCP-8580 Instances
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**Item #:** SCP-8580     

**Object Class:** Safe

**Special Containment Procedures:** SCP-8580 instances are to be stored in a safe containment unit at Site-633.

**Description:** SCP-8580 denotes baroque[[footnote]]Non-spherical due to inconsistent layer formation.[[/footnote]] pearls distinguished by their comparatively low conchiolin and high mucin contents. Instances are hollow, containing a small pocket of stale air at their centers instead of a solid nucleus.[[footnote]]Oysters and mussels form pearls as a defense against irritants, like sand or parasites, that enter their bodies; secreting layers of aragonite and conchiolin around them.[[/footnote]] These factors render SCP-8580 instances fragile in comparison to commercial counterparts.

**Discovery:** The Foundation became aware of SCP-8580 during the seizure of an abandoned warehouse containing a surplus of [[[SCP-8058]]] instances. As the warehouse was cleared,  it was found to also contain a crate with 2293 SCP-8580 instances.

Though personnel were able to trace the serial number on the crate back to North American Creations Co.[[footnote]]Known to be in ownership of numerous small-scale pearl farms among its other holdings.[[/footnote]] its regular commercial output did not match the low quality of SCP-8580 instances. This inconsistency necessitated a full scale audit of all of the company's assets, staffing, and communications, flagging the following report within the central office of Sr. Director Bill Spencer:
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= **Branch Report - Larkton, Illinois**

**Consultant:** Godfrey Changez

----

**Notes:** In any other case I would start my report with a good faith calculation of the expected value of the queried branch, arrange my projections for the future of the asset, and direct the hand of the client to the best measure as to maximize the economic utility of the asset. I pride myself on professional impartiality, that is to say, but I simply cannot adhere to that good faith in this case.

Upon my entry to the facility I was met with the stale air that works its way into all concrete monoliths, lacking windows for fresh air, or even natural light. A dreary silence, underscored by a familiar annoyance at the ticking of an analog clock, flicking to the beat of the apathetic trudging of the workforce beside me. They fit the mood exactly, each of them plain faced with their computers and briefcases in hand, practiced in winding the grey walls of the block to their allotted meetings, cubicles, what have you. And there I stood, amidst it all in the grand open entry hall, this wave of despond still managing to weave its way mindlessly around me. No thoughts to the foreign body, I suppose. I too was there for a job in the end. Perhaps they already recognized me?

It was a short talk with the secretary at the front desk. I identified myself and they gave me a room number and some directions. Third floor, first room on the left. And it was a dismal little thing, but all the necessary figures were provided. Of course it wasn't ideal, but you can't expect high-rise offices at every deployment. This was work after all, a good employee is ready to put aside such trivial annoyances. And doing so, I began to chip away.

Being in this line of work, you develop a sort of sixth sense for how an asset will unfold. Glance at some tables and graphs, plug them into some of the crowd favorite models, and an educated man can get a quick sense of how a company is functioning, if at all. I preface this to say, this company should not have been functional at all. I don't know what to say. The numbers just didn't add up. It was baffling, seeing the expenditure sheet. The layers upon layers of mediation, jobs filling tables provided by other jobs prodding models using data from tables just the same going down layer after layer after layer. Three tiers of middle management. No human resources department. And must I repeat, so many redundant low level jobs. I had been sitting there for hours, so baffled at the structure I was reaching a breaking point. I just couldn't get it to click. I needed to ask someone //why// it was all like this. I had to find //someone// with a modicum of power, but I was besides myself how to even begin to broach the levels of hierarchy at play here. Notice, I didn't even talk to anyone proper on the way in- and that's fairly conventional. But I'm here on their behalf, so they always make themselves known to //me//. Really, it's the barest level of respect to someone who could be pivotal in the continued existence of so many jobs. I couldn't wait a moment longer.

I stepped out into the hall. Directions were absent from my mind as I attempted to retrace my way to the elevator with no avail, rather, happening upon a large room filled with cubicles. I could see the work they were doing first hand now. Trivial. Tedious. I could see it on their faces that they knew it too, bored out of their minds, but trying not to zone out. Glancing around, sneaking in bites of a small snack, then being startled when a nearby printer began to scream out for another table to be sent upstairs, downstairs, or the next room over. None of them talked. None of them even noticed me. I just walked round what must have been hundreds of people all tapping away at their assigned task, desperate to look busy.

I found my way to a side hallway that I could have swore was the way to the elevator, but it was yet more concrete walls. More horrible off white carpet and more stuffy concrete corridors turning sharp to another hallway lined with more little offices for slightly-more-higher ups, and ending, would you guess, at yet another identical block of cubicles.

I watched as one of the offices opened. A man; didn't notice me. He was walking slightly in front of me as I approached the new cubicle block, following that same ticking pace as he stepped on the noise dampening, slightly abrasive carpet. I lingered as he spoke to one of the office workers. Buzzwords. Low profit quarter. Might be layoffs soon, or maybe lower pay. Don't worry about that though, you do great work. A fake smile. I'm going to need that report on my desk by tonight. I don't ask questions, I just expect it to be done-

And then I was out of earshot. I hadn't noticed it before, but these middle-managers were all around the place, just slightly lingering at the corner of every few cubicle blocks. All making the same idle conversation. Looking at screens. Looking at people. That passive prodding, keeping them on their toes. Keeping them efficient. If I didn't have my file with me, I might be worried that //I// didn't look busy enough for them.

I sped up slightly. The eyes were starting to wander to me. They'd recognized me. Lingering too much, an irritant, getting in the way. I ducked into a bathroom.

I looked into the mirror. Felt horrible, skin clammy, eyes strained and stressed from the flicking of fluorescent lights that faded into the background. I exhaled a breath I didn't realize I was holding, then noticed it. In here, it was quiet. Almost silent. I'd been blocking out all those grating little sounds from the greater office, all the ticking, crunching, idle tapping, everything, but the bathroom here it was silent, and now that bothered me too. I washed my face off quickly, then stepped back out.

On my right was a man with presence. He wore a suit, carried himself like he was someone, and what's more, he //saw// me. Eyes fixed to the back of my skull through my own eyes, my own kin, in a moment, cutting me up and weighing my worth.

We began to walk, chatting.

He thanked me. I'd been doing such great work already, and they were looking forward to the good valuation. He wanted to know how I found the place. I said it was great, efficient. He nodded. He really appreciated the work I was doing, he insisted that fact. He was wondering if I would be interested in a permanent position. It would be a great change of pace from what I was doing already, a good, solid, office job, but I said no. We exchanged a joke about benefits, a wink and nudge. He tried once more, he knows a diamond in the rough when he sees it. His own sixth sense, like a shimmering nacre in a halo around truly worthwhile people. He grabbed my shoulder. We were alike in that way, the true kings of society, creating value by seeing where the value sits and closing in on it, clamping shut on those loose gems before anyone else could snag them.

We were in his office. I don't remember the elevator trip. My skin was clammy. I refused to shake his hand. Said, I'm not feeling so great. You know how it is, jetlag, travel for a living but I never get used to it. Laugh. Do not shake his hand. That's a shame. It's the end of the work day. Hope to see your report on my desk soon.

Down the elevator.

Someone bumped into me on my way out, spilling a cup of cold coffee, sticky and wet, all over my suit. I looked into his face. Gaunt, bags in the eyes, looking wildly about at everything except me as he fervently apologized. I, of course, assured them it was no issue, but I wasn't really paying attention to whatever niceties we each threw. Instead, all my focus was fixed on a strange spherical lump protruding out of the back of his left hand. I almost pointed it out, but the man was ready to hurry away. Back to work; overtime. I continued on my way out.

It's ruined now, that suit, can't get the smell off of it. Not just the suit, everything I was wearing. Shower after shower and I still feel clammy, congested and sticky.

I did not go back the next day. I had all I needed, figures so absurd, culture so constricting, absolutely no products of worth.

Raze it to the ground for all I care. The building is worthless.

----

**Recommendation:** ##red|Immediate Liquidation of All Assets##
[[/div]]

Inquiry into the existence of a NA Creations Larkton branch were largely unsuccessful, locating only a building within the Larkton area that vaguely matched Changez's description.[[footnote]]Maximum capacity: Approx. 2250 employees.[[/footnote]] Field agents sent to investigate noted scrape marks across various walls within the building, but it was otherwise completely empty, and no records regarding its construction or prior ownership could be found. 

Initial attempts to contact Changez by phone failed, prompting a house visit. Deployed Field Agents found the home in a state of neglect, specifically noting that the mailbox was filled with letters, all of which were from NA Creations by way of Sr. Director Bill Spencer.[[footnote]]Letters promised Changez employment at various new branches of the company. None of these branches were found to exist in any credible capacity.[[/footnote]] Gaining forced entry into the home, the interior was found to be in a similar state of neglect, with more letters found strewn across various surfaces in piles.[[footnote]]The earliest letters found inside were dated approximately 5 years prior.[[/footnote]] None had been opened.

Changez was located dead within his personal office, holding an opened letter.  Foundation coroners report an unclear time of death, as the body was in a state of complete desiccation. The cause of death, however, was clear, as an abnormally regular SCP-8580 instance was located lodged within his aorta. 

[[include :scp-wiki:component:image-block
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caption=SCP-8580-α ("Changez") |
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[[include :scp-wiki:component:license-box | author=IndustryStandard]]
> **Filename:** Pearls.jpg
> **Name:** Pearls 1
> **Author:** Tyler Houck
> **License:** CC BY 2.0
> **Source Link:** [[[https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Pearls_1.jpg]]]

> **Filename:** Pearlest.jpg
> **Name:** Pearl from Pinctada maxima (gold-lipped pearl oyster) 2
> **Author:** Tyler Houck
> **License:** CC BY 2.0
> **Source Link:** [[[https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Pearl_from_Pinctada_maxima_(gold-lipped_pearl_oyster)_2.jpg]]]


[[include :scp-wiki:component:license-box-end]]

SCP-8580

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