I Survived 100 DAYS as SCP D-CLASS (NOT MINECRAFT)

I made it? I actually made it? I’m still alive,  by some miracle – or maybe by sheer luck – I made   it to the end of my sentence. Over three months  of the most horrific work I’ve ever had to do,  

With no other alternative. But it’s paid off,  because any minute now, they’ll be coming into the   dorm to let me go. I can walk out of here with my  head up. I can’t wait to get out of these orange  

Overalls that I’ve had to live in since I arrived. It seems like so much longer, in all honesty. The   only way I’ve been able to keep track of how  many days I’ve been stuck here is by putting  

Tally marks on the wall next to my dormitory  bed. A hundred, I’ve been a member of D-Class   personnel for the SCP Foundation for the last  one hundred days. And here’s how I survived…  They didn’t waste any time early on; I’ll give  the Foundation that. I’d barely been out of my  

Sentencing hearing for a few days. Put on trial  and convicted for a crime I didn’t even commit.   There had been a string of murders, and someone  who had either been involved or was responsible   laid the blame on me. But whoever they were, they  had powerful friends. The cops were in on it,  

Planting evidence to frame me and make it look  like I was guilty when I was really innocent.  That’s what landed me in prison, serving a  sentence of twenty-five years to life behind bars.   And it was during my first week of incarceration  that he showed up. The recruitment specialist,  

A clean-cut, blunt, Agent Smith type came  to visit me. I hadn’t even been in prison   long enough to have visitor privileges, but  the shady agent seemed to know which strings   to pull in order to ask me an important question: “What would you do to get out of here?” he’d said. 

To which my answer was “Anything.” That was my first mistake.  Immediately, the next day I received a letter  detailing more about what exactly Agent Smith   was offering. It was folded and hidden in the  spine of a book that a guard handed me during  

Reading hour. Unfolding the message, it all  felt like an old-school covert spy tactic.  “To Mr Emil Carker,” the letter read. “We  understand that you recently received a   criminal conviction. There are two options  currently before you, as detailed below.  

One: you can serve out the remainder of your  sentence in prison. Or two: you can be released   into the care of our organization. While with  us, you will be helping to further scientific   advancements through hard work. We have devised  a system that allows convicts such as yourself to  

Perform a vital role within our organization, in  return for a reduction in their prison sentences.  “We have no interest in or intention of  determining any guilt for the crimes for   which you are currently convicted. We merely seek  to present this opportunity to you. We ask that  

You destroy this letter once you have finished  reading. Should you be interested in our offer,   then please recite the phrase ‘it’s a yes’ to  a prison guard with the badge number: 47890.”  Naturally, as cryptic as an offer like that  was, I didn’t need much time to mull it over.  

I was trapped in prison for something I  didn’t do, with no way to appeal for my   freedom or prove my innocence. So, taking up  a mysterious job opportunity from a shadowy   group seemed like a much better alternative at  the time. After all, I could either work off  

My sentence through employment, or rot away in a  cell for the next two and half decades at minimum.  All I had to do next was find the right guard.  I tried not to make it obvious that I was eyeing  

Every prison guard’s badge number as they  stood around, keeping a close eye on me   and the other inmates. But it was while out  in the yard that I saw him: number 47890.  I had gone to bed with a knot in my stomach.  Hours earlier, I had done exactly as the  

Letter said and approached the guard, making  sure I was close enough for him to hear me,   but trying to make it clear that I wasn’t  looking tor start any trouble either.  “It’s a yes,” I told him. In response, 47890 had furrowed his brow and  

Scrunched his mustache, seemingly in disgust. “Back up, inmate,” he commanded sharply.  I backed away with my hands raised, confused as  to what had just happened. I spent the entire   rest of the day thinking about it; maybe the  note had been a prank, some kind of initiation,  

Seeing as I was the newest prisoner. But that  didn’t explain the agent who had shown up   before. What was going on? The questions that were  spinning around in my head eventually wore me out.  And while I slept, that’s when  someone put a bag over my head,  

Drugged me, and snuck me out of prison. When I woke up, I was somewhere new, a room filled   with other convicts. Although not many of them  seemed to have come from the same prison I had   been sentenced to; plenty were sporting different  jumpsuits, but their gruff demeanors told me all  

I needed to about them. I was surrounded by  a more violent breed of criminal, some of the   worst of the absolute worst. The atmosphere in  this pen full of murderers and monsters was so   tense that it felt like the slightest accidental  bump could explode into a full-blown fight. 

Suddenly, a hatch in the ceiling opened, and a  pile of clothes came thumping down from above.   It was a mass of orange, enough matching overalls  for every inmate in the room. Of course, I held   back from the initial clamor some of the others  made, grabbing their new prison garb, snatching  

Orange overalls from each other, and arguing. When  I eventually got mine, I noticed an unfamiliar   logo emblazoned on the front of the uniform. After being made to wait a whole day in the pen,   the other prisoners and I were filed out of  the room by heavily armed security guards.  

We were all directed towards a hall, nobody  was daring enough to challenge the officers,   even the more violent among the prisoners.  I spotted that the guard’s uniforms bore the   same insignia as the overalls we’d been made to  wear. It must’ve been the logo of the mysterious  

Organization that had offered me employment. We were given an orientation talk led by   someone who introduced themselves as a Junior  Assistant Researcher. They explained that our   current location was highly classified, as was  the true identity of the group that had arranged  

For us to be released. All we were told was that  this was an unspecified form of research facility,   and that we had to cooperate with the facility’s  staff if we wanted to secure our release. It   seemed straightforward enough, although  the Junior Assistant Researcher seemed to  

Make a lot of jokes about us dying during  these tests. I think they hoped it would   alleviate some of the tension… it didn’t. After sitting through the orientation talk,   I still had more questions than answers. The  one thing I had learned was that being tattooed  

Hurt. Exiting the hall, the other prisoners and  I had been directed to get a designation number   tattooed on our wrist and across our chest.  When someone had asked why the chest, the   Researcher conducting orientation had answered: “Well, in the event of an explosion, it’s most  

Likely that it’ll be the largest intact chunk of  meat left.” This was another of their ‘jokes’.  Still feeling sore as my tattoo healed, I read  the number now permanently inked onto my body:   D-2152. ‘D-Class Personnel’ that’s what they  called us now. We were directed into a dormitory,  

A lot less cramped than my old cell. But  still, being surrounded by violent criminals   when I knew I didn’t belong there, it  felt no less isolating. One of them,   who took the bunk next to mine, introduced himself  to me as ‘Shiv’. Worried he might try to kill me,  

I did my best to be friendly towards him. Shiv and I didn’t exactly bond, but more   sprung up conversations because there was little  else to do. I was still worried about some of the   flippant comments made about us all dying,  until he pointed out something far stranger. 

“Don’t you wonder why they’re  making us wait?” he asked.  And the moment he mentioned it, I did start  to wonder about that. It seemed odd that this   organization had wasted little time  in getting us all here. It had only  

Been a week ago that I entered my prison  cell for the first time, now I was here.  “I think it’s their way of telling us,” Shiv  went on. “That we aren’t here to be helpful,   to be a workforce for them. They’ve  brought us all here to die.” 

That comment made me look around, and actually  acknowledge the people I was trapped with. They   were some of the worst criminals imaginable,  irredeemable killers. Would this organization   really let those people back out into the  world after helping out with a few tests? 

I’d soon find out, because Day 8  was the last day before I found   myself working directly for the SCP Foundation. I picked up the name from a few places around the   facility; nametags, lab coats, and security  uniforms, always with the same logo. Me and  

The other D-Class personnel were woken up early in  the morning by a bell and issued with assignments.   From the very first day the work started, I  noticed that not all the others came back to the  

Dorm at the end of the day. Shiv was one of those. My tasks mostly consisted of cleaning up with a   mop, hosing down empty testing chambers that had  a worrying amount of blood sprayed over the walls  

And floors. The regiments were strict, and I made  sure to do exactly what was asked of me to avoid   causing any trouble. It felt a lot like being back  in prison, but with the only added caveat of being  

Able to move around the facility, even if it  was to go and wipe up the Foundation’s mess.  Although the other classes of personnel didn’t  seem to take kindly to my help, making snide   comments as they passed me in the hallways. We had  been told not to address the other staff unless  

Spoken to, which was frustrating. I certainly  had a few things I would’ve liked to say to them.  After two and a half weeks without so much as a  hint of any trouble, I was given my first testing   assignment that wasn’t just cleaning up. You  would think that would be exciting, but having  

Seen some of the carnage left behind after other  tests, I was anything but eager to take part.   Luckily for me, and pretty surprisingly,  my first test was pretty straightforward.  I was shown to a room containing a  white bowl decorated with light blue  

Flowers that the researchers referred to  as SCP-348. I had received a nasty splinter   from my mop’s handle the day before, and was  instructed to sit down and eat from the bowl,   which was filled with soup. Naturally, I eagerly  ate it all, despite how bitter it tasted. It was  

Better than the food from the D-Class canteen at  least. But when I finished, I noticed a message   had appeared at the bottom of SCP-348. It read: “I don’t believe you were framed. Goodbye, son.”  After that, it was as if the floodgates had  been opened, and every day I was asked to do  

Another test with a new SCP. Most were harmless  anomalous creatures or objects, like one of the   bigger experiments I was involved in, which  focused on SCP-999, this friendly gelatinous   orange blob. Electrodes were hooked up to me  while I just sat calmly in a room with SCP-999.  

Being around it made me feel great, the best I had  felt since arriving and joining D-Class. Although   I did hear one of the researchers making the  comment that SCP-999 was ‘not quite ready yet’.  Even so, the Tickle Monster had given me a new  positive outlook on my role at the Foundation.  

It was odd work, but I could find a rhythm to  it that would hopefully make the time pass by   a little quicker. And if it meant getting out, it  was worth all the dirty looks from other classes  

Of personnel. This was an outlook I didn’t want  to lose. After a month, we were told to take a   pill that the guards handed out to us, something  called an amnestic that would make us all forget   the previous month. But, wanting to hang on to my  newfound optimism, I secretly flushed mine down  

A toilet. In hindsight, I should have taken it. My next big test quickly brought me back down a   peg. I was handed a katana, SCP-572, and instantly  felt like I was unstoppable. The sword made me  

Believe I was a powerful warrior, as if I could  maybe fight my way out of the Foundation facility   with ease. Unfortunately, the moment I tried to  use it didn’t lead to freedom. I had an accident,   broke my arm and suffered a series of internal  fractures, all while the research team mocked me. 

Embarrassed, I felt like a total laughing stock. Things only got worse from there. I had barely   set foot outside of the infirmary before a  different team of personnel told me I was   going to be assisting them with an important  task. They dragged me to an old wooden door  

After briefly explaining what was going on;  although I struggled to keep up. Beyond the   door – which they called SCP-2317 – was a  vast salt pan. Following their instructions,   I acted as an assistant to the rest of the team as  they performed a strange ritual. I had to scatter  

A mix of holy water and chicken blood around  a circle of seven stone pillars, then recite:  “Blood for the Old Gods, Water for the New King.” It was an unusual practice, to say the least,   but apparently, I was helping keep a  powerful, vengeful demigod imprisoned.  

That did little to soften the news that I  heard when we returned through SCP-2317.  While I was gone, one of the Foundation’s  security team had been infected by something   known as SCP-2193, a phenomenon that makes  people believe that every month a large group  

Of D-Class are to be ‘terminated’. When I heard,  I actually considered taking my amnestic for this   month to forget just how many had been killed… It had been a whole two months since I had   actively started work as part of D-Class  Personnel, and there weren’t many of my  

Fellow prisoners left. I was sent for a mandatory  psychological evaluation; the Foundation wanted   to know if I would still be able to perform tests  for them. I doubted it came from a place of actual  

Concern, it’s not like they cared all that much  if the things I had seen were taking a toll on me.  Sitting across from the researcher performing my  evaluation, I did my best impression of a normal  

Person. I had to pretend like none of it was  getting to me, all the horrors and the close brush   I’d almost had with death by Monthly Termination.  I wouldn’t have lied about it normally, But I’d  

Been told I had a month left before I was due to  be released. Apparently, not many D-Class made it   that far, given the dangerous nature of testing.  All I could think about was how good it would  

Feel to eat real food again; I started to daydream  about getting a cheeseburger on my first day out.  Almost instantly, my hopes for freedom were  dashed the very next day. I was told I’d be   going on a longer assignment, this time it would  be an expedition into an anomalous location called  

SCP-432. The Foundation’s researchers outfitted  me with a flashlight, plus extra batteries. A   headset and microphone linked to their control  center were placed over my ear, along with a   camera unit mounted on my shoulder; they said  it would wirelessly transmit back to them,  

And they’d see what I saw. I was also given a  couple of bottles of water, some energy bars,   and a few sticks of luminous marker chalk. But when they had said ‘anomalous location’,   the last thing I’d been expecting was  to climb into a rusty metal cabinet. 

The next two weeks were like living inside a  nightmare. Inside the cabinet was a huge maze,   a literal labyrinth all made out of the same  rusted steel of the exterior of SCP-432. It was   so dark, even with the use of my flashlight and  the few lightbulbs affixed to some of the walls  

Within the Cabinet Maze. Before long, I ended  up losing my bearings, lost with no way out.  But being trapped in the maze and the  dark wasn’t even the worst parts. There   was something else in the labyrinth, some  kind of creature lurking through the metal  

Corridors. My flashlight eventually ran  out of power, so I never actually saw it,   but every time I tried to sleep, I’d just lay  awake, listening to its growls. I couldn’t help   what kind of horrible thing was out there, and  might be looming over me in the dark. Even when  

I opened my eyes, I still wouldn’t get to see it. Eventually, another D-Class was sent into SCP-432.   By some miracle, he was able to not only find  me, but guide me back to the entrance of the  

Cabinet Maze. The moment I was free, I yelled at  the research team, demanding they let me go. I   didn’t just mean let out of SCP-432, I meant free  from D-Class, from the Foundation, from all of it.  I was sent for another psyche evaluation  and deemed to be fine, just suffering from  

Heightened stress. When they asked me if I’d been  taking my amnestics, I lied and told them yes.  Ten days before I was set to be released and they  couldn’t help but assign me to one last test.  “Don’t worry,” a researcher sarcastically assured  me. “This one will be nice and easy on you,  

You’ll just have to jump into a paddling  pool. You can do that, can’t you, D-2152?”  The paddling pool in question was SCP-120.  Every time a different glow emanated from it,   I was instructed to jump in. The exact second I  did, I found myself transported somewhere new.  

I got The Himalayas on my first go, Greenland  and the Sahara Desert on the next two tries.   Every one of the locations I ended up  at had some kind of Foundation facility   established nearby. They’d pick me up, and I’d  be taken back to SCP-120 to continue testing. 

It felt like I was being deliberately,  intentionally tortured. The Foundation was giving   me these momentary glimpses of freedom every time  I was teleported by SCP-120. It was a carrot on   the end of a stick that they were keeping just  out of my reach, and I hated it. It made me  

Realize that I had never been there to work for  them, being part of D-Class Personnel wasn’t   a job. All I was to them was a human lab rat. Now it’s my last day. They’ve promised me that by  

The end of today, I won’t be here anymore. I just  want to be out, done with D-Class for good. The   Foundation’s researchers have given me one last,  simple test to do before I go. They said if I do,  

Then I’ll be gone. All they want me to do is wear  this amulet for someone called Doctor Bright. How   hard can that be? And they said they’d let me  go after this one last thing, so it can’t be  

Anything all that bad, right? Right…? Want to own an SCP of your own? Go to   scpswag.com for premium anomalous merchandise! Now go and check out “WHAT IF STARS ARE ACTUALLY   EXPLODING D-CLASS – SCP-2193” and “SCP-2317  – THE DEVOURER OF WORLDS/A DOOR TO ANOTHER  

WORLD” for more strange stories taken  from the ranks of the SCP Foundation.