The SCP Experience - The Driverless Train | SCP-1017

Episode Date: March 11, 2022

SCP Foundation EUCLID class object, SCP-1017: The Driverless Train Author: Matt Doggett Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/MatthewDoggettAuthor/ Website/Newsletter sign up: matthewdoggettauthor.com This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-1017, and is released under Creative Commons Sharealike 3.0. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/ DISCLAIMER: This episode contains explicit content. Parental guidance is advised for children under the age of 18. Listen at your own discretion. #drscp #scp #scpfoundation #doctorscp #scpencounters #securecontainprotect #scpstories #scpexplained #whatisscp Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

There was a drizzly rain giving everything a slippery sheen as the black cab pulled up to the curb on the strand. I got out first, followed by Jack. Both of us carried heavy briefcases that held anything but business papers and files, or whatever normal people carried in their briefcases. The rain wasn't so much a rain as it was the constant presence of minuscule floating droplets in the air, somewhere between a mist and a shower. I guess it was better than a drenching rain, but I still cursed it as it settled on the exposed skin of my face and hands.

Even after two years in London, I hadn't gotten used to the foul weather. Jack, on the other hand, looked perfectly at home, like he'd been born into a drizzle like this. Maybe he had. He was a London native after all. Having already paid the cab driver, Jack and I headed directly for the Charing Cross tube station, dodging around people that seemed to be as numerous as the tiny water droplets hanging in the air.

We hurried down the stairs. The tan wall tiles and framed advertisements affixed to them welcoming us to the underground. The place smelled of wet concrete and body odor, covered by whiffs of cologne and deodorant and perfume from the people walking down. bast. The seething masses that passed through these tunnels every day boggled the mind, and I found myself unable to shrug off the disgust and impatience I felt with those in my way. We've got to move, I said, seeing Jack trailing behind. I dodged around people, silently cursing them for walking slowly or not paying attention to where they were going. I had to resist shoving a few people aside as I hurried down the stairs. At the bottom of two

flights of stairs. We came into the station proper, going left, past the little shops toward the northern line. Our train would be arriving soon. And if we weren't on it, well, it wouldn't be good. There was a chance that things would turn bad, really bad, and they would get worse if we weren't there to do something about it. Coming to the line of ticket barriers, I was dismayed to see the long lines in front of the three or four working ones. We don't have to be. We don't have to be have time for this. I said to Jack, who was now making sure to keep up with me. Well, what can we do? Jack said, his eyes wide. Follow me, I said, heading straight for the front of the line, shouldering my way in front of a man there. Hey, mate, what are you doing?

The man said. This was followed by a chorus of grumbles and shouts from people further back in the line. Back the fuck off, asshole, I said before stepping up to the barrier to swipe my card. Jack was busy apologizing to the man when I got through. He was British to the core. Jack, I said, come on. He swiped his card and came through. Then we were jogging again. We rushed down the escalator, moving as quickly as we could on the left while people stood on the right. Once off the escalator, we had to go up some stairs and through another cramped tunnel, packed with people to get to the platform. We pushed onto the train just a few seconds before the doors closed without an announcement.

Are we on the right one? Jack said, gripping a pole as we stood, shoulder to shoulder with other passengers. Keep your voice down, I said. Sorry, did you hear an announcement before the door's closed? I whispered. Jack's eyes widened. No, he said. They always do the announcement. Exactly, I said. So I'm thinking we're on the right train. Now we need to move up to the front. I reached into my jacket pocket and grabbed. my little earpiece, slipping it into my ear.

You read me, Epsilon? I said. We're on the train and moving to the front. My supervisor said over the earpiece, Stand by once you reach the front of the train. You got your earpiece in? I asked, Jack. You hear that?

Yes, sir, he said. Okay, let's go. We were only a couple of cars from the front of the train, but it still took us several minutes to navigate the crowded cars. We passed by the car. people of all kinds, young and old, slovenly and immaculate, white, black, Asian, Middle Eastern, and Hispanic. It was rush hour and the absolute worst time for a phase two incident to occur.

But maybe it wouldn't happen this time, I thought. There hadn't been one in almost a year. Maybe we'd get lucky again. We pushed through the emergency doors between cars as the train moved, careful as we navigated the gap, a slip, and we were. we'd be dead, sucked under the train, and mutilated as it ran over us. We reached the front of the train and took up station behind the driver compartment. So what do we do now? Jack asked. We wait, I said. If no one notices that the driver's missing, then we should be fine.

The train will just do its normal route until the shift is over, and another driver shows up. So the missing driver called in sick? Jack asked. That's how this starts? Yeah. I said. This is one of the more sophisticated SCPs. The driver calls his boss, but somehow the SCP intercepts it, promising to deliver the message. That's what seems to activate it. No replacement is called, allowing the SCP to take over the train. The train came to a stop,

the door's opening. Some passengers got off, some got on. Others stayed on. The doors closed, and the train pulled away from the station. It was smooth sailing so far. And what happens if someone notices there's no driver? You already know all this stuff, don't you, Jack? I asked. Of course, he said. I just like to go over everything. Get on the same page. Okay, I said.

Why don't you tell me what we do if someone notices the driver is missing? It means that a phase two event starts, and we need to enact the 108 captain procedure. which means our job is to use our tools. Jack lifted his suitcase, to incapacitate everyone on the train, and then incapacitate ourselves. Right, I said.

Then we hope that the other teams can accomplish their objectives so we don't die in a fiery crash with another train. Right, Jack said, looking more than a little worried. I smiled. Relax. These protocols have been mostly successful, I said. There may not even be a phase two event. We rode the train in silence for a while,

watching people get on and off at the stops, while others stared at their phones, or read books, or just sat silently. There was a middle-aged couple holding hands where they sat nearby. The woman had her head, leaned against the man's shoulder. Next to them sat a teenager in a blue jumpsuit, nodding his head to whatever beat was coming out of his headphones. Several business professionals were arrayed all around,

dressed in browns and tans and blacks, each with the grim look that comes after years of writing the tube, to and from work. If they only knew how fast everything could change, but it was my job to make sure they never knew. We pulled up to another stop. The doors opened. Everything seemed normal until I heard shouting from outside on the platform.

Oh no, I said. Looking at Jack, the expression on his face told me he'd heard it too. People on the train were turning to look toward the open doors from where the shouting was coming. There's no driver! A woman shouted, running up to the nearest doors. She didn't step foot on the train, just stood at the doors and shouted at the people there. No driver! Of course there's a driver, I shouted back.

I've been on this train since Leicester Square. There's a driver. The lady shook her head. I saw it pull up and there's no driver. I just looked in the little window from the platform. It's empty, empty. Everyone for the most part was ignoring her. But a few people were standing up, looking around, unsure.

The lady pointed her hand into the train at one of these uncertain passengers. Get off! She shouted. Get off! The train door slammed shut on the woman's wrist. In a moment, the train was moving again, picking up speed. The woman on the platform was running as best as she could with her wrist, caught in the doors, trying to yank it out, screaming.

Get ready, I said to Jack, kneeling to open my briefcase. He did the same beside me. Phase two event initiated, I said, do you read me? We read you. Good luck. My superior, Reginald Slattery, said over my earpiece. Bedlam was erupting on the train. A couple of people were trying to shove the woman's hand out of the doors to free her, but it wasn't working.

I pulled the gas mask out of my briefcase and put it on before looking up at the woman. She was no longer screaming. She was doing all she could to keep up with the train. The end of the platform came up fast, and the woman slammed into the wall face first. The train doors held onto her arm, ripping it off at her shoulder as the vehicle sped into the tunnel. Screams erupted inside the train, the severed arm now hanging down, blood pouring out of it onto the bottoms of the doors. I grabbed one of the knockout gas grenades in my right hand, reaching down to ground. grabbed the pin with my left. Already I could sense a change in the people. The screaming stopped

abruptly, and I looked up. The train was eerily silent for a long moment. Everyone's eyes were wide, almost as if they were still screaming, but their mouths were all tight lines. They glanced at each other with these strange expressions on their faces. The first one to make a move was a middle-aged woman. She no longer had her head on her partner's shoulder, but she was was still holding his right hand and her left. She yanked down on his right arm and, at the same time, brought her fist into his face. Blood exploded out of his nose,

and a snarl escaped him as he spun on her. The teenager in the blue track suit used the white cord of his headphones to choke an old woman sitting next to him. A couple of people fell to the ground, seizing or suffering aneurisms. Several others were scratching their own eyes out or attempting to rip their nostrils, lips, or eyelids apart. Others who were capable attacked each other

with the ferocity of abused animals trained to kill. I went to pull the pin from the gas grenade when someone attacked Jack, slamming the trainee into me and knocking the grenade out of my hand. The same commotion knocked my open briefcase over, sending the five other gas grenades rolling along the train floor. I scrambled after them on my stomach, knowing that our immunity from the SCP wouldn't last forever.

We knew there was no driver. We knew there was an SCP at work. But that wouldn't keep the insanity away for long. Eventually, it would get us, too. Which was why it was protocol to knock ourselves out once we dealt with the rest of the train. A young woman jumped on my back and pummeled me with her purse. I half turned and elbowed her in the head,

knocking her off me. When I had to stop myself from beating her further, I knew it wouldn't be long until the insanity took over and I joined the others. I noticed the beginnings of a headache, which was a further indication that I was coming under the SCP's influence. I caught a glimpse of Jack not far behind me and gritted my teeth as I watched his attacker plunge a small knife into his face again and again. The train lurched then, and I knew that one of the other foundation teams had cut the power to the tracks. One of the gas canisters rolled back toward me thanks to this, and I managed to pull the pin and toss the canister into the middle of the train car.

It was too late for the rest of the train, but I could at least save these people, the ones that were still alive anyway. Epsilon, please read, I said. Could not, I repeat, could not subdue the entire train, only the lead car. Without waiting for a reply, I ripped off my gas mask and inhaled deeply. An implacable urge to sleep swept over me, and I could no longer keep my eyes open. The first words I heard when I awoke were, What a cluster fuck!

I lifted my head to look around the train platform. There were Foundation medics here and there, helping the injured people sprawled everywhere on the platform. The man who had spoken the words was my superior, Reginald Slattery. He was standing nearby, talking to the other Foundation agents. I sat up, catching his attention. What the hell happened? He asked.

They all turned so fast, I said. My gas grenades all got knocked away. Good God, Slatery said. We need to install automatic gas dispensers in every train in the underground. That way we can do it remotely. That's a great idea, sir. I said through the groginess clouding my thoughts. Hey, Sladdery said.

If I had the budget for it, I would have done it years ago. Maybe this little incident will get me the budget. Jack? I asked. Huh? Oh, right, your partner, the trainee? He's alive, but he'll be in recovery for a long time. Lots of plastic surgery to fix his face, I'm afraid.

I looked down at my hands. How many? I asked. Slattery shook his head. Nearly 100 dead. How do you cover up 100 deaths in a believable way, huh? I didn't have. I knew it was a rhetorical question.

My gaze moved past him to the train that was still next to the platform. The windows of all the cars behind the first one were splashed with blood. I thought about the man I'd cut in front of at the ticket barrier. And I thought of how I'd felt about all the people that had been in my way as Jack and I headed to the train. 100 people were dead because of me. How could I ever want these people to disappear? How had I lost sight of the purpose of my job? which was only to protect people.

You did what you could, slattery said, kneeling next to me. It's no easy job, this SCP. We need more people, more resources, a bigger budget. We do what we can with what we've got. I nodded, but it didn't make the pain go away. They were just words.

And what are words up against 100 dead? SCP 1017 is an anomalous phenomenon that frequently occurs. on the London Underground Metropolitan Railway. The effect first starts when a train driver attempts to notify their supervisor that they will be unable to attend work by telephone. The telephone call will not be received and interviews with the staff members in question

have revealed that their calls went through to an unidentified male recipient, who agreed to pass on the message. After this, the train that the absent driver was scheduled to operate will function as normal along the planned route. Curiously, members of the public rarely seem to notice this anomalous effect. Under most circumstances, the train will operate until the next driver comes on shift or that particular train

is finished for the day. Infrequently, SCP-1017 may undergo a Phase 2 event, requiring more direct intervention by the foundation. These are normally triggered by individuals attempting to make contact with the driver of the train, members of the public noting that the train is driverless and interference with the normal running of the train. Should a phase two event occur, the train will immediately begin to accelerate to dangerous speeds, ignoring any stop signals and potentially injuring members of the public who are attempting to board or disembark. The train will continue to build speed, and should procedure 108 camp to not be enacted, there is a major likelihood of a collision with another vehicle or a derailing incident.

Any conscious passengers on board the train will quickly begin to develop a number of harmful symptoms including intense headaches, brain hemorrhages or aneurysms, apparently auditory and visual hallucinations, loss of reason and or rationality, intensely violent and frenzied assaulting of other passengers, violent self-harm or mutilation of the face and eyes. Zanagsurgelley, Puisance-Moyerned 15 minutes.

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