The SCP Experience - King Fernand the First | SCP-082

Episode Date: July 21, 2023

SCP Foundation EUCLID class object, SCP-082: King Fernand the First This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-082 and is released under Creative Commons Sharealike 3.0. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/ Author: Lucas Click Discover the Author's impressive series of SCP Tales here: https://www.amazon.com/kindle-vella/story/B0BVWJFGV3 Check out more of Mr. Click's work here: newpulptales.com 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 #scpexplained #whatisscp Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

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deposit-Bus Bonanza, depot minimum, of 10 dollars, Veillage me in a way the face on the streets. It's better than life on the streets. I keep telling myself that over the sounds of ripped flesh and gnawed bones. It's better than freezing in the alleyways or stupid kids roughing you up for fun. Better than scrambling for the last beds before the overcrowded shelter locks their doors for the night.

Better than... The long slurp of marrow. Sucked through bone almost makes me drop the mop. But I've been growing used to... the sounds, so my hand only shakes as I plunge it back into the water and flop it on the floor. It reminds me of discarded organs being tossed to the floor, a sound I never knew before being assigned this gig. Now I know it well.

I do my best to hide my shudder and return to wiping away the blood that constantly flows from the throne. Not everyone likes life in the D-class, especially the hard asses that were former inmates of Death Row. the kind of people who always scoffed against authority. That had never been my case, though. The cause of my homelessness was never a great mystery. I liked to drink.

And then that developed into alcohol consuming me. I lost my job, and then my family in that order. It's surprising how fast your life can fall apart when you sit back and let Jack and Johnny take the wheel. I was shuffling the streets, panhandling for my next bottle of rot gut. My hands shaking with withdrawal when the dart hit my neck. Through blurry vision, I just made out the suited men as they scooped me up and shoved me into an unmarked van.

That was the day the foundation found me. D-Class is a motley lot. Some people come with wiped memories and have no clue who they were before being assigned an orange suit and a number. Most of them are like me. Homeless, undocumented immigrants, violent inmates, and people from other walks of life that society turned a blind eye to long ago. It's depressing, but it could be worse. In exchange for a warm bed in three squares, we have to do experiments.

Some of them are bad, but others are actually kind of nice. The first experiment the foundation had me do was sit and stare at a rooster in a pair of googly-eyed glasses for two hours. Weird shit, I know. But after my first session with the bird, my shakes had stopped. Three sessions later, I was cured of my alcoholism. I haven't wanted a drink in months. The more you play ball with the foundation, the sweeter your gigs are. I was thankful for them getting me sober, but I also wasn't ready to go back to life on the outside.

Years of living on the streets made me doubt I would ever fit into normal society again. Lucky for me, there's no getting out of D-Class, so the lab coats stuck me on cleaning detail. The gig came with two very simple rules. One, never look directly at SCP 82. Two, never engage it directly in conversation. Those rules are easily enforced. The thing is disgusting to behold. Listening to it eat is enough to turn my stomach.

Its containment cell is considerably better than it. our quarters. It's all ancient stone and marble, like something out of a Renaissance fair. You would hardly believe that outside the massive doors leading into the throne room is a group of modern-day guards with automatic weapons. The giant really thinks it's the king of France, and this is its castle. Of course, that doesn't explain the massive flat-screen TV taking up the whole wall in front of its throne. It watches television the same way it eats, binging for hours. Sitcoms, documentaries, and softcore porn

have all graced the screen at one point, but it has a soft spot for Hannibal Lecter. Silence of the Lamb, Hannibal Rising, and even that TV show from a few years ago, it watches them so much that I have every line memorized. It likes to eat along with the famous doctor, ripping apart whatever animal is near its throne, and swallowing chunks of massive raw meat

while the cannibal waxes fava beans and a nice kianti. It's not so bad when you focus on your duties, swabbing the floor of all the blood from its frequent eating and keeping things as clean as possible. Yet at the same time, I can't help but think of what happened a month ago to poor Wanda, who was the closest to King gruesome. I can still hear her screams and that awful pop-in sound

as her head came off with a shower of blood and viscera. We worked overtime cleaning that day. Deep hacking comes from the depths of the thing's chest before packs a lot of snot and blood the size of a basketball against the wall. I brace myself, cringing and disgust, because I know what's coming next isn't much better. The only thing worse than the sounds of it eating is it singing. Its taste in music is all over the place. I've heard it sing everything from achy-breaky heart to the latest hits from Black Pink

and songs that sound hundreds of years old. Its voice is deep and booming, or high-pierced enough to shatter glass. I have to say, though, his spice girl's covers are better than the original. I teeter on my feet as SCP 82 butchers the French national anthem. At first, I think it's just another effect

of its bombastic, off-key voice and shrills as he puts in unnecessarily high notes. But it's more than that. Visions of an unknown life washed before my eyes. My true life floods back into me as my memories return. Before I was homeless, I was a member of the Society for Liberation, Dissemination, and Destruction. We're the only ones willing to stand up to the SEP Foundation's tyranny, but they have more resources than we do. The founding families needed volunteers to go deep under cover to try and procure SCP 82. It was a history of breaking containment and can be reasoned with, mostly.

I had my memories wiped and took to the streets. The founding families knew that the containment facility holding the giant was somewhere in the nearby area, and that the foundation routinely sweeps up homeless people for their D-class experiments. Apparently, SCP-82 thinks himself a patriot in addition to France's king. According to our intelligence, this was one of the songs that SCP-82 routinely performs. Because of this, my handler selected it as the trigger word to break my cover. Time to get to work. As I turn toward SCP-82, it takes everything in me not to vomit. That hasn't changed, even with my regained memories. The thing is mass

even while sitting down. It is over eight feet tall when it stands at its full height. The bald and pointed head rises from no neck and a chest as broad as a desk. Around the point of its head is an actual gold crown studded with jewels. The foundation has spared no expense in treating the beast to its delusions. Its round chin, thin lips, and bulbous nose are smeared with blood. What's worse is its permanent smile. SCP-82 is a testament to disproportion. Its teeth are long, jagged fangs that barely fit in its mouth. They grind together as it speaks, and it only opens its jaws to eat. It unhinges,

the mouth opening wide enough to swallow me whole, and I freeze, but it pays me no mind. Its arms are twice the length of my body, hanging down to its feet. The hand takes its time in reaching for the last unmarred cage. The trapped fox shivers. backing against the metal bars as far as possible. The hand grips the lock and pops it open with a flick of an oversized thumb, not even having to rise from its throne as it does so. The fox makes a run for it, but SCP 82's arms fill the cage. It grabs the fox by the tail and lifts it high above him, lowering it toward its mouth.

The panicked cry sound eerily human as the animal struggles for freedom. It claws at the snake-like tongue, lunging out through the bottomless pit of a mouth, biting it. The giant rolls its tongue, engulfing the animal as half its body vanishes down its gullet. Its jaws slam shut like a bear trap. Blood sprays everywhere as it jerks the tail up again. All that remains of the fox's upper body is its spinal cord. SCP 82 rips the bone free and tosses the rest of the carcass over its shoulder, where another D-class member hurries to clean up its mess. The voice is like a distant but thunderous echo as it speaks through its clenched jaws.

It uses the fox's spine as a toothpick, discarding bits of muscle and raw meat stuck between the gaps of its fangs. I do enjoy food that bites back. It chuckles gleefully before tossing the bone aside as well. Then it turns toward me. It's beady black eyes looking through me. I can feel it, sizing me up, determining whether I look appetizing enough to be his next course. Before it can add me to the menu, I throw myself on my hands and knees and bow my head. Oh, great King Ferno I first. You have been deceived.

D4476. An angry voice blares through the speakers. Step away from the SCP now. The romantic language is any way. as the beast speaks French through its clenched teeth. Its accent heavy as it switches back to English. I'm so safe. Your palace is, in fact, a prison cell. Your captors hope to deceive you, but one of your brilliance can never... The wooden door swing open as security personnel enter, all heavily armored. Their automatic weapons

quaver as they point them at me and the SCP. They know its history. Despite its massive bulk, it can move tremendously fast when motivated. Its body is a patchwork of scars and other injuries from previous escape attempts. So far, the foundation has succeeded in keeping it contained, but only just. For once, I'm thankful for their arrival. It'll make my job that much easier. There they are, Your Majesty. Those are the ones that had trapped you.

They think you are nothing more than a mindless brute. They see you not as a king, but as an exhibit in their makeshift zoo. Your words of the ring have true. It yonant without opening its mouth. Then it shifts before lifting an ass cheek that weighs more than me and scratches loudly. But even if it is an elaborate rose as you suggest. Well, they have good grub. Haven't eaten this well in all my life?

Shit! Time for plan B. Your leash. You have not given me the opportunity. to tell you who has requested an audience with you. None other than the illustrious Dr. Hannibal Lecter. He implored me to set you free and take you to him. That's enough, D.

SCP 82 springs to its feet. Its massive stomach jiggles like a nightmare version of Santa Claus, but there's nothing jolly about its heavily muscled arms and legs. The throne is ripped apart. Bolt's popping as SCP 82 rips it from the floor. It hurls it across the room and crushes three guards. before the rest can react. I leap to the side, barely missing the giant as it charges forward.

Gunfire erupts, and the D-class cleaning crew scream as they take cover. The foundation has spared no expense for its countermeasures. Armor-piercing bullets ripped through stone like it was paper. Several shots hit SCP-82. It's too big to miss, but they're little more than mosquito bites. The guards are smashed beneath center block-like fists. Stone shakes at its assault. salt, and when Fair No is finished, the pulpy remains are impossible to distinguish between

human and body armor. The grand doors start to slam shut, but they're too slow. SCP-82 barrels through them, exploding them into wooden shrapnel. Its pointed head rips apart a chunk of the stone archway, and his crown falls to the ground with a loud clatter. As the screams and gunfire from outside grow louder, I walked to the door. The crown had looked so small atop SCP-82's head, but I could fit it around my waist. Brunting, I'm out of breath by the time I prop the crown to one side. Even though it's agonizing labor, I know it will put me in good standing with the SCP,

so I cautiously wheel it out into the hall. The corridor beyond is flickering lights and loud claxons. I don't know if it's the containment breach lights or blood giving everything a red tint. The last defender has his legs clamped between SCP-82's jaws. They sever the man with a splash of blood, until the giant twists the neck, silencing the man forever. It digs its wide fingers into the eyes,

ripping off the top half of the skull and exposing the guard's brains. SCP 82 brings it to his lips, his actions, and expression as jubilant as a kid enjoying a gogherd as it slurps. I shudder and roll the crown forward. Your Majesty, you lost your crown while dealing with those foul miscreants. Are you civil crime? The mad giant picks up the crown with its pinky and thumb before riding it on its bloody head. He left throwing us to know yourself, and shall be rewarded once we need the good doctor.

A smile creeps up my lips. I've done it. Mission accomplished. This small bloody spectacle is just the beginning of the woes for the foundation. Yes, my liege, I shall show you the way. Our journey will be long and arduous, but with your strength and my cunning, none of these dogs will stand on our way. I'm in arduous. Its eyes deeply and turns its clenched smile on me.

But I am famished. And if there is more fighting to be done, well, I suppose it can't be helped. The arms are lightning fast as they grab both of my arms. My bones snap and break as the fists close. I try to struggle as my screams rip my throat. But there's nothing I can do as the beast hoists me up. My arm wrenches and pain gushes for my arms. arm along with my blood as it's ripped from my body and swallowed hole.

Ah, be a good sport, won't you? The giant says and tucks me under its armpit. I only ate one. We barrel through the facility. The rest of the security forces have been called in as SCP 82 plows through walls, making its own exit. I try to convince myself that it's going to be all right, that I can be tended to once we contact my society handlers.

But as time passes, I silently beg to be hit by one of the stray bullets. The sounds of gunfire and alarms vanish. As I blink my eyes, I realize I had passed out. We're in the deep woods surrounding the facility. I look up at the giant from my hiding place, afraid of its attention. But sure, I'll die if I can't persuade it. My king, my voice is weak from pain and blood loss. You must get me to a...

Do a phone. I'll call. And then the good doctor. Oh, I'm sure I'll figure it out on my own. As you said, I'm more than a mindless off. You have a decent mind yourself. I wonder what it tastes like. The hands close around my head again. My vision goes red before the pain starts. And I remember the guard's brains before I hear another loud crack. SCP-82 is genetically human. However, through some process, SCP-82 has grown to giant proportions,

approximately 2.4 meters tall, and weighing over 310 kilograms. Subject is both overweight and possesses a great amount of muscle mass. Forearms are muscular and dangerous, with a circumference of about 71 centimeters. The breadth of the subject's fist is nearly 30 centimeters along the knuckles. Though feet are large, they are small in proportion to subject's body. Subject's skin is tanned dark, and its overall physical appearance is compounded by numerous scars.

The results of years of attempts at suppression and containment. Most x-rays have been difficult to interpret because of the high density of its muscle tissue, but scans have revealed countless bullets and even several knife and sword blades lodged in SCP-82's flesh. SCP-82 refers to itself as Ferno and speaks fluent French and heavily accented English. When it speaks, it does so through enormous clenched teeth. SCP-82 only parts teeth to eat food and to sing. Subject will sing songs of its own pleasing, ranging from forgotten Victorian-era bar songs to modern classical.

The demeanor of SCP-82 is very amicable and carefree. Subject often attempts to joke and is usually polite. to personnel, inviting them to dinner. However, visiting personnel should be aware that at any moment, SCP-82 is capable of attacking and voraciously eating others. SCP 82 is incapable of differentiating fact from fiction when he reads it or watches television and films. On several occasions, SCP-82 has expressed a great desire to meet his favorite person, Annable Lecter. And subject will believe that all television programming

is some form of reality television.