The SCP Experience - Thank you for shopping with Dada Go! | SCP-4525

Episode Date: June 1, 2022

SCP Foundation EUCLID class object, SCP-4525: Thank you for shopping with Dada Go! This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-4525, 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

I tried to keep my composure calm and cool, just like Rocco taught me after a score. Not that it had done Rocco much good in the end. Still, it would suck to get this far, almost out of the country, only to get grounded by airport security for suspicious behavior. The hours leading up to the boarding are agony. My nerves grind in my stomach like a cement mixer. Somehow, I managed to keep the signs of uneasies. down to sweating through my shirt and a nervous twitch of my knee.

All that can be blamed on the heat and jitters before flying. As my passport shows, it's the first time I'll be flying out of the country. My first and last international flight. Time passes slowly until we're finally able to board. And then it's like my life hits fast forward. Luckily, this early in the morning, the flight is empty, and I have a seat to myself. After storing my scant luggage overhead,

I collapse into my chair and stare out the window. I'm waiting for it to show up and finish me off, just like it did Rocco and the others. Sweat rains through my body, and my mouth goes dry. Someone says something on the overhead speakers, but I don't hear the words. I'm too engrossed, staring outside, waiting for the telltale glimmer of white metal.

And, of course, every fucking plane in the airport has the same paint job as my would-be killer. The plane lurches forward, and I brace myself for the end. My hands tighten as the rocking increases, and my ears pop painfully as the plane lifts off the ground. Even as the runway disappears, I keep staring outside as we rise into the early morning sky. The blood-red light from the newly risen sun cuts through the window, reflecting off the clouds.

I breathe for the first time in weeks. I'm finally safe. As the stewardess makes her rounds, I order as many drinks as I'm allowed. The tiny bottle of Jack Daniels vanishes quickly down my throat, followed by the vodka. I cough at the terrible concoction and pick up the cold can of beer. I don't even see the brand, but the familiar brew is soothing comfort down my raw throat. With the three drinks gone in as many minutes, I let out a small chuckle. The buzz building in my brain offers a brief respite from my troubled thoughts,

but the alcohol mixes with the raw nerves in my gut. Suddenly, I'm bolting up for my seat and running for the bathroom. The stewardess frowns as I struggle with the door and toss myself inside. I bend over the toilet as my drinks come up with force. Even after I'm done puking, I don't rise from the toilet. I merely rest my head against the cool porcelain. Its touch is soothing against my feverish skin. After another minute, I flush and pull myself up onto the seat.

I don't feel like going back outside and facing the accusatory looks of the other passengers. Instead, I wipe my mouth. As the last couple of weeks play over again in my mind, there are two types of people in this world, those that get stomped on and those that do the stomping. It was my father's mantra and the last words he said to me before getting shipped upstate. Dad was a bank robber,

and his last job was a complete cluster fuck. It had a body count so high that he would spend the rest of his life in prison. My old man might not have been the most nurturing caregiver, but he was right. The American myth of being a self-made millionaire was just that. A myth. It didn't matter how hard you worked if you came from the wrong side of the tracks. How hard you studied and what clothes you wore to a job interview were equally useless. They would always see through any disguise you dried on.

To them, you're never going to be anything else. other than the son of a thief and a mass murderer. I was 10 when I decided if you can't beat them, join them. My best friend growing up was Rocco. He was the son of another member of my family's ill-fated crew, and we came to the same conclusions about how to make a buck. By the time we finished high school, there wasn't much we hadn't done to earn a dishonest dollar,

slinging dope, stealing cars, breaking and entering, even the occasional mugging during really desperate times. Sure, we never got rich, but we were also never broke. Anytime we were short on funds, it was always another job to pull. We learned from the mistakes of our fathers

and never got caught. Oh, we got pulled in for questioning dozens of times. Cops would try to intimidate us with hard questions and even the occasional fists by the eager old guard. Yet Rocco and I always kept a cool and kept to our story. All those years of crime, and we never got pinched. All this ended when we were 19. Rocco and I had just pinched a car when some overzealous owner stormed out of his apartment, guns blazing. Rocco took one to the leg while I sped off in our newly acquired vehicle. Going to a

hospital would have been the same as signing a confession then and there. So instead, we visited a shady veterinarian who would sometimes tend to criminals for the right price. Calling the vet a quack would insult all the other barely competent hack saws. His breath reeked of booze, and he didn't even bother separating his operating theater from the animals. The sounds of screeching cats and barking dogs accompanied Rocco's screams as he dug the bullet out. Rocco's blood poured onto the ground in waves after the dock nicked something he shouldn't have. My friend's skin went pale as he started to bleed out on the table. Through some miracle, Rocco survived the makeshift operation.

We barely had enough to cover the surgery after ditching the car at a chop shop. We had to take a hefty cut in profits because of all the blood. Rocco spent the next week on the couch in a days from pain and booze before he could walk again. He would walk with a limp for the rest of his life. That ordeal put me on the straight and arrow. I decided it was better to be a living schmuck than a dead man with money in his pocket. I got a job at a big box store selling electronics for the next few years. I never had much of a head for the product, but I spent my whole life running cons.

The only difference between salesmen and crooks is a steady paycheck. Steady, but not hefty. The money I made was barely enough to cover the rent and utilities at a rundown apartment complex. Yet, whenever I was tempted for more cash, I always thought of Rocco. Better to struggle in a one-bedroom than bleed out on some backdoor operating table. Then the recession happened, and the lockdowns, and inflation. Not sure which happened first, it was all just one big blur of misery. Soon after that, I got the news that the store was closing.

Even worse, no severance pay for me. me, and they wouldn't be transferring me to another store. My new prick of a manager, some guy I knew from high school with a grudge, even said that he would challenge my unemployment. I would fire your ass, even if we didn't need the legs to move the inventory. His words streamed in my mind as I lay on my hard mattress and stared at my water-damaged ceiling. My fury and frustration led me back to my old ways of thinking. The store was doing its best to move its merchandise by having a going out of business sale, but times were tough for everyone. The manager even tried to save a few bucks by cancelling his contract with the security firm

early. All of those TVs, Blu-ray players, and video games just lying there for the taking. I tried to shake the thought for my head, but my imagination clamped down on it like a hungry dog with a bone. One guy couldn't pull that job off alone. It would take at least a few people, with a van and I was out of the game so long that I didn't know of a reliable fence anymore. It was a pipe dream and nothing more. Unless, I took out my phone and stared at the cracked screen. I was still trying to convince myself that it was pointless as I scrolled through my contacts. It had been years since we last spoke. It probably switched numbers. All the same. I made the call, swallowing as the ringtone chirped in my ear.

A familiar grizzled voice picked up on the fourth ring. Yeah? Rocco's voice made me freeze, and my thumb instantly went to the Red X. It hovered there for a moment before I brought it back to my ear. Hey, Rocco, it's me. He paused and then laughed bitterly. Must be Halloween because I'm talking to a ghost. I closed my eyes and sighed.

Rocco and I had always been more than partners in crime. He was my best friend. the closest thing to a brother I had. I tried to keep him in my life when I went straight, but his presence always reminded me how much I missed the old days. I had to cut off all ties with him to keep living honestly. Yeah, I finally said. Look, I think I got a job lined up for you.

Rocco's laugh was harsh and unforgiving. Fuck off. You know I'm not looking for a nine to five. Not that kind of job. I sat up in my bed, the kind that needs a van and a few guys that can keep a secret. I quickly went over all the details with him. It was like old times, me recounting the potential score and him listening and pointing out anything I might have overlooked. I knew the store's layout, where all the expensive things were kept, all the cameras and blind spots.

I even had keys to the store to make the whole thing easier. Rocco didn't say a word until I finished. What the hell, man? You've been breaking good all this time. And now you want to get back in the game? Yeah, well, it's a game on this side of the fence, too. I shook my head, even though he couldn't see me. I think I like our rules better. At least I won sometimes the way we played.

Rocco laughed again. Only this time it was full of joy without a trace of the loathing from before. Lazzang sur-joled, and the power and 15 minutes. We'd say that's the dojo. Prere to play. Vive the pleasure

with Leo Jo. The casino in line that proposes the most recent machine to do you to do with games on Big Bas, Bonanza. Without exigance of

misgions of mis, and with payments instantanet. Hey, I've gained. Woohoo! Sonture the pleasure. Play-Ojo! 18 and plus,

1,1, depots only depots only depot to the machine-a-soubiz B'Bass Bonanza. Deposmineumum of 10 dollars. Veillet jewell to fashion responsible.

The conditions I stood outside the loading bay, hidden in a corner not covered by the lone security cam. The store had been closed for a couple of hours. I had parked my beat-up car at my apartment and made my way back on foot. My cigarette was halfway done when the black van pulled up, backing up so that the security camera couldn't see its license plate. The doors opened and three guys stepped out. A familiar lumbering shadow limped over toward me. was all cocky confidence despite his limp. He had put on even more muscles since the last time I saw him.

His excited eyes paired with a bright smile when he saw me and pulled me into a tight, one-handed hug. Patting him on the back, it felt like the years between us vanished, and we were 19 again. I didn't recognize the two guys with him. They were too young to have been active players back when Rocco and I were pulling scores. Both had the same strawberry blonde hair and thin but athletic builds. The shorter one cackled at something the other said, and the loud noise grated on my nerves, and I frowned at Rocco. Yeah, his callous knuckles cracked as he tightened his hand into a fist. Slim pickings on such short notice. Kevin and Sean Doyle, not much in their heads, but they've got sticky fingers, and they know how to keep their mouths

shut. Ain't that right, boys? Rocko's word got their attention, and they immediately stopped messing around. They straightened up and did their best to stand at attention. I took an instant dislike to them, too young and green, with a family connection that could lead them squealing to the cops to protect each other if we got pinched. But like Rocco said, beggars couldn't be choosers, and at least he would be able to keep them in line. With the introductions out of the way, we went inside the store. It struck me then how even ordinary places could seem haunted after closing. All the lights were off, and the aisles, usually clogged with people, were bare. The TVs and sound systems, usually blaring bright and loud to tempt

shoppers, were dead, making the whole store look like a ghost town. It made the unfamiliar clanging metal sounds all the more jarring. Jesus Christ, Rocco said. What the fuck is that? We all turned where he pointed. Coming up the aisles was something straight out of a science fiction novel. The robot walked on four legs, each metallic step loud against the tile floor. As it got closer, more details came into focus. It came up to chest height, its entire body decked out in white chrome. Where a face would have been on an animal was a mechanical arm, which looked similar to its legs. The arm ended in a claw of four robotic fingers, and at the center of the palm was a blue light. It flashed green four times.

as the arm slowly rotated and looked at each of us. Fuck, man. Rocco grabbed me roughly by the arm. You didn't say anything about whatever the fuck that is. I shook my head. I've never seen it before. Rocco swore. What do you think it is?

Some new security measure? No way. I immediately dismissed the possibility. The store is on its ass. They can't even afford a couple of fat security guards anymore. They're not going to spring for some Robo Shop Cop to protect a closing store. Welcome to Big Buy.

The robot's voice was mechanical and devoid of emotion. It still made everyone but Rocco flinch. A partner with Dada Go. How may I be of assistance? We all exchanged confused glances, and I stared at the robot more closely. Sure enough, on its side were written the words, Dada Go. The font was completely mismatched against the streamlined appearance of the robot. It looked like someone had scribbled it on the side, using a black Sharpie in a rush.

We didn't say anything, so the robot repeated itself. How may I be of assistance? Uh, I shook my head. We're just looking around, thanks. The arm rose and lowered with a long mechanical whirling as if nodding. I waved my hand in front of its face, but it didn't respond. Shrugging, I turned back to Rocco and the others. Look, I don't know what the fuck it is, but it's clearly not security.

This doesn't change anything. Let's get to work. We each grabbed a trolley from the warehouse and headed straight to the TVs. It was slow work, and it took two of us to pull one down from the shelves and loaded up. A few minutes passed when we heard the robot's footsteps clomping and stopping behind us. Hello again, shoppers. It said, you are making a large purchase. May I be of assistance. What the hell is with this thing?

Rocco asked, but an idea sprang in my head. Uh, yeah, I said. So, Dada Go, can you help us get the TVs down and load them in our van? Certainly, the robot said. And how many units would you like to purchase? I grinned. All of them. The robot got to work, its arm extended, and it nimbly grabbed four TVs at once.

It balanced with them at ease as it walked away. We followed it to the loading bay and watched it load the TVs in the van with neat, mechanical precision. Then it went back inside and returned with even more TVs a few minutes later. Holy shit! Rocco laughed and put a beefy arm over my shoulder. I might be warming up to this thing. The robot working on the TVs freed us to fleece the rest of the store. We filled shopping carts with Blu-ray players and video game sales.

systems and piled them all in the van. The take was bigger and going quicker than we could have ever hoped. But during our last trip inside, I froze and stared at the front entrance. Something wasn't right. What's up? Racco asked when he saw me staring. This isn't my store. Rocco frowned. What the fuck are you talking about? We met up exactly where you said to meet. Yeah, I know, I pointed. But look, there's supposed to be a line of cash registers here. But they're gone. Rocco shrugged. They're closing.

They probably yanked them out already. I shook my head. Yeah, but that's a strip job. There should be debris and torn floors where they ripped them out. Look at it, though. It's like they were never there. Rocco's scow deepened, and I could read his thoughts and his expression. I hadn't pulled a job, and he thought I was getting jumpy.

But I'd been coming to work every day for years now. As I looked around the store, I noticed other things out of place. The going out of business sale hadn't been that effective, but there was still more merchandise on the shelves than there should have been. Even with the van nearly loaded up, it looked like we barely made a dent in the inventory. But I didn't want Rocco thinking I was getting cold feet, so I shook my head and walked back outside. The van was packed to the gills, and the Doyle brothers were taking a cigarette break.

The robot's blue lenses flashed green in rapid succession at the contents in the van and then spoke. Total recorded. Is there any other way I can be of assistance? Yeah. One of the brothers grinned and patted an open spot in the van. Hop on in, robo buddy. The lens flashed green again. This unit is not allowed to leave the property, except for debt collections. Well, that's too bad, ain't it? The brothers cackled as they approached the robot, but I stepped in between them. Just what the fuck are you idiots planning?

The younger brother sneered at me. Those TVs are worth a lot. But how much do you think this thing is worth? Oh, yeah, I shook my head. You know someone in the market for a robot? Where would you even go to fleece this thing? It's not the worst idea, Rocco said. And I turned to him in surprise.

Besides, the thing could be recording. It might have seen our faces. Rocco nodded his permission, and the Doyle brothers shoved past me. They each grabbed one side of the robot. They grunted and swore, but eventually lifted it a couple of inches off the ground. The eye in the robot's hand shifted from blue to red. Theft of Dada-Go property in progress. It set in a tone as monotonous as before.

Deploying countermeasures. The robot hunt, and an electronic wine filled the air. Electricity rippled across its body like lightning. The brothers went rigid, convulsing as the electricity ripped through their bodies. Smoke rose from the top of their heads, and their bodies burst into flames. I fell back and stared in horror as their bodies blackened and filled my nose with the stench of burned meat. The robot didn't stop until their knees collapsed. The charred muscles no longer enough to support the weight.

Their bodies collapsed into piles of burning ash, and the robot fell to the ground with a loud. clang. Rocco burst forward and hoisted me to my feet. Even with his limp, he shoved me forward and got me into the passenger seat in record time before jumping behind the steering wheel. The tire screeched as we peeled out of the loading bay, tearing through the parking lot and hitting the empty streets. None of us said anything for several minutes, but then Rocco lit a cigarette and glanced to the hall in the back of the van. Oh well, two is a bigger split than four. Am I right? I spent the next several days walking on eggshells.

Sure, it was only a matter of time before the cops barged through my door. I went to work every day until the store closed, but it looked the same as before the night of the robbery. The cash registers were back, and there were no signs of the robot or the burned remains of the Doyle brothers. The robbery and murder never made the news. It was like the whole thing never happened. Rocco dismissed my concerns.

As far as he was concerned, no news was good news. My nerves calmed a little after Rocco's fences cleared our payment. We walked away from the job with over $10,000, and Rocco was already planning the next score. His enthusiasm left me with mixed feelings. A bullet to Rocco's leg had been enough to scare me out of a life of crime. What happened to the Doyle brothers was even worse. Still, the five figures for a night's work made the risk all the more tempting until the day the bill arrived in my mailbox. I frowned at the envelope from Amazon.

It had been a long time since I had enough cash to order anything online. I was sitting on my newfound wealth, not making impulse purchases. Opening the envelope only led to more confusion. The message had been written like a four-year-old with his first phone and no idea how to text. You come to Dada Go. Hello. Sry hamster sit on keyboard, this Dada world-renowned pharma bro, and owner of many fine businesses like adult-free daycare and auto repair.

The letter went on with more gibberish for an entire page, so I skipped to the second and gulped. It was an invoice for every item that we stole. At the bottom was an item built for a staggering $2 million. Glancing to the left, I saw that it was a fine for the attempted theft of DadaGo property. The first payment of $50,000 was expected next week. Otherwise, the case would be assigned to debt collections. Immediately, I called Rocco.

He answered with a bored yawn as I told him about the strange invoice. So, you got one too then? What? I asked. Yeah, got mine about a week ago. Guess it took them longer to track you down. Jesus, Rocco, I practically shouted. This isn't good. What if it's the cops?

Check out the inventory. Rocco's voice remained calm. That's everything we pinched. If the cops knew that, we'd be in interrogation right now. My guess is someone saw us and is trying their hand at blackmail. But they don't have the muscle or the know-how to do it right. Hell, maybe the Doyle's bragged about the score before they're going to be. got off. Rocko's words made sense, but I didn't leave my apartment that day. Instead, I stayed in

my room, staring at the ceiling late into the early morning. At 2 a.m., my phone rang, and I looked down at the screen. It was Rocco. Rocco screamed, and then there was the sound of gunfire and ricochets. You got to help! Rocko's voice broke into a scream and the sound of crushing bone, but nothing. But then, over the speaker, came a familiar mechanical voice. Debt collection successful. Thank you for shopping with Dada Go. I wake up with a jerk, unsure of where I am.

The tight confines reminded me of a jail cell, but my breathing slows as I remember the airplane toilet. I haven't slept in days, and the fatigue and stress must have caught up with me. I stand and splash some water from the sink onto my face. The cold is soothing, and both wakes me up and calms me down. As I walk down the aisle, my thoughts are filled with Rocco. After the phone call, I didn't wait around.

He always had this idea of pulling a big score and moving to Southeast Asia, hopping from country to country, living like a king. Me, I'll settle for just living. $10,000 should go a long way in countries like Thailand and Myanmar. more importantly it should put me far away from the robot. Turbulence suddenly rocks the plane, and I stumble to the side into an empty seat. The captain's voice buzzes through the speakers, his calm cutting through the clamor. The few passengers in the plane led out breaths of relief as I pulled myself back up.

I find my seat and press the button for another drink. It's a long flight, so I plan to pass the time drunk and passed out. Leaning against the seat, I glance out the window and stare into a blue mechanical eye. Bolting upright, I freeze in my seat. It's the robot. It stares at me from the plane's wing. It's palm light flashing from blue to red. The arm juts forward like a pile driver and cracks the window.

I jump into the aisle, but I hear the glass break, and then all sound is swallowed up by howling wind. Decompression pulls me toward the broken window like a vacuum cleaner. My head goes through the shattered remains. Broken glass cuts into my flesh. The wind is an agony that tears my eyes open and into the robot's red eye. I try to pull back, but the robot's arm lashes forward again. Cold steel pinches tight around my neck. The robot backs up, but my shoulders are too narrow for the window.

Both it and the wind are unrelenting, and a loud pop echoes above the noise as my shoulder explodes in agony. Hot blood rushes down my body as my arms are torn apart. and I'm dragged out onto the wing. Debt collection successful. The robot's voice is quiet against the wind. Thank you for shopping with Dabla Go. It lets go, and the wind takes me.

I tumble out into the open air, the world spinning around me as I start my long crash to the ground. SCP 4525 is a bulk grocery store of indeterminate size and unknown location. The only known method of access SCP 4525 is through a number of anomalous doorways connecting SCP 4525 to specific locations. Although the interior of SCP 4525 appears to have many of these anomalous doorways,

the exterior location of all but one of them are unknown at this time. Upon entering SCP 4525, all individuals will be paired with an instance of SCP 4525-1, 84 centimeters tall quadrupedal robots with a single front mounted arm. These robots are uniformly white, with da-da-goe written on the side in black marker. SCP 4525-1 will shadow any visitors from the length of their stay in SCP-4525, ostensibly to record any purchases. Whether or not these robots are anomalous in any way has yet to be conclusively determined. SCP 4525 possesses no cashiers or self-checkouts, instead mailing a bill for any items taken out of SCP 4525, and a self-addressed return envelope to the individual's residence, sent using Amazon Prime.

How SCP-4525 obtains the visitor's home address is unknown.