The SCP Experience - Oh, the Joy of Being an Intern!! | SCP-010

Episode Date: April 27, 2022

SCP Foundation SAFE class object, SCP-010: Oh, the Joy of Being an Intern!! Written by: Joshua Simpson This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-010, and is released under Creative Commons Sharealike 3.0. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/ DISCLAIMER: This episode contains explicit content. Parental guidance is advised for children under the age of 18. Listen at your own discretion. #drscp #scp #scpfoundation #doctorscp #scpencounters #securecontainprotect #scpstories #scpexplained #whatisscp Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

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50 tours on $1 million to $10 dollars, The SCP Foundation's internship program at glowing reviews. At first, I was cautious. But when Mr. Emerson, the facility manager, showed me the scores on the satisfaction questionnaires that are completed each year by the graduating interns, I was convinced. The program, which promised to fast-track us and to lead researcher roles,

required all interns to volunteer in three SCP research studies. research studies. These aren't too demanding, Mr. Emerson said. Other than the compulsory by-daily donations of blood plasma, the unpaid 18-hour shifts, and the surgical removal of a few square centimeters of skin from our thighs, the SCP internship program would never expose us to any significant risks of physical or psychological harm. At least, that's what the contract said. My experiences as intern were, without any real peril.

until the third and final time I volunteered in the role of test subject. I still avoid that area of our research facility, Zone 9, which was situated in the back corner of the building. Mr. Emerson had introduced us five interns to the lead researcher who would be conducting the study. This is Dr. Combe, Mr. Emerson said. He will take good care of you. He was an intern here himself once.

Isn't that right, Dr. Colm? Yes, sir, said. Dr. Kohn. And what wonderful times they were. Mr. Emerson had already briefed us that Dr. Cohn was conducting a study on the limitations of an object known as SCP-10. SCP-10 was a heavy black box resembling an antiquated handheld radio transmitter with a primitive cathode ray screen and over 100 unlabeled buttons. This black box, which I'll refer to as the controller, was attuned to six iron collars, which each had Russian lettering stamped into the metal, along with a logo of some slaves, themselves wearing iron collars building a pyramid.

Fixing the collar over my neck, Dr. Kohlm repeated what Mr. Emerson told us in the briefing. These collars intersect the nervous system at the very top of the spinal cord, at the brain stem, giving control of all the body's motor nerves to whomever wields the controller. When he closed the When I clicked the collar closed around my neck, I felt that click vibrate down my spine and out along all my limbs to my fingertips and toes. In its wake, I felt a stillness. After a few seconds, it felt like more than just a stillness. It was full-on paralysis.

I could only move my eyeballs, which began to dart around frantically. this, Kohn was quick to reassure me. Try to relax. It's scary at first, but you'll get used to it. You'll only be controlled for a couple hours per day. Between this, you'll be under observation in your cell, where we can ensure your continued health. Without warning, he grabbed the controller with both hands, and I felt my left leg lift up and out. My right foot pushed away on the ground, sending my weight forward onto my extended left foot. I shouldn't have been surprised, but I was. The feeling of your body moving without your own control is alarming. You can't prepare for it. It feels like being on a roller coaster, but you can't see the rails.

Looking around Colm's laboratory, I observed quite a strange setup. The walls were plastered with posters of what looked like sheet music, but the lines were vertical. and instead of musical notes, they contained black and gray quadrilaterals. I later found out that these were posters of Laban notation. As sheet music indicates which notes to play and when, Laban notation indicates which body parts to move and when. Kohln borrowed it from dance theory textbooks, of which many lay open around the lab,

with pencils or scissors stuck in them as improvised bookmarks. Some posters he chained together. overlapping them slightly, and in places they spilled over onto the ceiling or the floor. Kohn was an erratic man. We were all interns once. He laughed as he programmed me to walk to our facility's medical practice. Kohn followed alongside me. I couldn't turn my head to look at him,

so I had to look out the corner of my eyes to see him while he kept my head facing forwards. The doctor will check you for any adverse reactions to SCP-10, Dr. Kohn said. As per Emerson's requirements, then our study can really begin. Over the first week, Dr. Kohn worked through various tests. In the testing room, I'd see the other subjects, all familiar faces from the internship program. But despite standing alongside them and physically interacting with them all week, I never really met them.

Our only connection was eye contact. Any other contact was futile without being able to exchange. words. I knew their faces, but not them. Our part was easy, though. We just submitted our bodies for two or three hours each day. Dr. Kohn was the one doing all the hard work, figuring out how to use the controller. He would stare at his Laban notation for several minutes, mumbling to himself, and tapping the buttons on the controller to see how we moved, then make more entries into his voice recorder. When he managed to complete a task, such as making one of us do a forward roll or a twirl, he'd jump up from his chair and punch the air. It seemed like this

study was more about Dr. Cohn training himself to use the controller than anything to do with us. As the week passed, Dr. Cohn worked through his tests, recording his findings onto tape. Locomotion and basic manual tasks are quite straightforward. Achieving dexterity remains challenging. Speech is still elusive due to its neuromuscular intricacy. but rudimentary oral actions such as producing noise, closing the mouth, sticking out the tongue, and biting are possible. Subject's fatigue remains irrelevant to performance. The extent of this, and capacity to induce self-harming efforts, warrants further testing. Seems capable of contorting the body into positions unachievable via natural movement.

Must explore hypothesis that limbs can be extended beyond usual ranges of motion. Each day, when he was done with me, after I'd been made to march, leap, crouch, lift, carry, and drag objects, he'd march me back to stand in the middle of my cell. He'd stand outside the door when he turned off my collar. How much longer? He'd slammed the door in me before I could ask him any questions. It became clear that we were just his marionettes. In the second week, things got weird.

This week, we'll be testing the dials on the control of the. which moderate adrenal and hormonal responses in the sympathetic nervous system, Dr. Kohn had said casually, as if that should be of no concern to us. He had a standing in the test room as usual, but this time he approached us one by one and lowered a blindfold over our eyes. In my blindness, all I could hear was the clicking sound of the buttons of Dr. Kohn's controller and intermittent thudding, like flesh on stone. There would be a long pause, during which I could hear Dr. Colne typing at his keyboard. Then the thudding would continue, each time louder than before.

I heard Dr. Coln laughing to himself as he typed. Oh, we all served our time as interns once. When this experiment stopped, I heard the testing room's door open and some feet shuffling out of the room. This was followed by what sounded like someone mopping the floor, when Dr. Colm removed my blindfold, with my head fixed dead ahead. I looked side to side, out the corners of my eyes. In my peripheries, I saw three of the other subjects were now missing.

It was just me, and one other intern, Lisa, remaining. You two are the lucky ones, said Dr. Kohn with a sleazy smile. He made us raise our arms out and spread our legs, so he could more easily remove our clothes. Then he turned us to stand face to face, naked, noses nearly touching. Lisa's green eyes filled my view. The fact she was beautiful to me was irrelevant. What happened next was against my will. Dr. Kohn turned a dial. I felt a tingling feeling rise up from my pelvic floor and the unmistakable feeling of arousal flowing up through my body. Seeing her face blushing

red, I knew Dr. Kohn was doing the same to her. Her eyes looked panicked. Lucky things, said Dr. Kohn. The joy of being an intern. I will not repeat what he made me do next. The third week, he marched all of us into the courtyard, where he started making us stack textbooks on top of one another, with the largest at the bottom. He said nothing the whole day.

After we ran out of textbooks, he had a stack a range of objects, an unused computer terminal, first aid boxes, drawers from the filing cabinets, and crates. Each day, he'd drive us all back out to the courtyard, to continue construction of the obelisk, as he began to call it. One day he took his nameplate from the slot on the wall in his lab and changed it to some Russian word, which he pronounced as Farron, he told us. You will now address me as Farron.

One of the subjects, Dale, who'd been momentarily relieved of his collar so Dr. Colne's assistant could change the battery, took the opportunity to shout out. You've lost it! You're nuts! He shook the chains of his manacles, violently, causing a ruckus. When Dr. Cohn walked up to him, Dale continued, We're not your slaves. Let us go. Dr. Cohn gestured his assistant to hurry up and return the collar to Dale's neck, which they promptly did. Then Dr. Cohn raised the controller up to cradle it in both his hands and started clicking buttons. Dale's mouth slammed shut, and he

stood upright. Then Dale's head began to slowly turn around, like an owl's, until it strained against his neck muscles and vertebrae, turning past 90 degrees. He was nearly looking backwards. His eyes bulged, then crunch! His head spun around in one full turn, and blood immediately streamed out of his ears and nose. The life left Dale's eyes. Then Dr. Kohn clicked at the controller and wound Dale's head back around to its original position. Hmm, interesting, said Dr. Kohn, clicking away at the buttons and raising the arm of Dale's standing corpse. We retain the capacity to control subjects even after death. This opens many further avenues of experimentation. Having found that he can control a dead body the same as a living one,

Dr. Kohn was enthused. He ran Dale continuously for several days. Having his assistance brings so many coffees to his desk that he'd stacked the paper cups into a miniature obelisk. He was like a kid obsessed with a new toy. And just like a kid obsessed with a new toy, he soon, Soon wore out his obsession. Dale's toenails all fell out. His skin was cracking and peeling, and the soles of his feet were bruised from stomping around. This decomposition put a ticking clock on Dr. Colne's experiments.

As Dale's tissues began to unravel, fluids leaked all over the floor, and his body lost its structural integrity. Soon, sheets of tissue were flapping, and slabs of muscle were sliding off Dale's body as Dr. Cole made him do cartels. day, when making Dale's corpse carry a heavy crate back to the lab from the depot, both Dale's legs completely disconnected at the knees with an audible pop. Dr. Cohn promptly chucked him into the disposal trolley that would be wheeled to the facility's incinerator. To solve this problem of decomposition, Dr. Cohn ordered a shipment of formaldehyde and other taxidermic chemicals.

Meanwhile, he had his continued building his obelisk. He made a stand atop one another's shoulders like circus acrobats, passing up crates and boxes to balance them atop the totem of his megalomania. After witnessing Dale's gruesome death, some of the other interns were freaked out, and I'd hear them shouting at Dr. Cohn whenever their collars were off. I thought he'd kill them. Maybe they wanted to be killed. However, evidently, Dr. Cohn didn't want to lose any more of us until his taxidermic chemicals arrived. If you don't fully cooperate, I'll simply statue you until the shipment comes, he said. Statuing us became his preferred method of punishment for disobedience. Lisa got it worse than anyone. After our perverse experiment, she always fought Dr. Cohn

every time he had to remove her collar for diagnostics or to change the battery. One day she managed to split his lip with a kick as he changed her collar, so he statued her for three weeks, putting her on a drip to avoid dehydration. She'd just stand there in the middle of the middle. of the lab, as if fixed in rigor mortis, draped with IV tubes. Dr. Colne would use her to pin notes on, or use her ear holes to hold pencils. She didn't move a millimeter, except for her eyes. Near the start, her eyes would squeeze tight as if painfully straining to lift some great weight, but towards the end, her eyes would just hang drooped open without blinking, as if she had simply left us. When Dr. Cohn eventually turned off Leavis'Leod.

Lisa's collar. She didn't collapse to the floor or run for the door. She just stood there. She was gone. Either she departed her body or receded so deep inside of it that she couldn't be accessed by the outside world anymore. Or, inversely, she couldn't access it. Weeks later, while Dr. Kohn did desk work, Lisa jolted into convulsions, wailing like she was giving birth, and did so until Colm gave her a shot to knock her out. One wasn't enough. The first only slowed her spasms. I counted six shots before she finally stopped fitting.

When she woke up hours later, she wasn't the same person as before. She'd freeze, then move in jolts, start, and stop, as if she feared that taking a step might break her leg or that turning her head might snap her neck. But her eyes were always on the controller. Every time Dr. Kohn started clicking buttons, she'd turn her head to watch him, with eyes full of fear that those buttons might be for her. She never spoke, but sometimes she'd growl under her breath like an animal dying in a trap. Under threat of being statute, we all signed to prolong our term as research subjects.

Then I realized, this could be my life now, building Dr. Kohn's obelisk higher and higher day by day, whether there was life in my body or not. One day, Kohn unlocked my cell and controlled me to step forth for the day's experiments, but my muscles received no signal from my collar. The batteries must have died, I realized. This occasionally happened. Then the cell door was open, and Kohn was already walking ahead to the testing room. Well, the sweetest revenge against a manipulator is to convince them they're manipulating you.

So, I walked out and started marching. down the corridor to the testing room, as he'd usually have me do. When I neared a fork in the path, I took a deep but silent breath. Then I bolted for the exit. He turned and smashed a button on the wall, locking the door just as I arrived to crash against him. Then, with no other options, I turned my attention to Dr. Kohn. He was already standing up and taking a tranquilizer shot from his shirt pocket, where he

had them stored in a row like pens. I ran into the nearest room, where I saw an open book on a desk, and inside the book, a pair of scissors. I grabbed the scissors, then turned to see him lunging at me with a shot. I jumped back, swinging downwards with the scissors to deflect the shot away. The scissors staked right through the back of his hand, and he dropped the shot to the floor. As I yank the scissors to get them out of his hand, he swung at me with a shot in his other hand. He stuck it right into my thigh, and I quickly felt my strength drain out into the floor.

I collapsed. When I woke, with a fully charged collar, my legs were walking me down the corridor. I was halfway to the depot already, and Kohn's voice came over the intercom. Seeing as you rendered my hand unusable, I'm going to have to use yours. The shipment is here. He was using me to retrieve his shipment from the delivery depot in the car park, as he often did. He'd sit in his control room, watching us on the cameras, controlling us from afar. When you're back, we're going to do a little test to find the true limits of statuing his subject.

I don't think we went nearly far enough with Lisa. I was done. He no longer needed living bodies to conduct his tests. This walk was my final walk, a walk to retrieve the chemicals that will preserve my corpse for Dr. Kohn's experiments. I began then to break down and grieve for myself. But my legs carried me on regardless. When I arrived at the depot, Mr. Emerson was signing for the delivery of the goods. Emerson, if only he knew what these goods would be used for.

My legs suddenly stopped walking, then resumed. I deducted that Dr. Cohn must have hesitated upon seeing Mr. Emerson. I wished then, more than at any other point during the study, that I could control my body enough to tell Mr. Emerson what was happening. Then I had an idea. I'd seen it years ago on TV. captive soldiers used it to covertly broadcast messages to their allies. Here it is. I would blink Morse code. Mr. Emerson was a highly educated man. He might just get the message. It was my best shot.

It was my only shot. As I came face to face with Mr. Emerson, I stared him in the eye and blinked my message, which translated to Coln Mad, S-O-S-S-S. The briefest summation of the situation I could spell. As I blinked, Mr. Emerson looked me back square in the eye with a blank face. When I finished my sequence of blinks, Mr. Emerson just clicked his pen, turned around, and walked away. My legs carried me and the tools of my demise back to the lab. After dropping the crates at Dr. Colne's desk, he released me to wait in my cell. I sat on the edge of the bed, trying to come up with a way to kill myself with a limited selection of objects in the room. Then, as I futilely tried to wind the bed sheet into a rope, the door clicked open.

The door never usually unlocked until Dr. Cohn had activated our collars. I jumped up and tried the handle. It opened. This was real. Excited and terrified. I crept outside my cell and began to sneak down the corridor towards the exit of Zone 9. Passing the testing room, I saw Dr. Cohn had chained Lisa to a rail on the wall and was bent over his desk to tinker with her collar. Don't know why yours is always acting up like this, he muttered to himself, bent over her collar with a range of screwdrivers across his desk.

Beside him were the various jars of chemicals I'd brought over from the depot, and an array of syringes it used to inject them into Lisa to preserve her corpse for his experiments. Lisa looked straight at me, but there was no recognition in her eyes. The exit was just a bit further along the corridor, but I knew it would be locked. Dr. Coln had his back to me. He was engrossed in fixing Lisa's collar, and then he raised it over his own head in order to test that the latch was closing securely.

My collar was still locked around my own neck, and the controller was right before him on the desk. He could stature me in seconds, or perhaps I could statue him. I entered the testing room and crept up behind Dr. Colm. In one sudden movement, I reached around him to snatch the controller. He flinched and batted my arm up and away,

standing to his feet. I reached again, but he grabbed both my arms. I was weak after weeks of his experiments. I struggled, but could feel him overpowering me. In one last effort, as Dr. Cohn restrained my arms, I managed to dive at the controller and headbutted off the table. He turned to reach for the controller and froze when he saw Lisa stood there clutching it in both her hands. With a vacant look in her eyes, she started clicking the buttons. She made him raise his hand and splay his fingers out. I stepped back from him. him. His other hand grabbed the index finger of his splayed hand. She made him begin to slowly bend it back until it popped, then kept going, twisting his finger and pulling it away from his

hand, so the skin stretched like chewing gum and began to tear. Then rip. She had him rip off his finger and throw it at the wall. Then the next one, pop, twist, tear, rip, throw. And the next one, pop twist, tear, rip, throw, and so on. Until his hand was a a trembling nub and his eyes bulged out of his expressionless face. Lisa bashed the buttons on the controller, and with each bash, Dr. Colne's body moved in sudden unnatural directions. His knees would bend backwards, his spine would corkscrew, his jaw would wrench itself sideways. Soon, he crumpled into a tangled of broken limbs. Then Lisa turned on me. I tried to look her in the eyes, but she seemed to see me as a threat equal to Dr. Colne.

She raised the controller in my direction and growled. As she went to bash the buttons, Emerson burst through the door. He glanced at Colne's tangled corpse, then at Lisa, then at me. Two security operatives appeared behind Emerson. He pointed at Lisa. They shot her dead. Congratulations on completing your internship, doctor. Mr. Emerson briskly said, unlocking my collar, putting his arm around me, and walking me out of the room.

His operatives ran in to gather the bodies. Mr. Emerson continued. Let's take a walk. In his office, clutching a mug of cocoa, I recounted the events of the study to Emerson. He sat there and nodded, unsurprised, as if he'd already figured it all out and was just listening to my story to confirm his understanding.

He took a deep breath and sighed. Now, even after all that, I'm sorry to tell you that. Technically, you didn't actually finish your third obligated research study. I was shocked. Was he really going to make me go through all this again? Now, he said. I might be able to bend the rules a little bit here,

because I do want to help you, but you have to help me. He slid a sheet of paper across the desk. It read, Internship Program Satisfaction Questionaire. The internship program is a very important part of our facility's culture, he explained. And I wouldn't want this hiccup to deter future interns from

applying to the program as you did. He smiled at me across the desk and waited for my reaction. When I took too long, he took another stack of paperwork and began rifling through it. Or we have quite a few relatively safe studies here you might want to help us with. I grabbed his pen and started ticking the boxes on the questionnaire, five stars all the way down. The SCP Foundation's internship program has glowing reviews. SCP-10 consists of a series of six apparently identical cast iron collars with numbered metal tags and one remote control. The control is SCP-10-1.

The collars are SCP-10-2 through 10-7. The collars contain intricate electronic components and are powered by small 5-millimeter diameter, 2-millimeter-thick 100-volt batteries. These batteries are rechargeable. The remote is a heavy black box resembling an old-style handheld radio transmitter and receiver with a primitive blue and white cathode ray screen and a series of more than 100 unlabeled buttons, as well as a frequency tuner. Through trial and error, the frequencies of all six currently found collars have been discovered. A label in Russian is stamped into the metal, along with a logo consisting of workers building a pyramid.

No official Russian corporation or government agency uses this logo or matches the words stamped into the metal. Placing the collar around the neck of a person and securing it allows one to control their every movement with the remote. It is also capable of producing an adrenal response and activating or deactivating the sympathetic nervous system. The most abnormal feature of the collars are the effect they have on the body morphology. They allow the user of the remote to reconfigure. the shape of the victim to an extent that is apparently only limited by the knowledge of the programming language of the remote.