绝密
美利坚合众国
特殊收集计划
加利福尼亚州，维克多维尔收容站点
严禁外传
文件SCP-9224-194B：危险实体获取行动事后报告
作者：前上尉E. Parr
项目：SCP-9224
所属单位：第六回收小队（RT-6），SCP超自然活动应对军团（SCP PARC）
地点：加利福尼亚州，洛杉矶县，圣莫尼卡
日期：[保密]
报告开始。
我们乘坐直升机从爱德华兹空军基地紧急升空前往洛杉矶县拦截该实体。当我们双脚落地时，那玩意儿已经在我们空降点南偏西方向大约两公里处了。我们连级兵力一共五人，随即向圣莫尼卡行动区（AO）推进，准备与第二回收小队（RT-2）会合。
从空中，你可以清晰地看到那东西犁出的一条血路。当时我们还以为，又是Site Black里圈养的那种七鳃鳗一样的怪物跑出来了。我们本该更警觉些的，因为我从没见过哪个敌对目标能把I-10号州际公路破坏成那个鬼样子。
我们在Golf阵位降落，随后接到指令立刻向正东方向追击目标。RT-2领先我们大约800米，所以我们迅速扣好装备，准备全副武装急行军。我们带了五挺M249班用自动武器，还有Site Blue那帮书呆子专门从费尔班克斯运下来的特制防暴盾牌。我们算走运的，因为显然RT-2没有配备这种“宝贝”，而他们后来的下场大家也看到了。
指挥官[ ]在行动前把我们骂得狗血淋头。我们当时根本不明白他为什么一上来就火气那么大。但在麦克卢尔隧道前方不远处降落时，我们终于看清了状况。医护人员已经蜂拥而至，整个区域完全进入了大规模伤亡应急响应状态。我敢对天发誓，那些人被撑得就像气球一样。有个家伙，我猜是个FBI探员，我他妈绝对没看错，他下半身肿得简直像个[ ]。他的双腿完全脱臼，向外翻转，就像钟表上的指针一样。我发誓我都能看到他肚子里的内脏了。我不知道那家伙是怎么还能喘气的，但事实就摆在我们眼前。
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.
报告结束。
后记：CPT Parr's voluntary downranking was processed without contest on [date withheld]. He currently serves on janitorial staff at Site-19. 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.
绝密
美利坚合众国
特殊收集计划
Victorville Holding Site, CA
严禁外传
