The SCP Experience - Shy Guy | SCP-096

Episode Date: June 17, 2022

SCP Foundation EUCLID class object, SCP-096: Shy Guy This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-096, and is released under Creative Commons Sharealike 3.0. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/ Author: Lucas Click Check out the Author'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. #drscp #scp #scpfoundation #doctorscp #scpencounters #securecontainprotect #scpstories #scpexplained #whatisscp Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Fucking Ernesto, who's that prick, Binky is? Randy's words echo too loudly in the deserted streets. The cheap vodka that we've been passing back and forth between the four of us, slurs his words. I bring the bottle to my lips for appearance's sake, but don't take a drink. With Randy's temper up, and Mike, too willing to do his bidding, I've led us through the discarded bits of the city, the side of town that's so run down that there's not even a crack house.

Even junkies and pushers have standards, I guess. Well, I say, and pass the bottle to Caleb. I'm guessing he thinks he's the guy with the drugs, and he didn't take kindly to your divestment of the product. The four of us have known each other since we were kids, growing up on the wrong side of the tracks, and hustling for money since we were in diapers. The best gig we ever had was with Ernesto.

We were go-betweens for the dealers and the buyers. That way, Ernesto's guys never got pinched holding the product. The worst we'd get was a slap on the wrist, and maybe some time in juvie. Of course, this close to 18 now, we're not worth nearly as much as we used to be. Hence Randy's brilliant idea to take some of Ernesto's stash and move it himself. Or so he says, his story doesn't match the fresh track marks dotted on his arms. Fuck off, Jordy. Mike squares up and advances toward me.

Think you're that smart guy just because you got a couple of A's before we dropped out? Every crew needs someone like Mike, someone with more brawn than brain, willing to bloody and get bloodied without asking questions. Unfortunately, Mike and Randy have seen Scarface too many times. They're convinced that all they need is bullets and drugs, and somehow they'll carve out a nice criminal empire for it. us. I keep steady as Mike bumps his chest into mine. Mike's like a wild dog. If you show fear, that's when he'll pounce. I'm just about to knee him in the balls when Caleb steps forward

and separates the two of us. Hey, cut this shit. Caleb places his hand on Mike's chest, careful not to provoke him into action. Jordy didn't mean anything by it, but hey, Randy, this was your idea, and we're out of a job because of it. time and hardships have changed the once unbreakable bonds between us. When we were young, the four of us were thickest thieves. As we grew older, the differences between us only grew wider. Now, it might as well be the fucking Grand Canyon. For Caleb and me, hustling was always about making money. Randy and Mike, though, think they're gangsters, little kingpins in the making. I miss the kids that we all used to be, but I've only stuck around with a group this long because of Caleb.

Maybe it's for the best, I say, and shove my hands in my pocket. We're not getting any younger. Pretty soon, we'll be trading Juvian for prison. Probably time to move on. God damn right, Randy roars. He yanks the bottle from Caleb, chugs down the rest, then chucks it against the street, shattering the glass. It's time for us to move. up in the world. No more begging for scraps from Ernesto. Time for someone else to wear the crown.

Fucking A. Mike thumps his chest like a dim-witted gorilla, while Caleb rolls his eyes in my direction. Sure, Randy. I shake my head, wondering if the attempt to calm him down is worth the waste of my breath. Us against Ernesto and his goons, not to mention his mob connections. How do you propose we come out of that breathing? Randy smirks. Like he's been waiting for my question all night. With this. He reaches behind his back and pulls out a piece. Oh, fuck.

Caleb stares dumbfounded. But Mike and Randy's grins only grow. I've got no clue where Randy found the gun. It's some oversized six-shooter, the kind that Dirty Harry would even find excessive. I open my mouth to tell him this, when something crashes into a trash can and robs Randy of his moment.

It's a bomb. the first one we've seen all night. Most of them stick closer to other parts of the city, near the shelters. His clothes are worn and dirty rags. I can't see his face. His long white fingers are up in a makeshift mask. His flesh is sickly pale. His bare scalp, practically shining in the street light.

Well, well, Mike cracks his knuckles and steps forward. Looks like our money problems are over for tonight. Yeah, Mike. I say. He's probably one of those homeless millionaires you're always reading about in the papers. By logic doesn't matter. Mike is a mean drunk, and he's not interested in any scraps that might be lingering in the bum's pockets. His first swig of vodka had guaranteed the night would end in violence. I should probably do more to try and stop him, but honestly, I'm just glad it's not me he'll be pounding on. Mike swears and hoists the bum to his feet, but he immediately hesitates.

The guy is as tall as he is skinny. He's got to be nearly seven feet tall, maybe over it, but weighs as much as an empty pack of gum. His face is devoid of any color, just like the rest of him. Even his eyes are milky white. We stare at his appearance, the muted look on his face soon collapsing into grief as he howls in agony, tears running down his face. Yeah, Mike smiles. I'll give you something to cry about.

Mike's oversized fist slams into the man's stomach, but he doesn't bend over. He doesn't react at all besides his continued weeping. Mike isn't used to someone not going down after the first strike, so he hits him even harder, but still no reaction. What's the matter, Mikey?

Randy calls out with a heavy laugh. The oversized toothpick too much for you? Mike screams as he flies into a rage. He works the bum's face like a punching bag, and even as the pail splits open, he just stands there and takes it. I look away and disgust, and Caleb hands me a cigarette.

I breathe in a cloud of heavy smoke when Mike starts screaming and I nearly choke. What the fuck? Get off me, man! Mike's arm is stuck in the guy's mouth, up to his elbow. My mouth drops open and I lose the cigarette. How the fuck did that happen? Mike screams and tugs on his arm. shoving his free fist into the bum's face.

But it remains impossibly stuck in the other man's throat. Randy comes over and smacks the tall man in the back of the head, but Mike's screams only grow louder. The bum's jaws snap shut, and Mike's screams turn from anger to total panic. He stumbles back with his arm ripped apart, spraying red-hot blood against the pale man's face. The bum chew slowly.

The grinding of bone and muscle louder than Mike screams. He opens his blood-filled mouth. His jaw keeps opening all the way down to his chest. The unhinged jaw is filled with row after row of razor-sharp thangs. He leans slowly over the whimpering Mike like he's going in for a kiss. At the last moment, he strikes fast as a snake and latches his mouth over Mike's head. Mike's screams are muffled and go mute as the jaws snaps shut. There's a popping sound and the air is

thick with blood as Mike's headless corpse flops heavily onto the ground. Mikey! Randy screams and raises his gun. Eat this, motherfucker! The gun explodes into the night. Randy is a better shot than I give him credit for. Each blast rips through the torso of the slender man. His ratted clothing is torn apart by each bullet, but he shrugs them off as easily as he did Mike's blows.

He unhinges his jaw as the gun clicks empty, forcing Randy to reload. I don't stop to see what happens next, grabbing Caleb by the shoulder. I shove him into gear and start running. I wait until his footsteps echo next to mine. And then we really all ass. Randy must not have had time to reload

because he starts screaming without another gunshot. My lungs are about to burst, and my knees and legs are screaming in agony. In our line of work, you spend a lot of time running, and it helps to know every shortcut and back alley. Even against out-of-shaped cops, you need every advantage you can get. We rely on our memory of the streets to put as much distance between us and that freak as possible. We get to the bus stop right as the bus is about to leave.

I shove my way past the closing door, wedging it open with my shoulder. Caleb, right behind me. The bus driver glares at us but doesn't say a word as I fish out a couple of crumpled bills from my pocket and pay the toll. This laid into the night. the bus isn't brimming with customers. There's a janitor who's snoring away in one seat. A lady of the night, nursing a black eye, takes up another. And the last is filled by some drunk guy wiping his nose.

Caleb and I march to our usual spot in the back and slink down into the seats. What the fuck was that? Caleb's voice has a tight whisper, as if the encounter stole his voice. I don't know. I mean, was he a junkie or something? Took some bad smack or PCP? I heard about guys on angels dust able to do crazy shit. You think maybe he was...

Christ, Caleb? I don't fucking know. My outburst gets the drunk man and the whore looking in our direction. But the janitor doesn't stir. The bus driver clears his throat and taps one of the signs above him. A reminder that he's the king of the road. And I nod and clear my throat. Sorry, I say and fidget in my seat. It doesn't matter.

It's over. Yeah, Caleb nods. Poor Mike and Randy. Yeah. Guess bad things happen to people who beat up the homeless and carried guns. Who knew? Caleb's cough breaks into a chuckle. It's a nervous sound that builds in relief.

And I soon join in. It sucks about Mike and Randy, but we knew they'd die on the streets one day. It was the only possible outcome when they started talking about becoming big-time criminals one day. Plenty of other would-be hoods a lot smarter than them are dead and buried. We're practically hysterical in our giddy relief to be alive. And the bus driver taps his sign again.

Man, I'm getting tired of this prick. Let's get off at the next stop. Caleb nods. And it's not long before the bus lurches to a stop. Standing up, I look out the window and freeze. A bum is waiting at the bench. His clothes are the same tattered rags ripped apart by bulletin. and stained with Mike and Randy's blood.

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to fashion responsible. De Conditions apply. That's impossible. How did he catch up with us? Fear clouds my brain and I slink towards the back. The pale man steps onto the bus

and the driver is so focused on the road he doesn't even notice the state of his latest passenger. Pay the toller get off, brother. The bomb breaks down into tears again. His body's shaking with the car. every sob. The bus driver finally looks up and stares in open shock. Everyone's eyes are on the slender man, frozen at the sight of him. Even the janitor finally rouses from his sleep and starts praying.

The tears stop as he leans his head back and lets out a long, sharp scream. He rips the camera off the corner of the bus and slams it against the driver's head. Every time the camera raises, it comes back bloodier, and the driver's head is soon nothing more than the driver's. than a pulpy mass of broken bones and scattered brains. The drunk charges forward and reaches for the open door, but the bum grabs his other arm. He wrenches and pulls. The man attempts to run until the arm is ripped from his body.

The woman screams as he strolls toward her, unhinging his mouth and showing his fangs. Fuck, come on! Caleb drags me the short distance to the back of the bus. We each grab the lever to the emergency exit and force it up. The lights shift colors and fill the bus with a faint alarm as we hop down onto the streets. The janitor is a step beside us, but he screams as the pale man's jaws rip into his shoulder, and we're running for our lives once more. I'm out of breath, but I won't stop running. That man, that thing. Whatever the hell it was,

had outrun us even on the bus. We keep looking over our shoulders the whole time, expecting him to appear at any moment. How did it know where we were? How did it find us so fast? These, and a thousand other paranoid questions repeat themselves over in my mind. Then my legs go out from under me, and I tumble against the blacktop. Swearing, I take stock of the new cuts and scrapes along my body until Caleb helps me up. We pant against a parked car until an idea forms in my mind. Your older brother taught you how to hotwire a car, right?

I asked Caleb and pat the hood. Do you remember how? Caleb stares at me, but then nods as he realizes what I mean. A car goes a lot faster than a bus. Maybe we can use it to put some distance between us and the monster chasing us. Yeah, I think so. Caleb wipes his mouth and then tries one of the car doors. Locked, of course.

I don't have a slim gym, though. Neither do I, but there's a time and place for subtlety, and that is any time when you're not running for your life. It doesn't take me long to find a large piece of bird. broken concrete. It's probably what I tripped over. I don't waste any time and chuck it through the driver's side window, shattering it into a spray of broken glass. Caleb reaches in and unlocks the door when red and blue lights wash over us. I make out the outline of a police cruiser before they turn on the bright lights and blind me. Figures. Never a cop around when you

need one, but always nearby when you need to steal a car. The car door's open, but the two officers are nothing but blurred shadows against the glare. Got to say, boys, trying to steal a car in front of the city's finest? Not your smartest move. Are you kidding? I can hear the sneer in the other cop's voice. Look at these two dipshits. Probably the smartest thing they've done their whole lives.

Officers, you've got to help us. Caleb steps toward them. There's this thing chasing us. All his words do is get them to shift their hands towards the guns on. their belts. Hands where we can see them now. Caleb must be genuinely terrified if he thinks we can rely on cops for help. Hell, even if they weren't assholes, the truth is too crazy to believe. Defeated, I raised my hands and drop to my knees. It takes Caleb a moment to catch my movements, and then he does the same. The cops are just starting to step away from their car doors when something

lands on the hood of their car. They swear and turn around. But it's already leaping off the hood and barrels straight into Caleb. His screams are cut short as the fangs rip open his throat. The cops are screaming orders, but my heart's pounding in my ears so loud I can't make out a goddamn word. I stumble away just as their guns open fire. They empty their clips into the pale man, but he doesn't fall. Instead, he keeps standing and starts to weep all over again.

Weeping, my mind snaps tight around the realization. It always weeps for a little before it starts attacking. The cops are swearing and reloading their guns, so I dash past them while they're distracted. They left the driver's door open and the keys in the ignition, with the engine idling. I slammed the door shut just as something crashes against the car's hood. Through the red haze on the windshield,

I noticed the familiar uniform of a cop, but with his face missing, there's nothing else that makes him look human. Swearing, I put the car in reverse, and the corpse rolls off the hood. I hit the wipers and the screen clears just in time for me to see the pale man rip into the last cop's chest. Pressing my foot down on the accelerator makes the engine roar to life as I speed off. Something bumps under the tires. One of the cops, or Caleb, I don't have time to worry about that now.

I peel out and watch the needle of the speedometer climb as far to the right as possible until the pale man vanishes from the rearview mirror. The radio is full of static-ridden cop jargon that I don't understand. I don't bother trying to turn it off. I'm not the best driver, and it takes all of my concentration not to crash. Even though I know it's reckless, I don't slow down. The blaring horns of other cars as I zip past them fade into the same white noise as the radio. I'm not sure how much time has passed before the white spot breaks through my highway hypnosis.

At first, I think it's the headlights of another car. But it isn't bright enough. No. It's that pale son of a bitch, charging super. straight at me. I grip my hands on the steering wheel and don't let my foot off the gas. Sure, bullets couldn't stop it. But let's see how well it handles two tons of steel, rammed down its throat at over a hundred miles an hour. It doesn't blink as the distance closes between us, but I do. I don't see anything, but an impact sends the car rocking. And the tires

make a satisfying crunch. I whoop out in glee and raise my fist in triumph, just in time to see the lamp post in front of me. The sounds of grinding metal erupt in my ears before my head crashes against the steering wheel. A white shadow engulfs me, and I panic. My head is too heavy to move, and I sigh gratefully when I realize it's only the airbag wrapped around me. Then the darkness at the edge of my vision swallows me up completely. It feels like someone stepping on my brain. At first, I think it's a hangover, or maybe a byproduct of a mugging. Both are are reoccurring threats in my chosen profession. Yet slowly, the last few hours replay themselves in my mind.

I leap up, but an immediately forced back down. Cold metal is wrapped around my wrist, keeping me chained to the table. Squinting through the pain, I make out my surroundings in the throbbing fluorescent light. An overweight man in a cheap suit and rumpled tie sits across for me. His look of disgust, screams cop. An interrogation room then. so familiar that I almost smile. Jordan Robbins.

The cop flips open a file and frowns at me. You had quite the night, didn't you? All those people on the bus? Not to mention the murder of two good officers. The theft and destruction of police property aren't going to mean shit compared to your body count. So, what happened? You and your friends start dipping into your supply?

And where'd you stash the bodies? Don't try to deny it. We're already running the blood on your clothes. I don't answer him. Nothing good ever comes out of talking to the police. Just ask Caleb. The memory of Caleb is a fresh wave of agony in my chest. There's no point in trying to convince anyone of my innocence. Hell, I can barely believe the story myself. Maybe I'll spend the rest of my life behind bars. But at least that pale bastard is finally, through the haze of pain. I realize there's something missing from my rap sheet. What about vehicular homicide?

The cop frowns at me. Come again? The guy I hit with the car. He's dead, right? The detective chuckles and shakes his head. Shit, you're like a scumbag giving tree, ain't you kid? Any other crimes you want to confess to? My breaths come out in rapid bursts as my heart races in my chest.

That thing must be dead, right? No one could survive that kind of collision with a car. I hear the outcry build from beyond the door just as I think this. The detective frowns, then bolts to his feet when the gunfire starts. He unholsters his gun and goes out the door to the sound of screams. I jump up from the table, but the cuffs keep me pinned. Bracing myself, I pull back on my thumb until it snaps, and I bite down the sob. The pain mingled with my pounding heart is nearly enough to knock me unconscious,

but I keep upright and slip out of the cuff. I managed to dislocate my other thumb and spew vomit across the table as a result, but I'm free. I turn to flee, but the pale man is there. His large, thin-frame arms fill the door. Stumbling back, I trip over the chair and crawl away until my back is pinned against the wall. There's nowhere else to run as he unhinges his jaw

and steps toward me. SCP-96 is a humanoid creature measuring approximately 2.38 meters in height. Subject shows very little muscle mass, with preliminary analysis of body mass suggesting mild malnutrition. Arms are grossly out of proportion with the rest of the subject's body, with an approximate length of 1.5 meters each. Skin is mostly devoid of pigmentation, with no sign of body hair.

SCP-96's jaw can open to four times the norm of an average human. Other facial features remain similar to an average human, with the exception of the eyes, which are also devoid of pigmentation. It is not yet known whether SCP-96 is blind or not. It shows no signs of any higher brain functions and is not considered to be sapient. When someone views SCP-96's face, whether it be directly, via video recording, or even a photograph,

it will enter a stage of considerable emotional distress. SCP-96 will cover its face with its hands and begin screaming, crying, and babbling incoherently. Approximately one to two minutes after the first viewing, SCP-96 will begin running to the person who viewed its face. It will not stop until the witness is dead and the body consumed.