The SCP Experience - How’s the Weather, Agent Hale? | SCP-600

Episode Date: June 24, 2024

Want to listen ad-free? Try it FREE for 7 days here: patreon.com/TheSCPExperience SCP Foundation SAFE class object, SCP-600. This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-600 and is released under Creative Commons Sharealike 3.0. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/ Author: Lucas C. * * * DISCLAIMER: This episode contains explicit content. Parental guidance is advised for children under the age of 18. Listen at your own discretion. #thescpexperience #scp #scpfoundation #scpencounters #securecontainprotect #scpstories Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

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The Reglements of the Concour's Sapplic. I rushed down the hall, pinballing back and forth against the Coldstone surface. The tight corridors are filled with people going through the motions of their daily grind. Most of them are wearing white lab coats, but a few are sporting heavy armor with helmets drawn over their eyes. The better to see you and the harder to see me, my dear. The words of a forgotten bedtime story from Lodagh from Leroyne, long ago echo with each desperate step forward. Air exits my lungs as I collide into somebody.

The younger man rears back on his heels, squaring off to knock my block off. That is, until his hazel eyes lock into mine. All defiance rolls up like a window blind as he jumps to attention. His eyes widening and recognition. Agent Hale, sir. Sorry, I didn't recognize you. I crossed my arms and bore into the...

younger man's eyes. He's a few inches taller than me and a lot more muscular. His toned biceps rise like mountains or something big against something small. There's never a good metaphor when you need one. Or is it a simile? What's the difference again? Agent Hale, are you? All it takes is one raised finger to cut him off. Why is he staring at me? Is it my vintage Wink 281 t-shirt? Today's younger generation has no respect for music that sounds like Kate Perry and a rabbit cat blended together at the highest setting. Shit, he's still staring. How's the weather? The cadet blinks. I'm sorry, sir. His eyes widened in confusion, but there's no time for that. Not when the society and other organizations mean world harm. But how the hell am I supposed to fight evil if I don't even know

the weather beyond this facility? What if I go out dressed for rain in a snowstorm? Not only does this generation have no respect for terrible music, but they taunt the forecast. I grabbed the recruit by his shoulders and shake so he knows I'm serious. The weather man, good God! The forces of good wait for no man! But weather is uncontrollable! I keep trying to shake him, but my pudgy fingers have trouble gripping onto his rock-hard shoulders. Wow, he's as solid as a house. This guy definitely works out.

Uh... He clears his throat and steps back. Clear skies right now. But I think Noak mentions something about a drizzle later? A drizzle? I close the space he's put between us. Those exact words? Are you sure, cadet?

Yeah, I'm... He bumps his back against the wall, giving me a nice, long sniff of his after shave as my nose comes just short of his neck. Uh, Agent Hale. Is everything all right? Of course. smile at him. Thank you so much for the vital intelligence. A strapping young man like you does the foundation proud. While wrapping my arm around his shoulder, I removed my phone from the other pocket.

Hey, how about a selfie? Uh, the young man squarms and swallows. Sure? Beaming, I drag him against me, feeling the heat rise from his body. He fidgets in my grasp as I hold up the phone. Let's see, how do these things work again? I keep the screen facing me and rest my thumb on the button. Heat builds the longer I press, but the phone's screen remains blank. Uh, Agent Hale! I let another minute pass, savoring his proximity in the scent of a shampoo lingering on my nostrils before I let him go. Technical difficulties and duties call, I'm afraid.

But thank you for your assistance. And keep up the excellent work, Cadet Carver. I spin on my heel and run. His voice echoing behind me. It's Carter, sir. As I turn the corner, I break into a sprint. My knees pump, bare feet slapping against the smooth tile floor, echoing all around me.

The thrill of the job chases me with each step, making me go even faster. People turn into blurs of motion as I speed through the hall like a speeding bullet that's guzzled 16 cans of red bull. This is the life. How could anyone else? ask for anything more than this. Ordinary life is for the squares. Wake up, punch the clock, then wait until the day ends, just so you can wake up to punch the clock again. I used to be

like that. Not anymore, baby. I'm a freaking secret agent, a man who's rubbed shoulders with monsters and gods, a genuine superhero with a mission and a moral compass showing me the way. I'm the society's worst nightmare. The Foundation's greatest hero. I've saved. I've saved humanity in my spare time while protecting the innocent. A man with a mission with only his moral compass to guide him. I'm the one, the only, the... Cody? Agent Hale?

That's my name. Don't wear it out. I smile as I skid to a stop and backtrack down the hallway. Two young cadets stand to the side of the hall. The man is a little shorter than me, but has lanky limbs lined with lean muscle. The woman has mousy hair and looks younger than her companion. She's holding a stout and ugly mutt in her hands. Neither is my usual type. I prefer people with proportions to spare,

but I've been going through a dry spell. Any port in a storm and any pool in the Sahara, I think as I drape an arm around both, and suddenly realize why God gave us two. What can the great Agent Hale do for you today? The male agent tenses while the other jumps. The dog in her hands pants, then looks up at her. It cocks its head in an angle, lulling its tongue like some canine simpleton.

Not that there's much difference between a stupid dog and a dumb dog. They both eat shit, right? While the woman quivers, the man steps out of my grip. His body isn't built for damage like the last recruit I bumped into, but he's readying his body into a ready stance. Penny for your thoughts, Gus. His body relaxes. How many cups of coffee have you had today?

You're not even wearing shoes. Huh? I point down at my plain white kicks. You haven't had enough coffee, Gus. What? He exchanges a confused glance with NOWAC before looking down at my shoes again. I thought...

I grip him by the shoulders and cut him off. How's the weather? What? The weather, man? Noak said it's going to rain soon. Gus glances at a still squirming NOWAC. Her eyes are locked on the dog staring up at her. Noak must love dogs as much as I do.

She holds it awkwardly with both hands, extending it far away from her like it might explode. This girl's smart, so I give her another assessing look. I might prefer bigger proportions, but let's face it, smart girls are hot. Noak! Gus's short tone finally catches her attention. What's he babbling about?

Huh? Oh, the forecast today set a 40% chance of light showers this evening. It's kind of a hobby for research staff. You never know when... I shake Gus roughly by the shoulders to draw his focus back on me. That's perfect. That gives us plenty of time. I spin on my heel again, getting ready to run.

But Gus grabs me by the shoulders. Slow down. Plenty of time to do what? I smile. Why? To save the world, of course. You want to come with? People like to talk about beauty.

Usually, they're talking about people who make the cover of this. self-titled magazine. Or maybe some works of art like the Mona Lisa for that weird screaming guy. But most people never stop to look and listen to the everyday beauty of humanity. I lean my head out of the car window and take a deep breath. The city air is clogged with the smell of gas and smog. But beneath that is the lingering aroma of a dozen different restaurants and food trucks. Lingering conversations from the people on the street in the evening wafts in my ears as I pick up the scant end of dozens of different conversations. It's not for me, I think.

With the wind whipping through my scalp, I said it before, and I'll say it again. The worst feeling alive is boredom, and too often, that's precisely what freedom leads to. People don't appreciate just how awesome it is to be able to do what you want when you want. Everyone outside the foundation's walls can go where they want and talk to whomever they want whenever they want. And what do they do with this precious gift? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Uh, Cody? You still haven't said where we're going yet. I lean back in the seat and let out a moan as I writhe against its material. Genuine leather and fancy butt warmers to boot. Say what you will about the foundation. They know how to ride comfortably and in style. Gus repeats his question,

but I'm too transfixed by the radio in the middle of the console. A quick press of a button fills the car with off-key singing and nothing but power chords. I bring my hands to my ears while Gus flicks the radio off. It takes a moment for the ringing to clear my ears, but Gus keeps repeating the same words until my hearing returns. Cody! Where the hell are we going? I wave my finger at him. Is that any way to talk to a superior officer, you naughty boy?

Gus slams on the brakes in the middle of a green light. Cars lay on their horns, but Gus pays them no mind. He glars at me while cars swerve around us, ignoring the passing obscenities. I'm not the world's best driver, but somehow, Gus is even worse. Green means go, last I checked. Gus keeps the engine idle, his expression not softening. You've done a lot for me, Cody, so I'll let you off with a warning. But talk to me like that again, and I'll go.

break your fucking nose. Holy shit, this kitten's got some claws. I like it. But sometimes pesky kitties must be reminded they aren't tiny tigers. I draw my gun and rest it in my lap, keeping my finger on the trigger, just in case I need it.

You think your fist is faster than a gun? Gus eyes my gun before he sighs. Is that a water pistol? I pushed the cold plastic to his forehead. The water sloshes through the transparent blue as I stare down the sights. Keep pressing me and you'll find out. The tension in the air is

thicker than a 16-layer ice cream cake. Luckily, unlike ice cream, I always keep cool, even when things get hot. Gus is a good kid, but he doesn't see the world like I do. For a guy who spent the better part of a year in a foundation lockup, he's got no appreciation for the small things. He's too focused on the mission, so much so that he can't see the forest through the strip club. Gus, turn left, now. What? I said now.

Something in my voice breaks through Gus's resistance. He slams on the gas and cuts across several lanes of traffic. More horns blare while a chorus of swear words follows us as oncoming traffic skits to a stop. Wow, Gus, you're a terrible driver. Shut up! My seatbelt burns into my shoulder as we jerk to another sudden stop in the parking lot. Where do I turn? I answer by getting out of the car.

The bass from the music within pulsates, making the tinted windows along the storefront throb in their ill-fitting frames. My vision traces up to the bright sign. Platinum dolls, it proclaims in glowing neon letters, showcasing a woman with large proportions made of neon. Too bad it's not a co-ed strip club, but I'm pretty sure those only exist in my dreams.

Oh, you have got to be shitting me. Put my arm around Gus. Looks can be deceiving. After all, where else would the society hang out besides a gentleman's club? Lazzang sur-goled, puissance-moyance-moyance-moyance-minute. We're saying. We're going to dojo.

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When you were little, you've been brassed in course of recreat, always in trying to negotiate, exchange these cards of hockey, the bonhom, these bracelets,

even de collation. You know that each thing has a value, very before to have to be able to know what's not really changed.

Nogisit-sit-s-T-D you permit to renewing with your instinct of negotiation. With without operation gratuite, no amount

minimum, and no free mensual, you're made for negotiate, and the app Negotiate T-D

and made to you help. Telecharger it right now. The strip club smells the same despite my

years away. Or maybe every strip club smells the same. Even with public smoking being banned, the stench of

decades of smoke still permeates through the walls. Spilled and stale drinks mingle with an abundance of

body spray and cheap perfume. Beneath all that is the heavy, musky smell of lust and loneliness. I breathe it all in, savoring it as the scented air fills my lungs. The heavy pulse of a techno song fades away as a scattering of applause breaks for the woman finishing her routine on stage. The trickle becomes as thunderous as, um, that giant waterfall near Canada, as Scorpia, the double D main attraction, saunters on the stage. Her whole body bounces with every moment. There's no place like home. What? Gus shouts as 80's glam rock swallows up every other sound. But somehow, a few of Scorpia's

admirers still manage to get their cat calls and whistles out over the tunes. I said you have any singles. Gus blinks. Sure he's heard me wrong until I hold out an eager open hand. Several moments of premium stage viewing pass before my ward finally does what he's told and fishes out a few Washington's and places them in my palm. This time, it's my turn to frown. No one's going to give me the time of day for seven bucks.

You said... I snatch his wallet away from him, stuff all the green in my pocket, then toss it back. Gus looks like he wants to punch me, but luckily, the bouncers decide now's the perfect time to check our idea. They take Gus's fake license, check his correct birth date, and then frown at the empty piece of leather.

No cash or cards? Come on, bro. This ain't a charity. It's cool. Gus opens his hands in a placating gesture. I'm with... He's my Uber. I peel off a hunda from the roll and stuff it into the bouncer's pocket. I've got a fat wad of cash to share and nothing but time to spare. Figure it'd be cheaper to keep him around than trying to to hail another when I finally leave. The bouncer's scowle darkens. He's used to guys trying to buy themselves out of trouble with a few crumpled singles. His eyes widen as he makes out Benny Franklin's face. He stuffs the bill deep into his pocket before the other bouncer can see.

Of course, sir. I didn't recognize you in the low lighting. Right this way, gentlemen. See that, Gus. You've got to relax. People are more likely to do what you want. You're a little kinder. It's a strip club, Cody.

You seat yourself for free. Gus's rambling complaints roll off my back as the bouncer takes us to the table closest to the stage. The waitress looks like she's got a few moves in her too, so I work my charms while ordering a Long Island iced tea. After my orders in, I dashed to the front of the stage as Scorpia's first song comes to a close, shouldering through her many admirers. I brandish one of Gus's 20s as I break up.

through the pack. Her sultry giggle is reward enough, but Scorpia deems my offering worthy enough to bury my face between two mounds of silicone perfection. I can feel the looks of hate and jealousy, even as I make my way back to our table. My face still radiates with the warmth of pride as I slink across from Gus and let out a long, contented sigh. You can't buy memories like that, kid. Really? Because it cost me $120. The waitress returns with our drinks. Gus ordered water like a dwee, but I'm not going to let this wet blanket stop me from enjoying my drink.

There's too much coke, but the glass is filled with enough ice cubes to make my mouth go numb. The blend of three shots of alcohol with way too much caffeine and sugar merge in my mouth before slipping down my esophagus like Splash Mountain. My compliments to the mixologist. I eye Gus's stack and think a moment before a moment. dropping a 10 spot on the waitresses tray. Keep them coming, doll.

130. Cuss, enough with the bitching and... I can feel it beneath the wave of euphoria and alcohol rising through my body. Following my intuition, I find a man sitting by himself at another table. That's not so strange. Strip clubs are natural habitats for creeps and perverts. But this guy is enjoying the show a little too much. Keep calm and cool, like we're having a regular conversation.

We're just a couple of guys who got off work, and are trying to blow off some steam. The waitress returns with my second drink, and I smile before holding it up to Gus. Thanks for all this. Cheers! Gus hesitates, and then clinks his glass with mine and drains his water. Cody, why are we here? I subtly gesture with my glass, acting like I'm drunk. It's not a hard act. o'clock, table with the guy by himself. Pretty sure he's with the society. Gus nods once before

intentionally knocking his napkin serving as a coaster onto the floor. As he bends over, he scopes out the guy, then sits back up. He forces a smile in his face as we clink glasses again. Do you mean the bald guy? Yes. The guy with the acne scars? Yep. The guy wearing sweatpants and a wife, Peter. He's with a society. Yeah, and please don't ask again, because I don't know any other way to say yes that doesn't sound like a pirate. Oh, on second thought, please ask me again. Cody, aye, aye, matey! Cody! Gus slams his fist under the table, spilling both of our glasses. Good thing I've finished mine already. His temper tantrum, thankfully, isn't enough to distract a pro of Scorpia in the middle of her second set. Several customers and one of the

The bouncers are stink-eyeing us, though. The society plant fidgets uncomfortably in his seat before stuffing something in his pocket as he gets up. Shit! My chair skids into a table behind us, knocking it over and spilling a beer onto the frat boy patrons occupying it. He made us! Gus gets up to stop me,

but I slank past him just as the member of Sigma Delta Chi charges at us. My protege might not look like much in a fight, but Gus knows enough karate to handle these fools, so I start after my target. From my peripherals, I see a guy get flung into the air and crash into a table. The rest of his buddy stand.

Hopefully, Gus will be quick. I might need his help. Other people are standing, either to join or run away from the fight Gus started. The society, Flunky, is one of the latter. His flip-flops, uh, are flopping toward the exit. I step in his way and mean to say something clever, but the Long Islands must have had more

than the standard three shots each. My head spins, caught up in a whirl of sights and sounds. The world reorient itself for a moment as the agent crashes into me. I let out a high-pierced scream, but I still managed to wrap my arms around his waist as we crashed to the ground. Gus, I got him. Through the chaos, I see Gus take a punch across the jaw.

Stop playing around and help me, cadet. Reggie tries to untangle our arms. Get off me, man! On reflex, I throw a punch. punch. It glances off the man's flabby shoulder. He blinks, dumbfounded at me. Nobody's punched him since high school. Then his fist zooms into my vision before pain quickly closes one eye shut. Panic mingles with the alcohol, and I start to thrash. The man's eyes widened, and he screams as I momentarily lose focus. He recoils at something hard in my pants, and I can't blame

him. I like ample proportions, come on, have a little tone to your body, too. It must be the alcohol. That's the only way a guy like Chunk Bud here would ready my meat pistol. My gun! Another punch slams into my cheek, filling my mouth with blood. He raises his fist to punch me again, giving me enough time for a quick draw and three quick pulls of the trigger. What? Chunk Bud wipes water from his eyes, leaving him open for another shot.

He then starts screaming. Ow! God damn it! Is that soap water? Keep pressing me and you'll find out. out. Someone grabs the prick by the shoulder and yanks him off me. Great job, Gus. I'm going to put you in for a promotion. But it's not Gus. It's one of the bouncers from earlier. As I'm processing this, I'm hoisted to my feet. Before I can say thank you, my arm is twisted and shoved upward. Pain races up my brain, stabbing it and prompting another involuntary high-pierced scream. My captor cringes but doesn't let go. He attacked me.

butt bellows and struggles within the grasp of the bouncer. I was just sitting there, mining my own business, and... Something flops out of his pocket and onto the floor. The fighting has mostly stopped due to the timely intervention of the bouncers. I've never seen so many in my life. So many slabs of heavy muscle, like those old Greek statues. Fuck, Carl! Is that a GoPro? My bouncer lets me go and swoops up the device. We told you last time to knock this shit off.

Vinny, take him to the back room. Take a picture afterward this time. I want the front of the house to recognize him after all the swelling and broken teeth. Vinny grins eagerly while Carl pales. I put my arm around the lead bouncer's shoulder, as he seems to be the man in charge. Excellent job, citizen. You and your people have apprehended a dangerous secret agent. You should be proud.

The bouncer doesn't move away from me. Maybe I have a shot. You've got two seconds to move your arm before I rip it off. I snatch my arm back with a whole second to spare before I'm enveloped in a blur of warmth and strong perfume that tickles my nose. My body goes rigid when a familiar silicone embrace covers my face. My hero. Scorpia coos into my ear.

That perv's been hassling me since I started. How would you like a free lap dance? I hold up Gus's wad of cash. My voice is muffled between Scorpia's ample cleavage. How about one in the VIP room? Oh, I'm going to like you. Scorpia takes my hand and leads me to the beaded curtains. What's your name, sweetie?

Cody Hale, I'm a secret agent. The bar has finally closed. I don't have any of Gus's money left, but the glasses filling our table are proof of an evening well spent. Most of the staff have made their way home. except for the bartender and the manager counting tonight's hall in the back. I made such an impression on him that he bought us a drink. I'm telling you, Gus, I try to keep my words from slurring together,

but I've lost track of how many iced teas I've had. Memories like this. Yeah, yeah, I know. Priceless memories, assuming someone else pays for them. Despite his tone, a slight smirk splits the cut on his lip. He holds up his phone and puts an arm around me. How about a selfie? Now, you're talking!

I leaned into Gus's embrace and hold up two fingers to flash the peace sign. Or to give Gus bunny ears. I haven't decided yet. He focuses on the phone, holding up the camera to capture us both in frame. A pale, featureless figure to the right of Gus's shoulder stares back at me. Warning! The phone flashes and speaks the same message. Escape anomaly detected, apprehension and detainment protocols authorized, alerting nearest foundation facility.

Don't even think about moving. At first, I didn't recognize the voice. It's so filled with command and authority that we all freeze in place. His footsteps echo across the empty club as he steps into the light, revealing a faded, blink 182 t-shirt and beat-up blue jeans. It's Agent Cody himself. I quickly draw my water pistol and aimed for Tom DeLong's face on Hale's shirt. A pain shoots up my arm. Gus kicks the chair out from under me, pushing my arm further into my back.

Another high-pierced scream drags its way for my throat. It's enough to get the bartender's attention, so I recall the image of his manager and reach for his thoughts. Gus swears as I project the image over me. This time, I cast a spitting image of the bartender's boss. Don't just stand there! Get this prick off me! Identity theft is no laughing matter, George,

Cody Hale smiles at me, then shifts his attention to the bartender. Michael Rogan? Yeah. The bartender tenses, and a flash of his thoughts reveals the baseball bat beneath the bar he's edging toward. Who wants to know?

Nobody you want to know, but you'll be getting an alert on your phone any second now. Two-month salary is going to be deposited into your account. All you have to do is smile. Tell us to have a good night and never talk about this to anyone. The man snorts and reaches closer for the bat. But the bar is so quiet, everyone can hear his phone vibrate a second later. Mikey pauses, but reaches for his phone instead of his weapon.

His eyes nearly bulge out of his head, but he clears his throat and smiles. Gentlemen, have a good night. Gus waits for Mike to leave. There's still the manager in the back. Yeah, but he's got a nasty drug habit. He's passed out in his books. Cody crosses his arms. Kind of disappointed it took you this long to realize that wasn't me, Gus.

Maybe if he didn't act so damn weird all the time, I would have picked up on it sooner. Wait, how do I know that you're not another double? Good question. What gave it away? You're not much of a drinker. I've never seen you drink liquor, just the occasional beer, and always the same two brands. Name them, and why?

Why? Cody beams with pride. Keystone or youngling? The former reminds me of my dad. The latter reminds me of college. Agent Hale's hand slides into my pocket, and my body prickles with anticipation. Unfortunately, his hand stops short of my goods. He takes his phone back, thumbs it, and shows Gus the home screen. Only me or an agent of higher rank can open my SC phone.

Gus finally relaxes. So what? All this was a training exercise with some dumb SCP? Ha! I try to rise from the table, but Gus twists my arm again. Ow! Dumb, you say? I was smart enough to trick the Great Agent Hale.

George? You shot me with a water gun. And it worked. Cody sighs and then tosses something to Gus. And the familiar weight of cold steel closes around my wrists. Handcuffs? That won't be enough to hold me. Pride has always been the foundation's greatest weakness.

Agent Hale is too proud to admit that I outfoxed him. Let them walk me back to my cell. It's only a matter of time before I'll escape again and find... Ah, crap. What's wrong, George? I forgot to ask for Scorpia's number. SCP 600 is a humanoid entity, approximately 1.7 meters tall,

with the build approximating an adult human male of average weight for its height. The subject is generally featureless, lacking facial features, external ears, nails, body hair, genitalia, and anus. Full body scans have shown SEP 600 to have no internal structures of any kind. Instead, being formed from an unknown material of uniform density close to that of human muscle tissue. It neither ingests, respirates, nor excretes. The subject's age has not been determined. SCP-600 telepathically affects all humans who view it, causing it to take on their superficial personal characteristics. This effect only alters the visual perception of affected persons.

SCP-600's actual form can still be detected by cameras, sensors, and other technologies. The perceived resemblance between SCP-600 and an affected viewer is general and superficial. No viewers have found it to be notable or uncanny in any way. Characteristics imitated by the subject include, but are not limited to, hair color, skin color, eye color, approximate age, clothing style, and general physique. Animal tests reveal that non-human organisms appear not to perceive the subject unless they physically collide with it. When humans are present, SCP-600 will attempt to engage in conversation. Its conversational repertoire is limited. It will discuss triviality such as weather and other small

talk, or attempt to commiserate with those present about professional matters as if it were similarly employed. Such discussions are superficial, filled with jargon appropriate to the person's area of expertise, but consist largely of obvious statements and placements. Attempts at more substantial discussion are deflected, and SCP 600 displays no deep domain knowledge of any field of employment. When not in the presence of humans, SCP 600 is generally inactive, standing in a single pose for hours, or even days at a time without any apparent reaction to outside stimulus. It has requested Foundation staff to refer to it as George.