Attack of the Keter Skeeters!

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The date is April 2nd, 2012. The place: the quaint town of Sloth's Pit, Wisconsin. Observe.

Here, we have a member of the SCP Foundation driving to work from his apartment in town. Site 87 is big enough to have all staff quartered on-site, but some prefer to live in town. The apartments are cheap, the food is good, and the people are friendly.

The man in the car is Dr. Jason Hendricks. He is 38 years old, has greying brown hair, a birthmark on his left cheek in the shape of a trout, and is drinking a latte from Dunkin Donuts, despite the fact that he is lactose intolerant; he is unaware of that fact at the moment.

He is also deathly afraid of insects. The next few days are going to be the worst of his life.

Site 87, Entomology Department:
Meet Dr. Mary Churchwell. She is 32 years old and one of the top entomologists in her field, but will never be head of the entomology department. She is a woman working in a male-dominated field, much like gynecology or women's studies. However, that might change today.

On this particular day, Dr. Churchwell is carefully dissecting an instance of E-20053, a species of mayfly that is seemingly immortal, short of being squashed with a book. E-20053 can survive drowning, decapitation, fumigation, and even the cold of winter.

"Son of a bitch, this thing is hard to cut through." Her scalpel was being dulled by the armor-like carapace of the mayfly. "Am I going to have to get permission to use a cutting laser again?" No matter how much she attempted to cut, it wouldn't budge. Eventually, she got the idea to lift up the armored carapace of the still-squirming mayfly, and dissect it that way; in the process, however, she ended up accidentally crushing it with her hand. "Mother of a Fuck." She cradled her face in her hand and sighed.

Upon its death, the mayfly released a pheromone, similar to what wasps do upon being attacked. This pheromone is undetectable to humans, but to this species of mayfly, it can be smelled over 5 miles away. It was a call to arms, to swarm wherever it was that one of their brethren was killed.

Mary didn't know this as she cleaned up the crushed specimen and had it sent to the lab. In less than half an hour, she would get a report saying that this mayfly had been erroneously classified; it was, in fact, a rather large mosquito.

The time is now 7:16 PM. It is almost sunset. And with sunset comes the mosquitoes. And with those mosquitoes comes…


Winged, immortal death swooped down on Site 87. The guards outside are sucked dry in a matter of seconds, their bullets useless against the oncoming swarm! The greenhouses offer little shelter from the winged death, but thankfully, none are in them.

Site 87 goes into lockdown. It will remain this way indefinitely, until assistance arrives from one of the nearby sites.

Morning dawns on April 3rd. Everything is calm and collected; the swarm outside cannot penetrate the shields. The buzzing is incessant. Spare earplugs from memetics are sold for 5 dollars a pair, and all normal site operations are shut down in light of the lockdown.

MTF-Sigma-10, the on-site MTF, begins to gear up. Codenamed Sloth's Arm, they are equipped with specialized pesticide grenades developed by entomology. They are also equipped with hand-held flamethrowers.

The plan was to move out of the northern, eastern, and western entrances, equipped with full-body bite-proof armor and some livestock used for testing as bait. Once the swarm went for the livestock, they would let loose with their arsenal.

They took the wrong bait. E-20053 only feeds on humans.

Dr. Hendricks could only watch in horror from the monitors as the majority of the task force was… neutralized by what would come to be known as the Keter Skeeters.

On April 4th, tensions began to stir as the coffee ran out in the break room. Unable to go to the local doughnut shop for more, Site 87 was forced to drink decaf for the duration. This wasn't helped by the fact that the saltines had all been eaten, but at least the food in the cafeteria was plentiful.

The first fistfight broke out between Dr. West and Dr. Matterson. West was theorizing that he could use a sonic pulse generated by E-5991 to kill the Keter Skeeters by liquefying their insides. Matterson pointed out that doing so would most likely destroy most of the site and kill everyone in it. There were words exchanged such as "You have no experience with it, I do!" and "It's unsafe to use around humans, look what it did to the test cat last week!"

Entomology, meanwhile, had barricaded themselves in a laboratory to prevent themselves from being lynched. Word had leaked that a dead specimen of E-20053 was most likely what had attracted the swarm to this site. "Think of it this way!" Dr. Churchwell yelled through the door. "If we die, you'll never get rid of these damn things!"

Dr. Hendricks had contented himself with staying locked in his quarters, constantly putting on bugspray and carrying a rather large flyswatter, just in case they got in. He only went out to fetch food and water, and to check security monitors for breaches. He hated bugs. He honestly did.

On April 5th, it came to light that The Keter Skeeters reproduced through mitosis. The screams of frustration and horror were deafening.

On April 6th, the chemistry department decided to turn on its fume hood for an experiment. Their rationale was that if they wanted to live life as normally as possible, they would have to continue experimenting.

Unfortunately, turning on the fume hood meant opening ventilation to the outside. Letting toxic gas go out meant letting worse in. The last words of one of the poor souls in that lab were reported to be, "Argh, what a massive oversight, oh god my skin!"

The Keter Skeeters spread throughout the site and were at the personnel quarters within 5 minutes. The swarm reached Hendrick's door, breaking it down through sheer pressure; in reaction, Hendricks flailed his flyswatter around madly. The carnage was legendary; not one inch of his room wasn't covered in insect intestines.

Lifting his fly swatter into the air, Hendricks let out a roar. "Enough is enough! I have had it with these motherfucking skeets in this motherfucking site!" He ran out of the room and…

Director Weiss, for the 8th time that meeting, smacked her forehead. She was starting to get a tender spot there. "Dr. Hendricks, enough. If you're going to describe your version of events, at least keep the genre consistent; you're moving into self-aware comedy territory."

"B-but Director Weiss! I swear, they were all here! T-they were swarming all over the place, outside… there would have been a bloodbath if not for me! Or maybe a lack of one; I don't know which is worse!"

"Dr. Hendricks, you ingested a hallucinogenic drug intended for one of the test mice in Laboratory 5. You locked yourself in your room for three days and ran around Site 87 with a giant novelty flyswatter, smacking the walls and the personnel at random. I have the right mind to demote you to researcher Level 2 for your actions." Director Weiss sighed, rubbing her face. "But I can't. You know why? Because god damn if the drug didn't work exactly as intended." She shook her head. "Consider this a warning, Dr. Hendricks. Be more careful when eating in the lab. In fact, don't eat in the lab at all in the future. Understood?"

"Y-yes madam…" The timid doctor sunk in his seat, wondering why a gigantic fly was impersonating the director. "M-may I go now?"

"Yes. If the hallucinations persist, please give yourself unto the swarm."


"Please report to the trauma center."

"Right, okay, I will." Dr. Hendricks rose from his seat and ran out of the door of the Director's office.

Director Weiss reclined in her seat and sighed. It could be worse, she thought. At least I'm not working at Site 19.


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