The SCP Experience - The 3D Printer from Hell | SCP-1146

Episode Date: July 28, 2025

In a high-security facility where D-Class prisoners clean anomalies, one inmate survives a blood-soaked uprising led by a rogue 3D printer that uses human bodies to create nightmares—and escape has a price. This story was derived from ⁠⁠https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-1146 and is released under Creative Commons Sharealike 3.0. ⁠⁠https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/⁠⁠ Author: Matt Doggett * * * CONTENT DISCLAIMER: This episode contains explicit content not limited to intense themes, strong language, and depictions of violence intended for adults. Parental guidance is strongly advised for children under the age of 17. Listener discretion is advised.  #thescpexperience #scp #scpfoundation #scpencounters #securecontainprotect #scpstories Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

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DePos minimum of $10. Veil to pay They are responsible. The conditions apply. Hurry up. Pritchard said as he opened the door to the containment cell for us, Burns, a broad, shouldered guy with a shaved head and prison tattoos over most of his body, headed into the cell first.

He carried a caddy stuffed with cleaning supplies. Next went Delacross, who pushed a mop and a rolling bucket filled with soapy water. I trudged into the cell last, carrying a broom and dustpan. All three of us wore the telltale orange jumps. suits of D-class personnel. Pritchard shut the door on us. Through the window in the top half of the door, we could see clearly as he pulled his phone out and started scrolling or texting, or whatever it was he did on his phone while we cleaned. All three of us stood in a wide arc around the large 3D printer in the center of the room, waiting for it to come to life

and start yelling at us, like it did every time we came in to clean the cell. It looked like a big, fancy phone booth with a black slab on the back, a computer screen on the left side, and two speakers set in the top, just above the clear door to the printing chamber. I'd seen 3D printers before, back when I was a free man, but never won this size. The thing looked like he could print a model of a full-grown human. The complex nozzles at the end of the mechanical arms sat inert at the bottom of the printing chamber. On the right side of the machine was a compartment about the size of a large suitcase where the printing material would go.

This compartment also had dormant mechanical arms, but instead of nozzles, they had dangerous-looking metal clamps at the ends. Of course, there was no material in the compartment, so it couldn't print anything. That's why the sound outside the containment cell designated this anomaly as safe. For that's what I'd gathered

from overhearing guards talk about the thing. I looked at Delacross, a jolly guy of small stature and simple intelligence. His broad face cracked into a smile. Maybe it won't do it today. Maybe, I said. Burns stared at the printer, a scow on his face. He'd been acting strange today, but I wasn't about to ask him why.

The less I interacted with him, the better. It was bad enough we were on the same cleaning crew. Shrugging, I moved to the far corner of the room to start sweeping. Before I touched the bristles to the floor, the machine came alive, causing me to jump as it started yelling in a child's voice. I couldn't understand what it was saying, because it was speaking Russian or something, but its tone was unmistakable.

So much for that. Delacross said sadly as he waited for me to sweep, so he could get started mopping. Burns moved suddenly to the containment cell door, setting his cleaning supply caddy down, and then opening the door a few inches so it wouldn't hit Pritchard. Since this was technically a safe containment cell,

It didn't have an automatic locking mechanism on the door. Pritchard unlocked it to let us in, and then locked it again when we were done cleaning. But he never liked his scrolling time to be interrupted. The guard had a pistol on one hip and a collapsible baton on the other. He pulled the pistol on us more than once, but he'd never used it. The baton, though, he'd used many times. I watched, wondering what the hell Burns was thinking. The two exchanged words I couldn't hear over the young.

yelling printer, but it was clear Pritchard wasn't having it. He reached for his baton and said something threatening. Burns retreated back inside, letting the door close behind him. The tattooed man glanced over his shoulder at Pritchard through the window, seeing the guard returning his attention to his phone. When Burns faced forward again, he had a reptilian smile on his face, which quickly disappeared when he saw me looking at him. Before he could say anything, I resumed sweeping. Trying to ignore the yelling machine, I zoned in on my work. Moving the broom steadily across the concrete floor

put me into a kind of trance state, a zen-like zone of nothingness where my thoughts faded to background noise. It was something I'd been working on for the better part of a year, and I'd gotten pretty good at it. Of course, I couldn't completely block out the world. Not yet.

It would probably take me another 20 years of practice to get that good. So I was vaguely aware, under the sound of the yelling, that Burns was asking Delacros for help with something. I didn't think too much about it at first. It took me several sweeps of my broom before it really sank in. Burns had never asked either of us for help with anything. The only time he spoke to us was when he wanted to insult or intimidate us. Then there was a smack, like the sound of a punch. I turned and looked at the same. at the two men just in time to see the end of Delacrosse's life. Burns was holding the small door to the materials chamber open with one hand, shoving Delacross into the space with the other.

It looked as though my friend was unconscious because he didn't put up a fight. As soon as Delacross's head entered the chamber, two mechanical arms reached out and gripped his skull. A third arm extended out of the chamber and jammed its sharp metal digits into Delacross's back, piercing his flesh, and possibly even gripping his spine. I dropped my broom as Burns helped shove the rest of Delacross's body into the chamber, which was too small to fit him. That didn't seem to matter to the machine or Burns. The mechanical arm snapped limbs so he would fit, and Burns put his back into shoving. The whole thing had taken less than ten seconds. With all Zen-like calm forgotten, I picked up my broom and raced over, aiming to give Burns.

Burns the beatdown of his life. But as I approached, I could see that the printer was actually working. The yelling had stopped, and the printing heads in the main chamber were working hard. In the materials chamber, Delacros' twisted and mangled body was turning into some kind of bloody, melted sludge, which was pulled in and used to print whatever was printing. Burns turned just as I swung my broom at him. He ducked low and darted under my outstretched arms, hitting me hard in the stomach. Croaning in pain, I doubled over, allowing him a free shot at my face, which he took with his knee.

My nose exploded under his kneecap, and I dropped the broom as I fell onto my back. All thoughts obscured by pain. You're next asshole! Burns said as he yanked the broom up and hit me with it. The thing was made of hollow aluminum, and it didn't hurt at all. I don't know what I was thinking. I glanced over toward the door, seeing that Pritchard was as oblivious as ever, still staring at his phone.

I knew these chambers were pretty much soundproof, but I thought he might have at least glanced inside to see if we were doing our jobs. Burns jabbed the top of the broom into my throat. Don't you say a fucking word? I could just see the printing chamber behind and to the left of Burns. My eyes bulged when I saw what it was printing.

I recalled the conversation I'd heard Pritchard and another guard having some weeks ago. They said that whatever this thing printed came alive. And right now, it was just about finished, printing a full-sized gorilla, only not exactly a gorilla. It was more like a child's nightmare of one of the primates. The body was identical, but it had huge spikes for teeth and the red eyes of a demon. The machine stopped working after finishing the top of the gorilla's head, complete with some black hair sticking randomly up. I felt a moment of hopeful optimism when the gorilla was nothing

more than a lifelike statue standing inert in the chamber. Maybe it won't come alive, I thought. The door opened on its own, and the gorilla, knuckle walked out, red eyes rolling until they fixed on Burns and me. Snorting, the thing started toward us with violent intent. Burns shoved the broom handle harder into my throat, choking my windpipe down to a pinpoint. He spoke quickly, and through the pain of my shattered nose, it took me a moment to realize that he wasn't speaking English.

turns speaks Russian, I thought dumbly, looking through tear-blurred eyes at the man standing over me. His head turned toward the 3D printer as he spoke. My question was answered as the gorilla stopped moving and looked back over his shoulder at the printer as if listening to it. But the printer didn't speak like it had before in that little kid's voice. Still, it was clear some form of communication had passed between the machine and its offspring because the gorilla turned back toward us and knuckle walked over to stand next to me. This time, there was no violence in its body language.

Burns lifted the broom handle from my neck, and I took in a rasping breath. Meanwhile, the machine started again, printing something else. I was too busy staring up at the gorilla's spiky teeth to see what it was. In my peripheral vision, I noticed Burns moving away from me now that the gorilla stood guard. Apparently he and the machine had come to some sort of agreement. I tried to determine how long we'd been in here, but time had gone funny on me since Burns had killed Delacrosse. It hadn't taken the printer long to generate the gorilla.

That much I was sure of, maybe a minute at most. It usually only took us ten minutes to clean this chamber. I figured it was approaching the seven-minute mark, but that was just a guess. For the first time since I could remember, I wanted Pritchard's attention on me. I wanted him to look through the window to check what was taking so long. But what would he do if he saw this? A nasty voice in my head sneered.

Do you think he would rescue you? No, of course he wouldn't. He would lock the door and sound the alarm. What do you think would happen to you then? Either you would become a hostage, or Burns would kill you for the fun of it, or the gorilla would. No matter how nasty the voice, I knew it was right. If I survived long enough to see backup arrive, I would probably die in the ensuing skirmish.

The guards certainly wouldn't think twice about wasting anyone in an orange jumpsuit. We were expendable. That had been made clear a hundred times over since my arrival here. A snap caught my attention, finally pulling my gaze away from the gorilla and toward the source of the noise. Burns stood next to the mop bucket. He just snapped the wooden mop handle in half and was inspecting the jagged, pieces. He selected the one that wasn't attached to the mop head and dropped the one that was. Then he came back to me and spoke to the printer in Russian again. The child's voice came from

the speakers, and this time I recognized some of the words it said. I didn't understand them, but they sounded familiar because I'd heard them every time I'd come in here to clean the place. Burns spoke again, and I got the feeling they were in some kind of negotiation. Looking at the printer, I noticed that it was running out of material. The bloody sludge that had once been Delacross was almost gone. Then I noticed what the printer was making, and my skin tightened at the sight of it. Like the gorilla, the octopus was a little off in the worst ways possible. It was all black, except for the gray on the underside of its tentacles where the suckers were. And, unlike regular suckers, these had circles of tiny, sharp teeth in them, like the inside of a lampre's

mouth. The machine was printing its yellow eyes and bulbous head as I watched, and it was using the last of the material, my friend Delacross. From the first time since this all started, I understood what Burns was trying to do. He was trying to escape. Somehow, the thought hadn't occurred to me. If I had thought about it at all, I just figured Burns was a psycho with no clear motive for his actions. I realized with shame that my failure to discern his plan sooner was a direct symptom of how long I'd been incarcerated. I'd come to accept the fact that I would die a prisoner. Hope had deserted me, and thoughts of escape had long ago left my mind. But what if it didn't have to be that way? I asked myself, what if there was a way? While I was lost in these thoughts,

a long, dormant excitement began to swirl in my stomach. Meanwhile, the gorilla moved toward the cell door. Burns wrenched me up from the floor and positioned himself behind me. holding the sharp end of the broken mop handle to my neck. The printer was finishing the octopus. It would come out in a matter of moments. Both, Burns said, pushing me toward the printer in the materials chamber. The door to the chamber opened, and the mechanical arms reached out as far as they could, ready to take me in.

Just as the door to the printing chamber opened to free the octopus, I glanced out the window, seeing Pritchard turned from his phone screen and glance into the cell. By then, the gorilla was next to the door and against the wall, out of his line of sight, but everything else was in clear view. Pritchard did an almost comical double-take, and then his face took on the sallow hue of someone who had just screwed the pooch. As Pritchard dropped his phone and lurched toward the door, no doubt to lock it, Bern shouted

in Russian. Before he was done shouting, the gorilla was moving, coming around at the door and throwing itself into its shoulder first. Since this anomaly was considered safe, with proper supervision while cleaning was done, the door wasn't reinforced, like those to cells containing more dangerous anomalies. The guerrilla's powerful blow was enough to break the door open. It cracked Pritchard in the head, and he fell to the floor like a boneless dummy. While this chaos was underway, I saw my opportunity, and I took it. Reaching up, I grabbed the distracted burns by the arm holding the broken mop handle and whipped him around, using my body weight and one leg to trip him up and throw him

off balance. The piece of jagged wood gouged my neck, but I didn't think it was bad, and I wasn't about to stop right then to see. I shoved Burns the few steps to the printer, and the mechanical arms embraced him around the neck and shoulders. As I was trying to shove him all the way in, it was clear that the arms needed a little help. I felt a fiery pain in my abdomen. Ignoring it, I grabbed hold of Burns' flailing arms, noticing that he no longer had hold of the sharp piece of wood. With a little more work, I made sure the arms had him fully. The one around his neck like a headlock tightened so much that it collapsed his throat. After that, it was easy to fold him up and get him into the chamber. I shut the door as the

printer started to liquefy him. But when I stepped back, the strength suddenly went out of my legs. I sat down hard and noticed that the broken wooden handle was sticking out of my lower left abdomen. The jagged hole in my jumpsuit around the implement was soaked with blood. There came a crash from down the hall, drawing my attention from the piece of wood in my body to the broken open door to the cell. I was happy for the distraction because I couldn't quite get my mind around the injury. The gorilla was gone, and from the sound of things, it was doing some serious damage down the hall. The octopus scurried out the door and grabbed Pritchard from the floor, dragging the unconscious man into the cell and toward the printer, which was already working

on something else. A two-legged dinosaur of some kind. Maybe I had bought myself some time by helping get burns into the machine, or maybe it realized Pritchard would put up less of a fight. Either way, I was grateful he didn't come for me next. As the octopus used its eight arms to position Pritchard next to the materials chamber, I got to my feet and lurched into the hall. Contamement Breach alarms started going off as I headed toward the screams and shouts and gunfire. I hoped to use the chaos as a distraction to get out. I'd passed several containment cells that had been broken open, their inhabitants nowhere to be seen. Dead researchers and guards lay everywhere, some of them in tiny pieces.

As a familiar visitor to this hall, I knew what some of those anomalies were, and I was seeing their handiwork up close. Suddenly, rethinking my strategy, I turned around. to head the other way, not wanting to run into any of those dangerous anomalies. But when I faced the way I had come, I saw a monstrous velociraptor bounding down the hall toward me, all teeth and reptilian eyes. It was the printer's most recent offspring. Turning around again, I ran through the destruction as fast as I could, slipping on blood here and there, and holding onto the piece of wood protruding from my abdomen so it wouldn't come out and cause me to bleed more than I already was. As I ran down the halls, following the trail of death and destruction.

I passed a man wearing a porcelain tragedy mask and one wearing a long-beaked plague doctor mask. I saw a woman burst into flames from no visible cause. I saw a young researcher being assimilated into a giant melted amalgam of human flesh. He screamed for my help, but I kept running. Giant wasps, with crooked abdomens and savage stingers, buzzed past me.

I saw a Sasquatch taking on a squad of guards, ripping them room from room. It was like hell had come to earth, but all I could think of was getting out of this place, even if that meant running through hell. When I finally came to a jagged hole and an exterior wall, I could hardly stand. It was only then that I noticed the chest of my jumpsuit was soaked in blood. Reaching up with one hand, I felt my neck, remembering that burns had gouged me before I got him into the printer. The injury was worse than I thought, and blood was flowing freely.

holding one hand to my neck and the other to my abdomen, I stumbled out of the building and into the night. There was a hole through the triple-layered fences that protected the place, and I could just see what had caused the damage, slipping into the trees some 100 yards distant. It was a giant lizard. Its tail swished as it disappeared into the foliage. I ran after it, leaving the constant sounds of alarms and shouts and gunshots behind me.

Instead of following the lizard directly, I angled off, Hoping I wouldn't run into it in the woods. By the time I reached the relative safety of the forest, I was beyond exhausted. Unable to go any farther, I sat down at the base of a large oak tree. A cool night breeze swept across me, and I breathed deeply of the sweet-smelling air. Looking up through the thick, reaching branches, I saw the distant twinkle of stars intermittently through the wind-stirred leaves. A smile came to my lips.

I had been incarcerated for so long that thoughts of dying a free man were little more than distant memories. I thought my death would come within the confines of a six-by-eight cell, not a breeze to be felt, or a panorama of stars to be seen. Of course, I had also expected to live much longer than my current 52 years. But I found with little surprise I was willing to trade the rest of my years for a chance to die outside, under a big oak tree that would have been perfect for a treehouse. I could still see through a gap in the foliage, the hole in the nearest fence. Movement there caught my eye, and I looked that way, seeing the octopus working its way through the hole.

Using four of its arms, it carried the large 3D printer above its head. Its other four arms propelled it along. Behind it came the gorilla with two dead or unconscious guards, one thrown over each shoulder, Then there was the Raptor, which carried two more people on its back. Three more creatures followed in the strange procession, a giant emperor scorpion, a demonic-looking horse, and a baboon. All of them carried or dragged at least one person, more material for the printer. As they passed, the Raptor paused and turned his head, just long enough to glance at me, like it remembered me. Then it snorted and moved on.

Apparently, feeding the machine buys you a little mercy. At the sight of this absurd parade, my smile turned into a laugh. Despite the pain it caused me, I laughed for a good long while. Other than the sound of the breeze rustling the leaves, my laughter was the last sound I ever heard. SCP 1146 has a heavily modified 3D printer. Modifications include an LCD screen, a set of small speakers, and an enlarged printing disk.

enlarged printing bay. Through means currently unknown, SCP 1146 seems to lack any requirement for an exterior power source and can operate unplugged indefinitely. The printer's anomalous attributes are exhibited when a human being comes within two meters. It will begin to yell insults at the individual and the voice of a Russian child, or try to convince them to fix a filament blockage. As long as it remains without filament material and no biological material over one kilogram in mass is placed in the filament bay, this is the extent of its anomalous abilities. If the printer does have material,

it will begin printing a number of creatures, including an oversized Emperor Scorpion, a velociraptor, and a silverback gorilla. This process takes approximately 45 seconds per model, and appears to be merely an accelerated version of the standard printing process. Upon completion, each model will exit the printing bay and attack any humans it encounters. The models have a lifespan of approximately 30 minutes, after which they will vitrify.

If the printer manages to produce five models, the models will attempt to move SCP 1146 to an exit, attacking any on-site personnel en route. It will produce additional models as needed, and will create models of increasingly dangerous items and animals as it moves. The printer will continue this behavior until it runs out of filament, at which point it will enter a dormant state and can be safely transported back to its containment cell.