Side Chapter #6: Bad Jokes, Worse Consequences
The cafeteria line moved at a slow, lazy pace.
Not because it was crowded, but because nobody cared enough to move faster.
Personnel stood in mixed uniforms, field agents, researchers, engineers, security, each in their own world, trays sliding along the metal rail as conversations blended into a low, constant hum.
Behind the glass, the food sat in metal containers.
Rice, meat, vegetables and a bowl of sliced tomatoes.
Bright red.
Fresh.
The agent paused for a second.
"…Huh."
He grabbed some anyway, added the rest of his meal, picked up a drink, then stepped away.
The cafeteria opened in front of him.
Researchers arguing over something pointless. Engineers debating a system failure like it was personal. A technician staring into his coffee like it had ruined his life. Security laughing a bit too loudly at something no one else would find funny.
Normal.
He spotted a familiar table and walked over, dropping his tray before sitting down.
"Back already?" one of the agents asked.
"Yeah," he replied. "Short one."
"Lucky," another muttered.
One leaned forward.
"So what was it?"
"Observation post," he said, grabbing his fork. "Forest area."
He took a bite, then added casually:
"I got chased by a boar through."
They paused.
"…What?"
He shrugged.
"Thing came out of nowhere. charging at my ass. Had to climb a tree."
That got immediate reactions.
"No way."
"I'm serious."
"You climbed a tree?" someone said, already grinning.
"Try outrunning a pissed-off boar in full gear," he replied. "Let me know how that goes."
A few laughs spread around the table.
Then another agent shook his head.
"That's nothing."
They all turned.
"What?" someone asked.
The agent leaned toward slightly, completely serious.
"Anomalous rabbit."
That alone made someone snort.
"No."
"Yes."
"No way."
"I'm not even joking," he continued. "We were on-site, in a small rural area. Thought it was missing livestock or something."
He took a sip of his drink.
"Turns out the thing eats everything."
"…Everything?" someone repeated.
"Everything," he confirmed. "Wood, metal, tools… doesn't matter."
A pause.
Then he added, still completely serious:
"It ate my gun."
The table went quiet.
"…Excuse me?"
"It just jumped and, poof, gone," he said, making a small motion with his hand. "Like it was nothing."
"That's bullshit."
"I wish."
A couple of them were already smiling.
"So what, you shot it?"
"With what?" he replied flatly.
That got a small laugh.
Then he continued:
"After that it looked at me."
A short pause.
"And went for my uniform."
Silence.
"No."
"Yes."
"No way."
"I'm telling you," he said. "Started chewing like it was a five-star meal."
He gestured vaguely.
"Shirt, straps, pants… everything."
One of them leaned forward, already losing it.
"You're kidding."
"I ended up completely naked," he said.
That broke them.
"Pfffft"
"No, no,…stop-"
"I had to wait for backup outside," he added.
"NAH."
"I'm serious."
"What did they say when they got there?"
"They gave me a blanket."
The table exploded.
One of them leaned forward, head in his hands, laughing.
"I can't-"
Another wiped his eyes.
"You got stripped by a rabbit."
"It was hostile," he replied immediately.
"Sure it was."
Laughter kept going, spreading naturally as the conversation drifted, the story becoming just another ridiculous thing that somehow made perfect sense in their line of work.
The agent who had just arrived shook his head slightly, finally going back to his food.
"…You guys have the worst luck."
"Speak for yourself," someone shot back. "At least I didn't lose a fight to a rabbit."
"It ate a barn," the agent corrected.
"That doesn't make it better."
More laughter.
The conversation continued, light, effortless, completely normal, just another break between missions.
Another agent spoke up, cutting through the laughter still lingering around the table.
"Yesterday for me," he said, pushing his tray slightly aside. "We got deployed on an emergency call."
A few of them looked up.
"Yeah?" one asked.
He nodded.
"Woman called it in. Said her husband had been killed."
That got their attention.
"Killed by what?" someone asked.
The agent paused for half a second.
"…His breakfast."
There was a beat.
"By his what?!" one of them shot back, almost laughing already.
"I'm serious," the agent replied, completely straight-faced. "That's exactly what she said."
A couple of them exchanged looks.
"You kidding ?"
"That's what we thought too," he continued. "Until we got there."
He leaned back slightly in his chair.
"The house was intact. No sign of forced entry. The kitchen was… messy. Table knocked over."
A short pause.
"And the guy?"
Another pause.
"Collapsed on the floor."
He tapped his own face with two fingers.
"A hole right through the middle of it."
That killed the laughter.
"…You're joking," someone muttered.
"I wish I was."
The table went quiet for a moment, processing it.
Then reactions started coming in.
"What the hell kind of breakfast does that?"
"Did you find anything?"
"Anomaly?"
"No idea yet," the agent said. "We secured the area and passed it up to another team."
A couple of them leaned back, shaking their heads.
"Man…"
"That's messed up."
A short silence settled again, heavier this time, but not tense, just… confused.
Then someone exhaled and shrugged.
"Well," he said, reaching for his fork, "at least here we know our food's safe."
A few of them nodded.
"Yeah," another added, smirking slightly. "It's not like people just get killed by their lunch."
A small pause.
One of the agents leaned back in his chair, glanced down at his tray, then at the others with a completely straight face.
"Yeah, unless the salad decides to take it personally."
SPLASH!
Something red hit him in the face at full speed.
It exploded on impact.
The agent's chair tipped backward as he went down hard, tray flipping, food scattering across the floor as he crashed with a heavy thud.
Silence.
Absolute silence.
For a second, no one moved.
No one spoke.
Every head at the table, and several nearby, snapped toward him.
"…What the hell?" someone muttered.
Chairs scraped against the floor as a few agents stood up immediately, scanning the area out of reflex.
"Did anyone see where that came from?" one of them asked, turning his head sharply from side to side.
Another agent frowned, eyes fixed on the table.
"I swear… I saw something move."
"Move?" someone repeated.
He pointed toward the tray.
"The tomatoes. I think one of them-"
He stopped mid-sentence.
"…No. That's not possible."
Meanwhile, two agents moved to the one on the ground and pulled him back up into a sitting position.
His face was a mess.
Tomato pulp everywhere.
Seeds stuck to his cheek.
Juice dripping down his chin and his nose was clearly broken.
"…You good?" one of them asked.
The agent groaned, one hand covering his face.
"Did I just get hit by food?"
No one answered immediately.
At another table nearby, one of the agents who hadn't seen the impact properly leaned back in his chair, glancing over with a smirk.
"…Damn," he said, loud enough for them to hear. "Guess the tomatoes really couldn't ketchup with your sense of humor."
SPLASH! SPLASH! SPLASH!
Three red blurs crossed the room in an instant.
They hit him almost at the same time.
Face. Chest. Shoulder.
Each impact burst violently, spraying pulp and juice as the agent was knocked straight out of his chair, crashing to the floor without even getting a chance to react.
He didn't get back up.
For a split second, everyone saw it.
Multiple red objects.
Flying.
Not thrown.
Not dropped.
Flying.
"…What the hell?!!"
Chairs screeched across the floor.
Several agents stood up at once, instincts kicking in faster than thought. Hands moved under jackets, to belts, to holsters, weapons came out within seconds.
Security at nearby tables reacted instantly, drawing sidearms and scanning the room, eyes tracking every surface, every tray, every movement.
"Did you see that?!" someone shouted.
"I saw them move!"
"They came from the tables!"
A tray nearby rattled.
Someone stepped back.
Another agent raised his weapon, aiming directly at a plate still holding untouched food.
"Everyone step back!"
A voice cut through everything.
"ANOMALOUS ACTIVITY CONFIRMED! CONTAINMENT BREACH!!!"
A second later, the alarm went off.
A sharp, piercing tone flooded the cafeteria, red emergency lights flashing across the walls and reflecting off metal trays and scattered food.
"Attention. Containment breach detected. All non-combat personnel evacuate immediately."
Chairs fell.
Trays crashed.
Researchers, engineers, and technicians bolted for the exits without hesitation, some nearly slipping on the mess spreading across the floor. A technician dropped his coffee, not even looking back as he ran. Two researchers argued for half a second about grabbing a tablet, then both abandoned it and sprinted.
The room shifted instantly.
What had been a break room seconds ago turned into a live incident zone.
Weapons were already drawn.
Field agents and security personnel spread out, covering angles, scanning every table, every plate, every piece of food left behind.
"Watch the trays!"
"Don't touch anything!"
"Movement on the left, no, negative."
A plate near the center of the room rattled again.
Someone stepped back.
Another agent adjusted his stance, weapon trained on it, finger tight on the trigger.
"…This is insane," one of them muttered under his breath.
Near the back, one of the agents who had just arrived earlier glanced at the unconscious man on the floor, then at the scattered tomatoes around him.
He shook his head slightly, still trying to process it.
"…Man," he said, loud enough for a few to hear, "this is why I never trust cafeteria food."
SPLASH!
A red blur crossed the distance in less than a second.
It hit him square in the face.
The impact snapped his head back as he dropped instantly, collapsing onto the floor without a sound.
"…Contact confirmed!" someone shouted.
"THE FOOD IS HOSTILE!"
More movement.
More trays rattling.
A cup tipped over by itself.
Another tomato lifted.
then launched.
"OPEN FIRE IF IT MOVES!"
"NEGATIVE! HOLD FIRE, this is containment, not a shootout!"
The room spiraled further into chaos, voices overlapping, weapons tracking impossible targets, personnel trying to apply protocol to something that made absolutely no sense.
Then, the cafeteria doors slammed open.
A security response team rushed in, fully equipped, weapons raised, moving in tight formation as they entered the cafeteria.
"SECURITY! EVERYONE HOLD POSITIONS!"
---
A few hours later, the atmosphere was completely different.
The cafeteria chaos had been replaced by something far more familiar.
A briefing room.
Rows of chairs.
A screen at the front.
Neutral lighting.
Controlled environment.
The same group of agents sat together again, though this time without trays, without food, and noticeably quieter than before. A few of them still had minor bandages, one with his nose taped, another with a visible bruise along his jaw.
At the front of the room stood an administrative officer, tablet in hand, posture straight, tone measured.
"The situation is currently under control," he said. "The affected area has been secured and isolated. Contaminated food supplies have been removed for analysis."
One of the agents raised a hand slightly.
"What about the injured?"
The officer glanced down at his tablet briefly.
"Non-critical injuries only. All affected personnel have been treated. No lasting damage."
A pause.
"Except for your pride," someone muttered under his breath.
A few suppressed chuckles spread through the room.
The administrative officer ignored it.
Another agent leaned back slightly in his chair, arms crossed.
"…So," he said, looking toward the front, "what the hell was that?"
That got a few nods.
"Yeah."
"Because that was not normal."
The officer didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he tapped his tablet once.
A moment later, a file appeared on the screen behind him, and at the same time, several physical copies slid across the table toward the agents.
"Relevant documentation," he said calmly.
The agents picked them up.
One of them flipped the first page.
And started reading.
—
Item #: SCP-504
Object Class: Safe
Special Containment Procedures: All seeds, plants, fruit, crossbreeds, and other products of SCP-504 are to be classified as SCP-504. SCP-504 seeds need no special containment, other than to prevent misuse by unauthorized personnel. Grown SCP-504 plants and their fruit should be kept in soundproof rooms. Guards and researchers assigned to maturing or growing SCP-504 are to be equipped with radio-enabled masks which insulate non-transmitted sound, and are to be instructed to avoid attempts at humor.
Description: SCP-504 is a species of tomato physically and genetically identical to that of the typical commercially-grown tomato. It was recovered in [REDACTED], Kentucky after a woman reported to the police that her farmer husband had been "murdered by his lunch". The Foundation is currently working to identify and destroy loose strains of SCP-504 in the surrounding commercial farming areas.
When a poor attempt at humor is made verbally within human hearing range of SCP-504's tomatoes, they instantly accelerate to a speed of at least 100 miles per hour (approx. 160 kilometers per hour, 45 meters per second) in the direction of the sound's source. Only mature tomatoes, separated from their vines and less than 10% rotted or chemically compromised, exhibit this effect once each. Tomatoes do not have to be physically intact, though ingested tomatoes are usually insulated enough from sound to prevent their effects before neutralization by stomach acid.
SCP-504 tomatoes seem to reach speeds relative to the inciting attempt at humor (see experiment log). Relevant variables seem to include corniness, humor-to-length ratio, and use of puns. Language appears irrelevant.
Note:Whoever snuck SCP-504 into the cafeteria kitchen is getting terminated. Those tomato slices are like fucking shurikens. - Dr. Blast
—
The pages turned.
Eyes moved quickly at first, then slowed.
A few seconds passed in silence as the agents read through the document, expressions shifting from confusion… to disbelief… to something dangerously close to realization.
One of them stopped halfway down the page.
"…You've got to be kidding me."
Another lowered the document slightly, staring at it like it had personally insulted him.
"Safe?" he muttered. "This is classified as Safe?"
A third agent, the one with the taped nose, didn't say anything at first. He just kept reading, then slowly lifted his hand and pointed at a specific line.
"At least 100 miles per hour."
He looked up.
"They hit me at a hundred miles per hour."
Someone across the table let out a short, dry laugh.
"Yeah. Sounds about right."
Another agent flipped the page back, rereading a paragraph, then spoke with a completely flat tone.
"…'When a poor attempt at humor is made.'"
There was a pause.
Then multiple heads turned slowly toward the guy who had made the first joke.
He froze mid-read.
"…What?"
No one answered immediately.
Then someone leaned back in their chair, staring at him.
"So you're telling me," he said slowly, "this entire incident-"
He gestured vaguely.
"-was because your jokes sucks?"
A couple of agents tried not to laugh.
Failed.
"That's not fair," the guy shot back immediately. "It wasn't that bad."
"It was pretty bad."
"Yeah, it was."
"Honestly, I felt offended too."
That got a few more chuckles.
The agent tightened his grip on the paper.
"Oh, so now it's my fault?"
"You're the one who triggered it first," someone replied.
"Yeah," another added, tapping the document. "You literally set off the anomaly."
A beat.
Then the guy with the taped nose spoke again.
"…You triggered it twice."
That one landed.
A few more quiet laughs.
The administrative officer didn't interrupt.
Didn't react.
He simply stood there, waiting for them to finish processing.
Another agent flipped to the bottom of the page and read the note out loud.
"'Whoever snuck SCP-504 into the cafeteria kitchen is getting terminated.'"
He looked up.
"…Fair."
"Very fair," someone added.
The room settled again, the humor fading just enough as the implications sank in.
One of them leaned back slightly, staring at the paper.
"…So basically," he said, "we got attacked by tomatoes… because we made bad jokes."
A short pause.
No one argued.
Because that was exactly what had happened.
A few minutes later, the briefing room emptied out.
Chairs scraped lightly against the floor as the agents stood, stretching, rolling their shoulders, some still holding the printed file as they made their way toward the exit.
The mood had shifted again.
Less confusion.
More… acceptance.
And a bit of lingering amusement.
As they stepped into the corridor, one of them glanced at the agent who had taken the first hit earlier.
He smirked.
"Man, your jokes are so bad even plants decided to take you out."
That got an immediate reaction.
A few of them burst out laughing.
"Shut up," the agent replied, raising a middle finger without even looking at him.
"Just saying," the other continued, grinning.
"You're officially classified as a hostile trigger now."
More laughter.
They kept walking.
A security officer passed them, carrying a sealed cardboard box labeled with a containment tag, moving in the opposite direction.
One of the agents glanced at it, then nudged the guy next to him.
"Well," he said casually, "at least now the site's secured. You can go back to making your trash jokes without getting hit in the face."
A couple of them chuckled.
Another agent laughed, shaking his head.
"Yeah, what are the odds-"
SPLASH!