The SCP Experience - Predator Drone | SCP-160 (Part 1)

Episode Date: March 25, 2024

Want to listen ad-free? Try it FREE for 7 days here: patreon.com/TheSCPExperience SCP Foundation EUCLID class object, SCP-160: Predator Drone This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-160 and is released under Creative Commons Sharealike 3.0. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/ Author: Lucas Click * * * 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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Profite. Viarai, the voice that we love that be light. The thought slams into my mind as foul air rushes up my nose and into my lungs. I rear back and cough as a tornado was unleashed in my mind.

Memory squirt around me as I try to make sense of my surroundings. Think, the words of my mentor echo in my head. I've been laid out on my ass more times than I can count. Everyone will get their bell rung sooner or later in this line of work. If you're lucky enough to wake up, being able to outthink or at least surprise your opponents is the only thing you have in your favor.

But that doesn't mean waking up swinging. When you wake up with no idea where the hell you are, focus on what you do know. Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes and listen. There's a chorus of snickering not far from me, accompanied by a couple of hearty slaps on the back. The voices are familiar, and as I place them, I focus on my hands next.

My fingers grasp the rough padded floor. The chemical taste in my mouth reminds me of breathing in too much chlorine at an indoor pool. Open up your eyes, son. The voice is comforting but unfamiliar. I flinch, as I realize how quickly I obeyed a stranger before the light fills my vision. I rear back from the firm, but gentle hands cupping the side of my face. I remember the man's impressive mustache earlier when we lined up around the mats and... Mats?

Shit! It all comes rushing back. Sparring! The instructor chose me as the first opponent. Creed Carter had raised his hand as soon as I stepped in. Funny, I don't remember instructor Breyer's asking for volunteers, but then, Creed is his favorite. I have more training in hand-to-hand combat than most of the recruits, but apparently not as much as Creed. Glancing past the medic, I see the bigger trainee smirking at me.

The other security recruits give him not so covert high-fives as instructor Breyer's pretends not to notice. Well? Breyer's asks, and his no-nonsense tone as always. No signs of a concussion. The medic's knees pop as he stands up and rubs his back. Nothing a handful of aspirin and some bed rest won't fix. Give him the former if you got any handy. His match isn't over.

The medic spins on his heel. He's a sponsored cadet. Technically, you're not allowed to make that call without his mentor. Breyer's meets his glare with a much more menacing one. I'm in charge of their training. You think they'll pull their punches outside the academy? I try not to sigh in front of the senior staff. Not this shit again.

Ever since I joined the Foundation, it's been one pissing contest after the other. Directors clash with researchers, investigators argue with security, and the never-ending tug-of-war between the Overseer Council and the Ethics Committee. Every faction in the Foundation has different ideas on how to run it. No side is a clear majority over the other, making for a political war of constantly shifting alliances and betrayals. Things were simpler in the society. The chain of command is rigid and clear.

But simpler isn't always better. The founding families had too much sway, and members of servant families, like my own, followed their orders without question. The foundation has more shades of gray than the society, and that's better than seeing everything as black and white. I'm fine, sir. I climb back to my feet, showing the medic I can do so without stumbling.

Just got the wind knocked out of me for a second. I'm going to knock a lot more than that out of you. Creed's latest bout of wit prompts another chorus of chuckles from the other would-be security grunts circling him. The techs and researcher cadets keep their distance to avoid being dragged in. I can't count on the future investigators. Most of them want my blood as much as Creed after he's. let my former allegiance with the society slip. I still don't know how he figured that out. None of that's ideal, but the one I really have to worry about is instructor Briars.

Briars is a reverse giant from South Africa. Barely five feet tall, he compensated for his short stature by hitting the gym until he ended up nearly as wide as he is tall. His remaining hair clings to the sides of his face, but I bet it was a crew cut before time caught up with his scalp. And of course, He's the one in charge of the sparring matches. Normally, that means stopping Creed from growing too far. But judging from the open hostility on Breyer's face, I doubt he'll call off the match for anything less than a broken neck. What are you waiting for, cadet? Get back in the ring!

I take my time walking back into the ring. Creed is exchanging pleasantries with the rest of his flock, thinking I'm a lightweight. He's not wrong. At least not when compared to him. When it comes to fighting, If both opponents are evenly matched, then the advantage goes to the bigger guy. Creed is definitely bigger than me, and my head is still ringing from his last blow. My jaw is lined with four perfect indentures of his knuckles.

When it comes to physicality, he's got me beat in pretty much every area imaginable. But a fight is more than the physical components. Even though my mentor isn't famous for his brawling, I remember his words after our first field exercise. Gus, your problem is how you think. All your life, you were brought up to think a certain way, follow orders first, and ask question second, if at all. You need to flip your priorities.

Always ask questions, if not to the people around you, but to yourself. Making blanket assumptions is a quick way to get yourself killed. Or a quick way to get my ass handed to me. My confidence is as much to blame for Creed's victory as his skill. As I could walk, I've been learning how to fight. Laying down my life for the families we served became as much a reflex as blinking. I saw Creed and dismissed him as a muscle-headed former jock, not someone who could stand toe to toe against my lifetime of training.

Lesson learned, I won't make the same mistake twice. You're going down, society, bitch. I don't bother replying. Not when I'll need every ounce of air to see me through this fight. barrels toward me. His fist raised high. I ignore my instincts to take the brunt of the blow and duck low and fast instead. Stepping into Creed's attack, I quickly punch his ribs, then roll away on the mat, coming up behind him. I get in a defensive stance and turn back to Creed. He's stumbling and rubbing his ribs. But other than that, my attack didn't do much.

This isn't karate, kid? Breyer steps closer to the mats but keeps his distance. Your own society pals aren't going to give you a point for landing a punch, cadet huff. Get in there and finish him off. I'm good over here. The quip flies for my lips without thinking. Research cadets stifle their laughter while the security grunts stare at me in open wonder. Part of me chaffs at the idea of mouthing off to a superior, but there's also a stab of excitement and joy as Breyer's skin reddens.

It's evident to everyone here that Breyers wants to see Creed wipe the floor. with me. I can't trust him to be impartial with his combat advice. My mentor would be proud. Not only am I thinking outside the box, but I'm becoming a wise ass just like him. Greed seizes the initiative while I'm busy giving myself a mental pat on the back. Despite his large size, he is surprisingly fast. I managed to deflect one of his barrage of punches off my left shoulder and slide past him. His knee flashes, and I raise my leg on reflex to block. My leg picks up a couple extra pounds of painful weight, the bruise already forming. I break away and dance back, distancing myself from Creed.

He's breathing heavier now. Good. If I can't outpunch him, I can outlast him. Weir down his endurance until I get an opening. But I'm tired, too. And my injuries will definitely slow me down. Creed charges again, and I rush forward to meet him. My movement catches him off guard almost as much as my punch.

His nose cracks but does. doesn't break. The blood running down his nostrils makes him take a cautious step back. Now! With a burst of speed, I race behind Creed and make sure my uninjured knee is to the back of his. After that, all it takes is a hard shove to his chest. Gravity and momentum do the heavy lifting for me, knocking Creed onto the mat head first. Yes! I wipe my mouth with my wrist and let my body relax. I did it! I managed to take down the big son of a bitch! My breath comes out in heavy and uneven.

heavy and uneven bursts. I fight the smile from forming on my face. As I lock eyes with Breyer's glare, I realize my mistake. He hasn't called the match. Creed bellows from the ground as he climbs to his feet. There's no time to counter or block, and I don't have enough energy to dodge. Creed wraps me up in his arms and squeezes me to his chest. The air gushes out my lungs as Creed's grip tightens. My bones aching and popping. I thrash, searching for an opening. But Creed tightens his grip. The air is heavy with the stench of his sweat as Creed lifts me off the ground. I don't know what he's planning on doing to me,

but he gives me just enough leverage to do something. Thrusting my leg forward, Creed and I both scream as my sorenue collides with his crotch. Thank God he didn't wear his cup today. Creed leans back, and I press my weight into him, helping him fall again. The impact is almost as painful as Creed's embrace, but he uncuffs his arms from around me.

I slip off him. and spend the next minute catching my breath. As he starts to lurch off the ground, I drop my elbow into his crotch once more. That's enough, Hoff. Briars yanks me to my feet and shakes me. That was an illegal move. Illegal move?

A familiar voice speaks off to the side. My head is still spinning, but I make out three figures heading to the mat. Slowly, the world stops spinning enough for me to recognize them. The one at the center is my mentor, Cody Hale. True to form, he's dressed in his usual attire of beat-up jeans and an old t-shirt, sporting some punk rock band I've never heard of. Cody has told me before that he dresses a certain way because he wants people to underestimate him, all while quoting something called Colombo in an impression I didn't recognize.

The man beside him isn't a man at all, depending on who you ask. SCP 73 prefers to go by Kane. Technically, he's a foundation asset who has helped Cody on several assignments. His mechanical arms, legs, and the glaring symbol engraved into his forehead are the least impressive things about him. Kane is toying with a bag of beef jerky, examining a piece before handing it over to the lone woman in the group. Minnie Booth is a knockout who can knock out anyone.

Those are Cody's words, but as lame as they are, they are accurate. From how she stands, it's obvious Minnie is. former military. As Breyers steps away from me, many relaxes, then hands the piece of jerky to the small mutt in her arms. Agent Hale, Agent Booth. Briars straightens his posture, trying to establish dominance gain. You don't have authorization to... Specialist Kane. Breyer stiffens at Cody's rebuke. Excuse me. Kane has been designated the rank of specialist by Director Ramirez. He's not an agent. But he's still part of the foundation. It's rude to address us and not him. Brier's knuckles pop as his

large hands close into a fist. It makes me wonder how the society would react if they knew one of their most hated enemies is even better at annoying the foundation than they are. Director Ramirez also gave me strict orders to... Are we really going to do this, Briars? Cody rubs his eyes. Go back and forth and pretend like you're doing your duty when really you're just swinging your dick around, trying to douse the rest of us in your pissing contest? Many cringes. I think you're mixing your metaphors. I believe it's intentional.

Kane raises another piece of jerky to his eyes. He rotates it, examining each angle before returning it to the bag. Doesn't make it any less gross. Fine, Cody sighs and holds his hands up. Have it your way, instructor Breyers. Agents' booth, specialist Kane and I, are requesting permission for cadet.

That's Huff, Carter, and Nowak to accompany us for specialized training. On whose authority? Breyer stiffens in a way that says he already knows he's lost, but wants to go down fighting. You've got Ramirez's number, right? Call her if you want. Cody walks to the mat and offers me his hand. As for you three, follow us. We're going on a field trip. Cadet Novak is one of the research cadets in our class. She's a young woman with curly brown hair and thick glasses.

I never paid her much attention before. Most of the cadets want me dead, but she seems content to mind her own business, and I return the favor. She steps away from the back of the class, hidden behind some burlier recruits. Right, Cody nods after we step out into the hallway, away from the other recruits.

The foundation, unlike most old dogs, is trying to learn a few new tricks. Specifically, we're hoping to supplement the training you undergo at the academy with field exercises. Kane, if you be so kind. Kane reaches into a messenger bag, strung across his baggy sweatshirt, and pulls out three devices. Novak's hands twitch when she nears Kane, but her apprehension vanishes as she takes his offering. Creed steps up next, squaring his shoulders as if daring Kane to try anything. He doesn't, and moves on to me without so much as another glance at Creed and hands me a smartphone.

Knowing the foundation wouldn't give us anything so basic, I looked to Cody for an explanation, but he's fiddling with a pack of gum while Minnie sets book on the ground. The dog has put on a few pounds since I last saw him, looking more like a pig in a dog costume. He waddles over to me, his tongue lolling as he happily pants. Smiling, I kneel and pat the dog behind the ears, until his stubby hind legs start to thump.

Growing up in the society, I was never allowed to have pets, or anything else that might jeopardize my loyalty to the founding families. Right. Cody manages to free a brown square from the pack. This is the latest doohickey the foundation's mad scientists have cooked up. Only you or a direct superior will be able to unlock it. We're calling them SC phones, many smiles. That is precisely not what they're called.

Not my fault, R&D sucks at branding. He pops the tiny square in his mouth. His jaw grinding as a look of distaste forms on his face. Anyway, it's got a lot of technology that shouldn't exist, incorporated into its mainframe. You'll find all kinds of bells and whistles to keep you entertained. But you can do that on the plane. For now, just read the dossier and get up to speed before we lift off. I follow directions and place my thumb on the single button at the bottom of the phone.

The screen stares blankly at me for several seconds before flashing to life. The foundation's logo flashes across the screen before a welcome message is addressed specifically to me. I'm not even allowed to see what else it has to offer as the mission prompt fills the screen. Given a dossier is a comfort. Many of the heirs and the society families take their roles very serious. They undergo rigorous training and countless hours of discipline to ensure the success of every mission. Unfortunately, that can't be said for the younger siblings not destined to take a seat of power. It often fell on servants like me to memorize the particulars of a mission to ensure that our wards came back alive.

I failed in that regard on my last assignment, which would have marked me for death had I returned to my society handlers. Although, based on the treatment at the hands of briars and creed, I'm not sure if that can't also be said about most of the foundation. But I can worry about that later. As my eyes scan over the debriefing, I see that it's not complete. Some of the information has been redacted, including the name of our destination. From the pictures, it looks like a small town you'd find anywhere in America, the perfect hiding place for anomalies in the wild.

Going through the reports, I find dozens of flyers of missing pets. Seriously? Creed whines, being a faster reader than I gave him credit for. What are we? Animal control? You're not an animal person, are you, Cadet Carter? Cody grins and glances down at his leg. Guess I should have figured. I follow his gaze and find a book.

He sniffs around Carter's feet and then lifts a leg. Book may be tiny, but he does. Pisses like a St. Bernard. Noak's button nose scrunches as she steps back, the smell of ammonia rising. Carter finally looks down, his face darkening with rage. Fucking mutt! Creed's foot is bigger than Book, and he rears it back, ready to kick the tiny dog. Both Minnie and I rush forward, but Cody is closer.

The pudgy man charges into the much larger cadet, ramming his forearm into Creed's chest and pinning him to the wall. Creed raises his fists, but they freeze in mid-air when Cody presses an automatic pistol to his forehead. The air around us thickens with silence. What? Creed's gulp is deafening. I don't like Creed, but I can't help but feel somewhat sorry. Cody's expression is almost as threatening as his gun. The fact that he can still speak despite the circumstances is either a point toward his bravery or stupidity. You going to shoot me? Over a dog?

No. Cody's voice has unrecognizable harsh notes that would make Breyer's cower. The gun is just to get your attention. You make a move toward my dog or any animal on this up, and I'll end you, literally. I'll wipe out any evidence you ever existed, Cadet Carter, starting with your memories. Then I'll hand you over to the ghouls and lab coats. Cody, it's the first time I've heard Minnie sound scared. You? Creed swallows and tries again. My mother, Cadet Carter, Cody cuts him off.

You've got two choices. One is shut up and nod. I already told you the other one. I don't realize there's a lump in my throat until I swallow. The society knows the identities of a handful of agents in the foundation. Cody's public work as a journalist in the past, along with some moles in the foundation, led us to identify him. In the time I've known him, he's been professional but also humorous and almost carefree. It's always been hard for me to connect him to the stories whispered around the society's

campfires, but I believe them now. This is the society's boogeyman behind the destruction of the USS Miller, with nearly three dozen society fatalities to his name. I won't ever forget it. And neither will creed. He clamps his jaw shut and nods. Cody shoves him once more, then holsters the gun behind his back, spreads across his. his face, and he's back to a regular geek pushing 40. He's a wolf in sheep's clothing. Come on, kids, daylight's burning. The Foundation's plane might have been immune to electronic interference from our SC phones, but they still had a strict anti-smoking policy, or, in Cody's case, an anti-vap policy. I guess he's not used to the new form of delivery for his addiction,

moving it back and forth in his mouth like a camel getting ready to spit. It's a jarring sight. This is the same guy who held Creed at gunpoint a few hours ago. We finally land and take a blacked-out SUV to our final destination. Founded our surroundings. Like the photos on my phone, the park we're in looks like one you could find anywhere. Rolling grass fields are framed by a track for running and jogging. I thought the place would be deserted due to all the missing animals.

But it's the opposite. It everywhere you look are people with their pets on a leash. The park is congested with them. I guess dogs need to stretch their legs twice as much as humans. Most of the disappearances have also happened at homes during early morning or late night. People must have figured there is strength in numbers. As we step past the signs designating the park's area for dogs, I see Cody looking at me with a familiar expression.

It's his mentor face. the one he puts on when he won't drop a subject until I give him an answer. I sigh, still not used to this much attention from a superior. I guess it's Creed. He reminds me of the man I was assigned to serve. That makes sense. The foundation focuses more on accomplishment and merit than pedigree like the society. However, a few families have been in it since the beginning.

Most parents I've worked with at the foundation don't want their kids to follow in their footsteps. Based on his name alone, I think Creed's family is the opposite. That? Are they really into shitty music from the early 2000s? I frown. Isn't that what you listen to? Pump your brakes, Jr. He trails off and stares across the park at an elderly woman.

She's walking a dog about the same size as Book, but with a clear pedigree, unlike the dog waiting back at our hotel. I listen to the soundtrack of teenage angst and longing circa 19. 1995 to 2006. Don't compare my music to something that sounds like Maroon 5 and Nickelback had a baby. Normally, I would point out that's precisely what Cody's music sounds like to me. But he's very protective of his music. And his altercation with Creed is still fresh in my mind. Cody zigs and zags through the park, smiling at the dogs that sniff his shoes before being whisked away by their owners. Maybe that's it then. Creed reminds me too much of the founding families.

You're overthinking, Gus. It's the first time Cody's ever said that to me. You don't like Creed because he's an asshole. I'm not talking about like. I've had to work with people I don't like before, more often than not. It's just if the foundation recruits people like Creed, Ah! Cody thinks but doesn't slow his pace.

I realize that we're still tailing the old woman. Is that what's bothering you? You're afraid you left the bad guys, only to join up with more bad guys. I hesitate. More or less, I guess. I ever tell you about the guy who recruited me into the foundation? I shake my head, and Cody continues.

John Griffith, son of a bitch drugged me, then stuck me in a bunker with a corridor that makes you visualize your worst fears. After that, he gave me the distinct impression that if I wanted to leave the foundation, I'd do it with a bullet to the brain. Uh, that seems unnecessary, with their ability to wipe people's memories. Cody chuckles.

Yeah, I figured that out later, too. But I didn't know back then. I think it was his way of keeping me around long enough until I saw things his way. And, do you? I'm not sure, he shrugs his shoulders. Director Griffith was a pessimist, but I think that was because of necessity.

The foundation isn't a glass-half-full kind of job. But when it came time to save a kid's life, He had my back, broken overseer's jaw to make it happen. He spent most of his life in the foundation, but he gave all that up, his career and his memories, because even at his worst, he believed there were some lines we should never cross. I'm all Cody's words over, trying to figure out the lesson he's trying to teach me. Well, I'm not sure we can count on Creed to jump in and save a kid like you and your boss did. Cody stops walking so abruptly that I collide into his back.

The expression on his face is one I've never seen before. We didn't save him, Gus. I missed something that day. I was as wrong about the anomaly as I was about Director Griffith. That's why sometimes you need as many eyes on the job as possible. I don't like Creed, and Book, sure as hell doesn't. Which means he's probably a bastard of the highest caliber. But Minnie sees potential in the way.

him both as a security agent and as a decent person she wouldn't be mentoring him otherwise and I trust her maybe with her mentoring him the mood is broken by a sudden shrill scream Cody unholsters his gun and takes off down the path I kick into gear and run alongside him it doesn't take us long to catch up to the elderly lady screaming pointing into the sky her leash is empty and I look in the direction she's pointing there's a shadow in the sky like a looming bird of prey, flying away fast. Barking echoes in the sky, growing faint as the shadow lifts higher into the clear blue sky.

Everybody duck! Cody yells at the top of his lungs. He aims his gun and fires off several quick shots, making the park erupt and screams. The shadow lurches in the sky, leaving a trail of smoke in its wake. A machine? It slows as it heads towards some nearby woodland, losing altitude but still. Still too far away to see what it is. Buttons.

The old woman stumbles into us, clutching her chest. Please, save buttons. Cody's worse off than she is. Sweat is soaked through his clothes, and he's gasping for breath. But he puts his hand on the woman's shoulder. People scream around us while dogs bark, adding to the chaos, while parents scoop up their kids and run toward the parking lot. Cody ignores all this and looks the woman in the eye.

We will do our best, ma'am, us. He takes a deep, shuddering breath. Call for backup. Tell Minnie and Kane. I step into him and twist his wrist. Cody grunts, and his grip slackens, allowing me to take the gun from him. You're three jumping jacks from a heart attack. There's no way you're catching up to that thing.

Let me go after it, and you call for backup. Cody looks like he's about to argue, but a rattling cough makes him swear and grab his phone. Just don't do anything stupid. Probably should have paired me with a different mentor then. I think I see the faintest glimpse of a smile before I run toward the forest. It's something else here now. Something new. From exclusively on Paramount Plus, it's the series Stephen King calls Scarious Hell. Everything here is impossible, but it's also real.

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I just follow the smell of smoke. After several minutes of running through the forest, the stench grows stronger. Smoke mingles with burned oil and fried electronics. A loud crash lets me know I'm in the right spot, as does the hurried barks. I follow the path of light caused by the machine crashing through the treetops. In the halo of light rests what looks like a miniature airplane, supported by four wings, each with propellers that were to a quiet stop. A drone?

I raise my gun and head through the clearing. There's another bark, and I see the dog pinned beneath a machine. Just a second, buttons! I'm coming! I stepped through the clearing and frown. Could it all be this simple? Just some guy with a drone in too much free time? And, assumingly, a grudge against pets? It doesn't sound possible.

But surely not every foundation investigation ends with a new addition to the archives. The dog is wedged under the metal. digging frantically with its paws to escape. It looks relatively unharmed. Wishing I had a holster or an extra set of hands, I shove Cody's gun into my pocket. The drone is even heavier than it looks. But after several attempts of grunting and moaning,

I managed to hoist the drone several inches off the ground. The yippy dog barks at me, then runs through the forest in the direction I came from. I guess Buttons knows his way home. You're well? A serum pain rips through my hand, and I jump back on instinct. The lone mechanical eye at the front of the drone flashes blue, then billow smoke, causing me to cough and drop it.

It catches itself and hovers a few inches off the ground, tilted to one side. A slot below the eye that looks like a mouth has opened. Inside is a jagged spike coated with my blood. The drone zooms toward me in a wobbly drunken trajectory, giving me enough time to draw the gun. I squeezed the trigger until the trigger. magazine it looks empty. Parts of metal rip away from the machine in a spray of sparks before it crashes to the ground again. The blue light extinguished. Heat blairs up my hand, and I staggered

back to lean against a nearby tree. My hand feels like it's been injected with molten steel. My fingers are hot, heavy, and useless. Hopefully, backup will be here soon. My eyes start to clear from the gunfire, but there's still an annoying humming sound. I tense as it grows louder and look up. Familiar blue lights twinkle above me. The mechanical hum grows louder as more lights join the others already assembled. The drone wasn't alone. Forcing myself to my feet, I dropped the empty pistol. They outnumber me, and I don't have anything to defend myself. I turn to flee but falter at the sight of more blue eyes. The forest is filled with noise and light no matter where I turn. I'm surrounded.