On your merry way to the break room, you notice that Dr Whoeverthefuck left his door unlocked.
O5-█: "Explain your motivations for destroying SCP-857."
[REDACTED]: "I'll warn you, I don't consider pettiness to be below me."
[REDACTED]: "My motivation is that the object never reacted once to my presence."
[REDACTED]: "Well, it apparently does awful things to rapists, and it has several apparently miraculous qualities if the person putting it to use is 'spiritual,' whatever that means. I admit that the rest of the Site's personnel doting on this plastic cup made me begin to think something was a bit off."
"Also, I chose to interpret its lack of response to me as a challenge."
The webcam is now unplugged. You fiddle with the lock on the glass-fronted cabinet. After a small click, it swings open. You gingerly pluck the plastic cup from the shelf inside, bracing for an electric shock, poison darts, all the troubles of the world - anything. When nothing happens, you take a second to be irritated at the fact that it was this easy. Doesn't anything pose a challenge these days? Whoever wrote these containment procedures needs to get fucked by a bandsaw.
O5-█: "And you opted to destroy the object, instead of making a note requesting further tests."
O5-█: "Describe your method."
[REDACTED]: "I took it to the incinerator."
You let loose an immature giggle as the plastic cup melts under the heat of your lighter. It's more beautiful and glorious than that dream you had about the shark apocalypse. Who's not reacting now. That would be you, plastic cup.
When the job is done, you sweep the dried globs of chemical goop into the bin and exit the office. That wasn't so hard. Now you can get back to work, and by work you of course mean obtaining watered-down espresso and waiting on an assignment.
[REDACTED]: "I went on to the break room, intending to gather some caffeine, and found everyone fawning over another plastic cup. One of those red ones children like to put alcohol in right before wrapping their father's Mercedes round a poplar."
O5-█: "Did you destroy it?"
[REDACTED]: "Yes. I took it to the incinerator as well.
The rest of the staff seem unperturbed by your impressive display of plastic-crushing. You're vaguely offended, because you thought you made a decent show of it, and now the flattened cup bears an imprint of the sole of your shoe. But now is not the time to be annoyed at your fellow personnel. They can't help themselves.
You cast your gaze about for where the effect 'jumped'. Oh, dammit, they're really unperturbed now that they've noticed the coffeemaker is dispensing…well, not-coffee. One of the ingredients of an Americano is not the Elixir of Life. You gently remind everyone of this by tearing the hapless machine from its spot on the counter and fleeing the room.
When I got back, SCP-857 had become the coffeemaker. I took it from the break room and began to give the object…well, a bit of thought. The idea of an unusual memetic effect was crystallizing in my mind. I have seen it before. Even today, pilgrims make long treks to visit supposed holy sites and relics. I believe SCP-857 presses upon human minds in a similar fashion."
O5-█: "So you are saying that relics have memetic effects."
[REDACTED]: "Oh, no, that isn't quite what I meant. The perceived holiness of an object or place is simply in the believer's head. But SCP-857 is similar, in a way. It may be a more tangible, quantifiable effect than, say, the Shroud of Turin - one that is not only in one's mind."
O5-█: "I see."
You haul the coffeemaker out to the parking lot. Obviously this thing is going to take some actual effort, which is not something you're used to exerting…you may have to get creative.
You resist the vicious urge to turn it into some kind of explosive, or maybe just pee in it - instead, you whisper insults to it for a while before lobbing it in the passenger's seat of your Ferrari and driving like you don't give a fuck about speeding tickets.
[REDACTED]: "I took the new SCP-857 to my car. That was about when the drugs kicked in."
O5-█: "The drugs."
[REDACTED]: "Sorry, I forgot to mention the quaaludes.
As you do 90 down this empty stretch of freeway, your rage at being ignored by an inanimate object drifting off, you come to a realization. Of all the drugs you've done, you never managed to do quaaludes. Are those even a thing anymore? You think they might be like opium: it exists but nobody bothers with it these days. Regardless, it will probably be a good excuse for when you are required to explain yourself to your superiors.
While I was luding out, I realized I had no immediate goal in mind. I could easily have collected some of the 'Elixir of Life' and sold it to idiots and been comfortable for the rest of my life. I could have forced the thing to jump around until it hit a particularly fancy goblet and claimed it as the actual real Holy Grail. Or, since I'm an honest sort, I could have put a slab of Spam Lite in it and made certain no one would ever want to Quest for it again."
O5-█: "Arrive at your point."
[REDACTED]: "Yes ma'am. Where was I…oh yes, I very much wanted to get rid of it absolutely forever and ever. And ever.
You are now in the middle of nowhere.
Once you've poked a dime underneath your tongue, you escape the confines of your vehicular manslaughter factory with the coffeemaker. It's easy enough to go back, but you don't want to drop it before you arrive, otherwise things will just be a great big fucking hassle.
So make certain you'll be holding onto the machine securely, you curl up on the ground and clutch it to yourself with three of your limbs, fumbling for your gun with your free hand.
You press it to your temple.
So I paid my father a visit."
One you disembark and apologize to the ferryman for the saliva-coated dime, you are accosted by your dog, who is quite happy to see you again. You scratch one of the heads under the chin and make your way to where your dad usually hangs out. He's pretty much never not in that giant fancy chair, so that's where you soon find yourself.
Your dad, though puzzled at your arrival, offers you a few pomegranate seeds from the handful he's eating. "You're home early."
"I'll be off again in just a moment." You munch on the seeds for a moment. "I need a favor."
You gesture to the coffeemaker under your arm. "Can you hang onto this awhile?"
[REDACTED]: "That's all I can recall. Quaaludes, remember. When I awakened, I was on the asphalt beside my car, surrounded by quite a lot of nothing.
You poke your head gingerly. No gaping head wound, no blood, no bullet lodged in your brain…he even reloaded your gun for you. That was nice of him. You'll kind of miss that dime, though. It had Mercury's head on it.
Now that the very rude object that ignored you all the time is gone forever, you can finally get your Americano.
I returned to the site and composed a report on the decommission. I believe my exact words were 'SCP-857 is no longer extant.'"
O5-█: "Is that the truth?"
[REDACTED]: "The whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help - "