The SCP Experience - I’m Living a Nightmare Where Everything’s a Spider | SCP-3023

Episode Date: May 20, 2024

Want to listen ad-free? Try it FREE for 7 days here: patreon.com/TheSCPExperience SCP Foundation KETER class object, SCP-3023: I’m Living a Nightmare Where Everything’s a Spider This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-3023 and is released under Creative Commons Sharealike 3.0. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/ Author: Matt D. * * * 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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And profite. Via Rae, the voice that we love. The sound of two dozen men shouting morphed into a cacophonous soundtrack as I did my work. The rage had taken over as easily as a wet bar of soap slips from your hand in the shower. I had dawned it like a tailored suit, warm and form fitting, and made just for me.

With my left hand, I gripped Sullivan's neck, keeping impressed to the grip. impressed to the ground. I drove my right fist into his face for the fourth time, feeling his orbital collapse under the pointy ridges of my knuckles. Sullivan, a much bigger man than me, had thought he could spout off and I wouldn't do anything. And it was true. I had a habit of letting the anger build up inside until it burst out. He had been messing with me in the yard for weeks, poking and prodding and eliciting laughs from his Aryan nation friends. Without thinking too much about it, I had stored up his words, packing them away like precious and fragile

figurines until I could smash them to bits in a fit of rage. Now, as I straddled him and split his eyebrow open with another punch, the gathered inmates shouted, some of them with glee, others with dismay. I felt something crack in my hand with the punch, a blade of pain traveling up my arm. But I didn't stop. I gritted my teeth and punched again, taking the pain. It wouldn't be long now until the guards came to break the little fight up. I had to make it count.

The rage guided me to pull my left hand from his throat. My next punch went straight into his windpipe, crunching it down with the sound like biting into a Rice Crispy's treat. Then the guards were shouting and elbowing and pulling me off Sullivan. Jesus Christ, Moyer! What the guard said. I recognized his voice. His name was Dumas,

but all the D-block inmates called him dumbass behind his back. What the hell did I tell you what happened if you got into another fight? He asked, pulling me away with another guard. You're gone, man. You're fucking gone now. The rage didn't care, which meant, for the time being, I didn't care. I watched Sullivan clawed his neck, feet kicking at the dirt as he struggled to breathe. I smiled as his face changed colors. But even then, I knew that when the rage was gone, I wouldn't be smiling.

Not one bit. What the hell is this place? I asked the guard who led me down the windowless concrete hall. Shut up, he said. Another two guards walked behind us, silent, weapons held ready. I walked slowly. My steps were short because of the shackles on my ankles. My hands were bound to a chain around my waist.

It had been about 24 hours since my fight with Sullivan at the prison. I had been transported out of the Menard Correctional Center, but I didn't know where I was now. It didn't look like any prison I'd ever seen. As we walked, I flexed my swollen right hand. I figured I'd broken something. But the guards didn't seem to care. I hadn't seen a doctor about it.

The guards didn't have any kind of identifying marks on their uniforms. No nameplates, no emblems, no badges. We stopped at a windowless metal door at the end of the hallway. The guard, who told me to shut up, used a key card and then punched in an eight-digit code. The door opened, and we went inside. The room was about 15 feet on a side, with another door set into the opposite wall. Two other guys in orange jumpsuits sat in chairs bolted to the floor on the right. Their shackles were affixed to bolts on the floor between their legs.

To the left, a couple of guys in lab coats sat at a long long, desk under several wall monitors that were all turned off. Good, one of the lab coats said, standing and blinking quickly like a nervous twitch. Let's start this. Start what? I asked. Shut up. The guard said. The other two inmates looked up at me, sullen and confused.

One of them was black, with frazzled cornrows on his head and tattoos creeping up his neck. The other one looked Hispanic like me. He had dark hair cut short, a black mustache, and teardrops tattooed under one eye. On the left side of his neck was the number 13, which meant he was a member of the Mexican mafia. The guard shoved me into the seat, thanks to the two guys. No need to secure him, twitchy lab coat said. We'll be ready to send them in soon.

Soon to swear, I asked. Shut up. I turned to the inmates. You guys know what the fuck is going on? Just shut up, man, the black dude said, eyes darting to the guards. The two lab coats went about firing up the monitors and computer equipment on the long desk. Once that was done, Twitchy went to the only other door in the room and unlocked it using a fingerprint, a 10-digit code, and a key card.

Okay, Twitche said. Get them in there. The guards escorted us through the door one by one, starting with me. As I stood inside the cavernous room, I thought I was in hell. The square space looked like a warehouse with a maze of cubicles in the middle, like an office. Before I landed in prison, I had worked in an office much like this, but not in a warehouse. It was in an office building on a floor with ten-foot ceilings and thin carpet and the lingering aura of petty squabbles. The ceilings in this place were about twice as tall, and there were cameras everywhere

on the metal joists above. It even looked like there were tracks along which the cameras could move. The guards brought in the black guy next, unlocking and removing his shackles just like they had done with me. You know what this is? I asked. Nah, the guy said. Nothing good, though. Moya!

I said without extending my swollen hand. The guy nodded. Branch. The other guy came in. The guards took him. his shackles and retreated through the door, shutting and locking it. The Hispanic guy sucked his teeth. Man, this is some bullshit. This is Lava, Brant said. This dude is Moja. Supp? Lava said with a tilt of his head and a twitch of his mustache. I hope they're not expecting us to work or some

shit. I hated working in an office. Same, I said. Yep, Branch said. We stood there, looking at the cubicle walls from a distance of about 15 feet, waiting for something to happen. Minutes passed in silence. Well, I'm going to explore, I said. I'm getting bored standing here. Yeah, all right, Lava said. Let's go. Truth be told, I was grateful that both men agreed to go with me. I was creeped out, and I didn't really want to wander the place alone. There was plenty of light in the place.

The lights in the ceiling shone down brightly, but there was something eerie about it, something that made my skin crawl. We moved into the maze of cubicles, a feeling of claustrophobia creeping up on me. The walls were much taller than your average office cubicles. They were a good ten feet tall. I looked overhead and saw a camera following us on a track in the ceiling. We followed the passageway, which turned to the right and opened into a wide space that was made to look like a living room. A couch and a coffee table sat across from a television on a wooden TV stand. A recliner took up one corner.

A side table with a lamp sat on either side of the couch. We quickly checked and found that none of the electronics were plugged in. There were no outlets that we could find. We continued our exploration and found that the cubicle walls encompassed small alcoves of all types, including a kitchen, two bedrooms, a den, a bathroom, and even a garage with an old but well-cared-for Lexus sedan parked there. Each room had stuff in it that you would expect from a real, lived-in house. One bedroom had bunk beds, kids' toys, and clothes.

The garage had sports equipment, a weight set, hand tools, and other random odds and ends. But the only room that worked as expected was the bathroom. The toilet flush, the shower ran, and the sink worked. There was no food in the kitchen, and none of the appliances were plugged in. We also explored the space around the maze of rooms and found that the only door was the one we'd come through. There were no other doors, no windows, and the walls were made of reinforced metal. We're supposed to live here or something? Lava asked, as we made it back to the living room.

Not without food, I said. Or entertainment. There were some books in the den, Branch said. And a weight set in the garage, Leva put in. I shook my head. Something about this is too damn weird. It's starting to piss me off. Oh boy, Leva said.

What you're going to do, little man? Turn into the Hulk and bust out of here. I ignored him, flexing my swollen fist, reveling in the pain. Branch sat on the couch and propped his feet on the coffee table. Well, I'm going to relax for a bit until they tell us what the hell we're supposed to be doing. Lava sat on the other side of the couch. Yeah, me too. There's something else here now.

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from Binge All Episodes exclusively on Paramount Plus. I stood in the middle of the room, thinking, wondering, flexing my fist. You okay, bro? Granch asked. You look a little pissed off. I ignored him, turning to go sit in the recliner. But before I made it two steps, I heard a clatter from elsewhere in the maze. The hell was that?

Leva asked. We all looked in that direction. sounded like it came from the garage, Branch said, standing up. It was true. It sounded to me like one of the cans of tireshine had toppled off a shelf. Silence bloomed in the vast space. It seemed none of us knew what to do. We all stayed in our spots, looking in that direction, although we couldn't see into the garage any more that we could see into any of the other alcoves. It was clear that whoever had designed the place did that on purpose.

Another sound bounced around the room, its source closer. Being the nearest, I stepped back, still staring. I sensed the other two men standing behind me. Two long, spindly legs crested the top of a nearby cubicle wall, sending fear slicing into my heart. Two more legs and an arachnoid head appeared. Eight shiny black eyes peaked at me over a pair of glistening fangs. But as the rest of the spider came into view,

to view, additional legs creeping over. A sense of unreality hit me. The spider's body looked like it was made from a basketball? It was certainly as big as a basketball. The legs a good 12 inches long each. In my peripheral vision, I saw a branch duck over and grab a lamp off a side table. Is that a basketball? Lava asked, coming up next to me. As he moved past me, I stuck my left arm out and stopped him. It's a fucking robot, man, Leva said. But it didn't look like a robot to me. It looked organic.

I could see the fine hairs on its legs and a sheen of liquid on its fangs. The spider stared at us from its perch atop the wall, unblinking eyes beaming with the promise of menace. Then it jumped. I ducked, throwing myself to the right. Lava wasn't so fast. His scream pierced the air before I even hit the ground. As I rolled, bumping into the coffee table, I turned to see a fountain of blood spew from Lava's throat as the fangs ripped into his flesh.

He had both hands on the thing's body, but it clutched him with all eight legs, refusing to let go. Branch darted forward, shouting incoherently, raising the lamb. He swung the light fixture at the spider, the shade crumpling as it hit the creature's body. It seemed that the spider was partly basketball because the lamp bounced off, seeming to do little damage to the arachnid. Lava, still screaming, stumbled back and fell to the floor. Fang stabbing into his face as it continued its attack. Branch moved forward, clearly determined to strike it to creature again.

But as he raved the lamp for another blow, the light fixture changed. Eight legs sprouted from the body of the lamp, one of them piercing Branch's hand as if it were nothing more than a piece of sponge cake, and the leg was a knife. It happened so swiftly that Branch didn't immediately notice, not consciously anyway. He faltered, stopping in mid-swing. Then he lowered the lamp and looked at it as the crushed lampshade fell away to reveal a wicked-looking spiderhead where the light bulb had been. Screaming, he tried to throw the lamp spider away, but the leg piercing his hand prevented this at first.

He had to rip the spider off with his other hand, in the process, damaging that hand as the spider attacked him, shredding his skin. and mangling his fingers by the time he tossed the creature into the television, knocking the flat screen over. The lamp spider wasted no time, skurning around, coming after branch. By this time, the other spider was finishing up with Lava. His screams died away to a wet gurgle, his face a mess of bloody, shredded flesh. I had been so used to humans triggering my rage response

that my reaction to this strange turn of events left me feeling nothing but cold shock and disbelief. As the basketball spider turns its attention away from Lava and toward me, another emotion took hold. Terror. I darted toward the nearest exit, which was a dog-legged hallway that led toward the back of the space. Wait! Branch called, following me. Help me!

I made no answer, running into the kitchen and grabbing a knife from the block on the counter, using my left hand because my right was nearly useless. Branch came in a second later, trailing blood from his injured hands. Behind him, both spider scurried along the floor. The basketball spider first, followed by the lamp. Move! I said, shoving branch out of the way and kicking the basketball spider as hard as I could. I felt a sharp pain in my foot, but the spider sailed into the air,

arcing back toward the living room. The lamp spider leaped at me, and I slashed at it with a knife. It was about as effective as trying to stab a lamp with a knife. The impact knocked the blade out of my hand, but at least it prevented a little fucker from latching on to me. I turned around to see that branch had left, and I ran after him. I could hear the faint click-clack of the spider's legs hitting concrete as it scurried after me.

Turning into the den, I inhaled sharply at the scene before me. One armchair in the den had turned into a spider, and it had a shouting branch pinned to the floor. As I stopped cold, the spider jammed its sizable fangs into branch's eye sockets, cutting him off mid-shadowed. out. The sound of rushing spider legs behind me returned my sense of urgency, and I ran out of the den, heading for the garage, remembering suddenly that I'd seen an axe among the tools. I just hoped it was still an axe, and not a goddamn spider. As I moved, I realized I was limping. I looked

down to see two bloody holes in my right prison slipper. The basketball spider must have bit me when I kicked it. The familiar rage came flooding back, smashing through the shock and terror that had been possessing me like it was a tiny wooden bridge and the path of a 100-year flood. Flexing my right hand as I ran, glimping toward the garage, I used the pain to stoke the rage. As I reached the garage, my rage was in full control, my body merely a vessel for it. I ripped the axe from its space on the pegboard wall and spun around just as the lamp spider came rushing into the garage. I stepped forward and slammed the axe head down on the lamp, splitting it in half.

The legs pulled the two halves in different directions. Strange, whitish, yellow goop poured out of the body. The armchair spider came in next, moving fluidly, but not nearly as fast as the smaller spiders. He jumped at me, and I rolled out of the way, then spun around, slicing out with the axe. The blade severed one of its legs, but it didn't slow the thing down much.

It came at me again, and I tried moving, but it caught me with one leg, sending me stumbling and slamming into the Lexus sedan. I spun around and clambered on top of the sedan. The spider crawled up its hood, which was just what I'd been hoping for. I slammed the axe down into its head. The thing's legs went momentarily limp,

and it slid back down the hood. I leaped down and hacked the thing again and again, losing myself in the rage. When I was done, I was covered in that strange white goop, along with stuffing and wood splinters. The armchair spider lay on the floor, dozens of pieces. Huffing, I stared down at the thing, sweat dripping off my nose. The rage was fading away. Then something jumped onto my back. I shouted in pain as twin fangs stabbed into

the back of my neck. Revercing the axe, I whipped it up and over my head, hitting the creature on my back. A rush of air escaped the spider, and I felt its legs lose their grip. It fell off a moment later, I spun around to see the basketball spider writhing on the floor as it flattened, some of that goop spewing out along with the air. It stopped writhing after I slammed the axe head into it once more. After stepping over to the Lexus, I took a deep breath and leaned against the car. Little fuckers, I said to the remains of the spiders. The Lexus shifted under me. I jumped away from the vehicle to see eight legs sprouting from the sides of the luxury sedan, and a head with giant fangs forming at the grill.

You gotta be shitting me! I said wearily, raising the axe. SCP 3023 is a phenomenon in which an object will abruptly develop an arachnoid form and gain motility in the presence of humans. Instances will behave erratically, moving around their vicinity at random and using their legs and pincers to attack anything they come in contact with.

Instances display speed, durability and physical strength, far over what their structure and composition should allow. Destruction or dismemberment of the object is sufficient to cause anomalous properties to cease. Without interference, this occurs irregularly, with an average of two months between occurrences. However, in exploring the source of this anomaly, Foundation researchers have been able to prompt objects to transform into instances of SCP 3023. The potential military and covert operations uses of SCP 3023 cannot be overstated.

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