The SCP Experience - The Infinite IKEA (Part 1) | SCP-3008

Episode Date: June 27, 2022

SCP Foundation EUCLID class object, SCP-3008: The Infinite IKEA (Part 1) This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-3008, and is released under Creative Commons Sharealike 3.0. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/ Author: Joshua Simpson 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

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Embarked and relaxes. Syrotay. Bookine. Oh, that also. And profite. Villaray, the voice that we love that we love. The assignment that ended my career as an SCP field agent was my expedition into SCP 3008,

otherwise known as the Infinite Ikea. Driving to SCP 3008, Mr. Spittle briefed me. Your assignment is to enter SCP-308. Find Agent Ophelius and report back to us. Agent Ophelius, the only colleague I liked, had been assigned to go in and retrieve some lost shoppers, but he himself had become lost.

There was only one question on my mind. How will I find my way out? We had already developed an exit locator for Agent. Ophelius. You'll be equipped with one. Spittle handed me the compass-like device. To help you find your way out? Well, sure. I mean, it worked for Agent Ophelius, right? I joked. We don't think the exit locator was the problem. Ophelius just stopped reporting to us, without warning, suggesting he might have gotten into some kind of trouble. Trouble? As you know, the staff become hostile at night. That's right. I'd read the field reports.

The IKEA staff would shuffle around placidly during the day, but at night, they'd attack anyone on site. Worse, they were attracted to the bodies of their fallen colleagues, so killing them only attracted more of them. But Ophelius went silent during the day, Spittle continued, suggesting the staff weren't the cause. According to earlier reports, there are a few townships inside SCP-308. They might know something. It's likely Ophelius made contact with them at some point. That was in the report, too. The shoppers lost inside SCP-308

seemed to have grouped together, built barricades, and armed themselves with IKEA products to fend off the staff throughout the night. Surviving on food from the IKEA restaurants, they had carved out quite an existence there. Here we are, said Spiddle. Our van had reached the checkpoint in the perimeter. of SCP-308.

A wire fence had been established around the plot of land on which the store had been built. Hazard signs and warnings of toxic mold were intermittently stuck along the fence to keep people out, and agents wearing hazmat suits patrolled its length. Our van was pointed towards the gate, where the dock showed his clearance paperwork. Security waved us through, and we drove into the large and vacant car park of SCP-3008. There it was, a vast warehouse unit made of corrugated steel painted in primary blue, and with a name IKEA in giant yellow letters. Contact the townships. Find someone who's seen Ophelius, then report to us, said Spittle.

We'll be in your ear. Spiddle then shoved something so deep into my ear canal that it tickled my brain. Ouch! He pushed me out the door of the van, saying, good luck, Agent Atlas. I knew he didn't mean it. How many had he sent into SCP-38 before Ophelius? Was I just another in a long line of lost agents? I walked slowly up to the store entrance.

The Foundation's security personnel wouldn't look me in the face. The store's doors automatically opened, inviting me inside. I stepped in. Inside, the only surprising thing was how unsurprising the place was. It was entirely normal. The bedrooms department into which I'd entered was stocked with the expected Nordic-named products. Yatevalmo, Hovig, Mal. The background music was dimly playing, and there were even a few staff ahead.

But when I reached them, the normalcy quickly evaporated. The staff wore the usual blue pants and yellow shirts of IKEA, and busied themselves by pushing trolleys or climbing stepladders to reach boxes. But they were somehow wrong. As I got closer, I saw their bodies were out of proportion, legs too short and arms too long. They waddled in an inhuman way. Coming into their midst, I could see each creature's head was misshapen

and lacked facial features. Their hands were as big as shovels. Thankfully, they seemed unaware of me. Once at a safe distance from the staff, in the dining department, I stacked a couple of display tables atop one another and climbed onto them so I could look out across the store. In each direction, an endless repetition of home furnishing departments extended into the distance.

To the west, though, just a few departments away, some kind of construction of various furniture could be seen, jutting up amongst the shelves and displays. As I was straining my eyes to study it, a hand clasped around my ankle. It pulled me crashing down off the table. I was pinned on my back, looking up at the three shoppers who held me down. They each wore a headband made from a ratchet strap,

with Allen wrenches slotted inside it, like feathers in their caps. Doesn't look like a dining man, said one, pointing a sharpened curtain pole at my face. He had three Allen wrenches in his headband. I noticed the others had just two Allen wrenches in theirs. Check his teeth, said another with a hammer in his hand. I felt fingertips digging under my lips to pull and start. Stretch my lips around as they inspected my teeth. Not a cannibal.

Who are you? Asked the third one, holding a garden shovel over me. My name's Atlas, I told them. I came in here to find my colleague. Maybe you've seen him? They looked at one another and began laughing. Right, you're a new arrival. You'll have to come with us, said the one with a curtain pole.

With three Allen wrenches in his headband, he seemed to be the highest rank. Don't worry. We'll get you to safety. But there's a process now. Always follow the instructions, laughed the one with the shovel. And who are you? I asked their leader,

as he gently brought me to my feet and dusted me down. They call me Bottle Rack. I'm the leader of the Scouts. He saluted me. Then Bottle Rack gestured to his men, and they wound my wrists in packing tape. Where are you taking me? I asked. We're taking you to the only place you'd want to be,

the flat-pack fortress. Bottle Rack smiled. There, you'll stand before the king, and he'll decide your fate. But don't worry, it's only custom. Just tell him what you told us. What if he doesn't like what I say? I asked. Bottle Rack laughed.

He's no tyrant. You'll be free to leave if you like. The scouts walked me to where they'd parked their wheelie trolleys, which we boarded. They propelled the trolleys like large skateboards, expertly cornering around the aisles and skidding over the tiles of the display kitchens, until we reached the Flatpack Fortress. Interlocking tables, chairs, desks, and bookcases, stacked and slotted together, formed the outer walls of the fortress.

Atop the walls stood guards who wielded lawnmower blades like scimiters. Bottle rack whistled and made a gesture with his fingers. At this, the walls folded back, admitting us through a narrow passage of ponds, and oak veneer. Coming into the courtyard, I saw a crowd of citizens had gathered around a man that stood atop a coffee table, wearing a tall lampshade atop his head. He chanted, Oh, IKEA!

Keep us steady and balanced with a piece of folded cardboard under our shortest leg. Let us not hide our instruction pamphlets by sitting on them, and may the original packaging remain with us until the warranty expires. He bowed his head in prayer, and the crowd followed. He began the prayer. IKEA, who art around us? Hallowed be thy name. Thy pamphlets come.

Instructions done. In bedrooms, as it is in bathrooms. Give us this day our wheelie trolley, and give us our allen wrenches, as we give Alan Wrenches to those who join us, and lead us not into exchanges, but deliver us from return. Amen.

The crowd echoed, Amen, that slowly dispersed, returning to their business within the fortress walls. These people bore a peculiar array of injuries, arms and slings, missing limbs, and many paraplegics using rolling office chairs as improvised wheelchairs. I turned to ask Battlerack, but he preempted my curiosity, saying,

It's the staff. At night, they become deranged, and attack his. anyone they see. You've seen them, big arms, big hands. But why so many paraplegics? I asked. Well, they don't just attack. They try to bold people. They try to flat pack us, bend and twist our limbs, and stuff us in boxes, or store us on the shelves. Battle Rack's eyes went distance, as if we're calling some horrors. They treat us like furniture, basically. So a lot of broken spines here, but within the flat-pack fortress were safe.

Bottle rack and his scouts brought me up a winding staircase made of deck chairs to a mezzanine platform of thatched bed slats, the king's court. We sat before a large marquee made of curtains and waited until a scribe emerged and declared Ladies and gentlemen, please stand for the Lord of the Flatpack Kingdom, His Highness, the Meatball King. To applause, the king emerged from behind the curtains, a pot-bellied man with spectacles, wearing a crown with countless allen wrenches protruding from it, and a cape of silk bed sheets flowing off his narrow shoulders. He held the pole of a tall standing floor lamp as a staff.

His counselor approached him, bowed, then spoke. The glimmer of tiles on the eastern horizon suggests bathrooms and kitchens abound there, my lord. accordingly, I'm expecting a heavy incidence of garden and outdoors as we head north. Make room in the armory so we're not muddled as we loot, said the king. And let's keep our eyes peeled that the returns desk doesn't creep up on us again, so help us God. The king's counselor replied, very well, my lord, and now your advisors from trends, scouting, and inventory are here to report on the day. Trends report! shouted the king.

The trend's advisor stepped forth, bowed, then spoke. Bad news, my lord. Surveying of the living room department suggests that Shabby Shik is still going strong this season. So help us God. And what news from scouting? Bottle rack stepped up, bowing. Westwards, the traps we left at the restaurant remain untouched, and no other sign of survivors that way.

I'm suggesting we divert our patrols elsewhere in the meantime. Make it so. said the king. My lord, we did find one survivor in dining, said bottle rack. He appears to be a new arrival. Very well. We'll give him his hearing after. Inventory? Our Tupperware is full, my lord, said the inventory advisor, bowing. And our ice packs are replenished in the cool bags. All is well.

The king smiled. Finally, some good news. Well then, I suppose we should hear from our new arrival. Come forth. I handle my back pushed me forwards. I thought it's smart to bow as I stumbled towards the king. Surviving alone outside the fortress walls? said the king.

How did you manage that? I've just got here, I told him. Earlier today, I came looking for my colleague. He entered the store two weeks back. I'm hoping he's somewhere here in your kingdom. The king turned to bottle rack. And you're confident his story checks out. He's a newbie, said bottle rack.

I'd bet my life on it. Very well, announced the king. Release the man and show him our ways. The king approached me and spoke under his breath. Apologies for the rough treatment. Even after uniting the towns, we still occasionally find enemies within the store. We've lost many citizens to bandits, saboteurs, and cannibals.

I have a responsibility to my people, you see. I see, I said, as my hands were snipped free by a clerk with scissors. Only IKEA knows the variety of enemies hiding in the aisles, so we must take precautions. The king clicked a ratchet strap around my head and slotted an Allen wrench into it. I will grant you safety within the flat pack fortress, in return for your menial cooperation with our customs. It would be nice if you could lend a hand. There's plenty of work to do. I asked, what work needs doing? Each morning, when the lights come on, we disassemble the fortress and move it along to be reassembled

in a neighboring department. It's a big effort, but a necessary one. Why? I asked. It keeps us on the move from the staff, said the king. And eventually, we hope to reach an exit. I knew then that the king's efforts were futile. They were moving far too slowly to pin down the fast-moving exits,

but I also knew better than to say anything. I held my tongue. I'll see what I can do, I said. Everything is still so new. Don't feel obliged. You're free to search for your colleague outside the fortress walls if you wish. But be aware, the gate closes at 9 p.m. No exceptions.

A shirtless, muscular man stepped into the court, held up a large cake tin and bashed it with the spanner, declaring, One hour until store closing. Seal the gates, man the walls. How's that for timing? Laughs the king. You don't mind spending the night with us, I hope? Not at all, I said.

Then remember to add, my lord. Later, bottle rack showed me to the guest quarters, which consisted of a memory foam mattress inside a white cotton teepee, adorned with fairy lights. I must admit it was cozier than my bedroom back home. I sank into the mattress and pressed on my earpiece to contact mission control. I gave them my report. Glad to hear you've settled in nicely, Agent Atlas, said Spiddle sarcastically.

If the townships have united into one kingdom, that makes your job easier. So hurry up and get it done. What a jerk. Sure thing, I said. You should ingratiate yourself with the king, and make some connections. That's the best bed of finding someone who's seen Agent Ophelius. Agreed, I said.

I'll make myself useful tomorrow and see if I can generate any leads on Ophelius. But one thing, Agent Atlas, don't get too absorbed in their culture. Remember your mission. Warned, Spittle. Find Ophelius, don't get distracted, and don't waste time.

I stretched out on my bed and thought that I could quite enjoy wasting some time here. That night, I slept well. Better, in fact, than I usually do. Let's talk groceries, specifically your groceries. With Instacart, you want your groceries just the way you like them, right? Well, the Instacart app lets you do just that. They have a new preference picker that lets you pick how ripe or unripe you want your bananas.

Shoppers can see your preferences up front, helping guide their choices. Instacart, get groceries just how you like. It's never too early to plan your summer story in Europe with WestJet, from rolling countryside to cobblestone streets. Begin your next chapter. Book your seat at westjet.com or call your travel agent. WestJet, where your story takes off. In the morning, I ventured outside to find the citizens had already been disassembling the fortress,

loading it up onto trolleys, and carting it over to the next department. Everyone moved with such purpose and focus that I did. I didn't know where I should step in. As I dawdled up and down the makeshift streets, I saw the priest I'd seen the day before. The lampshade he wore on his head stuck up amidst the busy crowds. He was making his way towards me. You can't spell future without furniture, he beamed at me, closing the distance and putting his hand on my shoulder.

That's backwards, I thought. It should be, you can't spell furniture without future. But everything was a bit backwards here. I guess being backwards suited this place. Have you heard the good news, brother? He asked, holding up a pamphlet entitled IKEA Company Values, then putting it into my hands. IKEA is here to give us meaning, brother.

IKEA is not your enemy. Love IKEA. It sounded like Stockholm's syndrome to me. He continued, IKEA provides, IKEA guides. Have faith in IKEA. He turned his head to beam at another citizen, then approached them.

Have you heard the good news, brother? I looked at the pamphlet, which listed the company values, togetherness, responsibility, and a few others. In the margins, the priest had annotated the pamphlets' text with various spiritual interpretations relating these eight values to the divinity of the flat-pack kingdom. Someone snatched the pamphlet out of my hand. I looked up to see a guard smiling.

Forget this rubbish, he said, tossing the pamphlet over his shoulder. Here are the newbie, right? If you want to get involved here, come and join us in the guards tavern. Tavern? I asked. It's early morning. Not for the guards.

We've just clocked off. I noticed he had two Allen wrenches in his headband. He offered his hand. Name Shaggy Rug, he said. But you can call me Shaggy. When I shook his hand, he gripped mine tight and started dragging me away

towards a collection of bar stools around a row of kitchen islands. The guards tavern. The booze there smelled awfully strong, fermented from the fruit of the restaurant, apparently. The guards welcomed me, and Shaggy ordered me a drink. No money was exchanged. It seemed the number of Allen wrenches worn by each citizen entitled them to tiered benefits. When we sat down, the guards were sharing war stories. I noticed they customarily gave product descriptions whenever they mentioned using an item from the store. I heard lines like, I took my odd leg cook's knife, 99 from kitchens, and stuck it through the creature's face. The only thing between us and certain death was the sturdy paneling of hemness, $194.49 from bookcases.

I jumped down into the darkness with nothing but my fiaxa claw hammer, 849 from tools and fittings in my hand. If a card ever forgot to mention such information, the others would shout, and point at the guard until they necked their drink. I turned to Shaggy Rug and asked him how it is defending the fortress. It's easier than it used to be, he laughed. Most of us here were guards for the various townships before we all united under the king. Things were harder then. How so? I inquired. You once had the Kitchenites, for example. That was my town. We formed our fort from the heavy quartz slabs of Oxton, $442 per square meter from work tops, and this gave us unrivaled protection from the staff. Week after week, those creatures assaulted us with no success.

So why don't we do that here? I asked. Because the bodies amassed against the quartz, or became trapped between the heavy slabs, and we couldn't clear them quickly enough. The dead bodies attracted more staff, which amassed more bodies, which attracted more staff. It was a runaway chain reaction. By staying in the same place, we became a target. Eventually, the attacking parties grew so large that they overran us. Shaggy gulped his drink and lowered his head. The kitchenites fell. We couldn't move our town, so we fell. That's why all this then, I said, gesturing to the citizens deconstructing the flat-pack fortress around us. Yep, but mobility alone is not enough.

Take, for example, the outdoorsies, who led a nomadic existence. To the outdoorsies! Yildegarde, before finishing his drink and promptly passing out. Shaggy continued. The outdoorsies quickly moved across the store, broken into smaller tribes, scouting for areas vacant of staff, and setting up camps there with no real defense. They relied on a few able-bodied scouts to patrol for staff and sound alarms so the camps could flee before being found. So what went wrong for the outdoorsies? I asked.

Over time, their scouts were picked off quicker than they could be replaced, leaving the outdoorsies without any protection whatsoever. They fell too, around the same time as my people did. So the king united the survivors? I asked. Yep. It was his smart idea. Combine the security of the Kitchenites with the mobility of the outdoorsies. A fortification that disassembles and reassembles itself each day, in true IKEA spirit. Though his priest tends to take the spiritual stuff a bit far.

If he'd served on the walls, he wouldn't think IKEA is so benevolent. Shaggy ordered another round, even though I'd only finished half my drink. It was lethally strong. He continued. The flat-pack fortress became the safest place to be. So the other townships joined us. The dining men, the bog dwellers, the electrics crew, everyone. The priest, bless him.

Did a good job of persuading them. Guess he has his uses. Smart, really, I said. Disassembling after daybreak to flee the dead staff, then reassembling before nightfall to endure the living staff. It's been a few. effective for you so far? We're still all here, aren't we?

Called to his fellow guards, who cheered. Not a single fatality inside the flat-packed fortress since its birth. I'd say that's effective, wouldn't you? Yes, I said. So you'll be joining us for the next night watch then? Asked Shaggy. The guards all leaned in towards me with their drunken smiles, anticipating my response.

Spittle whispered in my ear. I could give it a try, I said. They raised their glasses and cheered. Shaggy climbed onto the bar and declared, A new guard joins the ranks. Everyone started banging on the bar and chanting. Someone put a glass in my hand. Drink, drink, drink. I downed the glass and won, then blacked out. Wakey, wakey, newbie. A guard was looking down at me. I was in my bed. You've slept enough. Time for your initiation. Before I could orientate myself. I was hoisted up on my armpits and marched out of my quarters.

I saw the fortress had been reassembled into the neighboring department already, and I can only assume I'd been carried like so many cabinets, bed frames, and sofas had been. Agent Atlas, said Spittle in my ear. What's going on? We've been trying to reach you all day. Before I could answer, someone pulled a pillowcase over my head, and I was walked around in circles while the guards whistled and made animal noises. I muttered.

bit busy right now as they marched me up some steps. Then we stopped, and everyone went silent. Newby! I recognized Shaggy's voice. Now the time has come to choose your spirit product. Step forth, and lay your hands upon your destiny. I stepped forth, reached out, and felt around on the table until my hand came upon a cold plastic stick. I grasped it. The guards erupted into laughter. Someone walked up behind me and whipped the pillowcase off my head. I looked down and saw from a table adorned with various home furnishings. My hand had found the toilet brush. The guards heckled.

Congratulations, toilet brush. A fitting choice. We love you, TV. Shaggy walked up to me holding up an Allen wrench, which he slotted into my headband alongside the first one. The guards cheered. You are now a guard, said Shaggy, with a tear in his eye. It made me well up, too.

The foundation never made me feel this amount of belonging, this level of camaraderie. It was welcome. In my ear, Spittle shouted. What's going on, Agent Atlas? Report now. I'm now a guard. I declared, addressing both Shaggy and Spittle.

What in the hell do you think you're doing? Ranted the dock. Stay on task. Let's show you to your post, said Shaggy. You'll be with me tonight, Toilet Brush. Okay. I said again to them both. We arrived at our wall section, some 50 meters long,

composed mostly of tabletops, bookcases, and office desks, with stepladders intermittently propped against it on the inside. Here, said Shaggy, offering me a heavy oak table leg. Swing it like a club. One good whack to the head should do it. You can't spell future without furniture. As I grasped the table leg, the store's lights went out. A soulless voice echoed out of the speakers.

The store is now closed. Please make your way to the nearest exit. Along the fortress walls, networks of hanging garden lighting blinked into dim illumination. In their light, I saw something wedged deep inside the wall. A dead body. Yellow and blue. A staff member. Shaggy!

I shouted, pointing down towards the corpse. His eyes followed my index finger. Then bulged open when he saw the body. He roared. Get that body out of here now. I ran with the other guards to where the body was. We grabbed the dead creature by its oversized wrists and pulled, but it was jammed.

Someone had staked it into the wall and tangled it up there with extension cords. This was no mistake. It's built into the wall. Damn it! Engineers! Shaggy called, and the engineers came running up with their tool belts and screwdrivers in hand.

Staff body in the wall. Get it out. The engineers began dismantling the furniture to get to the body. Shaggy called for the spotlights, and they beamed out from the flat-pack fortress to scan over the surrounding departments. Blue and yellow bodies were stumbling towards us, attracted by the smell of the body on the wall.

You could hear them muttering in unison in the distance. Star is not closed. Please make your way to the nearest distance. Stop! Shaggy called. Too late. Leave the body. Seal up the wall. The engineers reversed.

their efforts and started returning the wooden panels, poles, and planks to reassemble the gap on the wall. Shaggy directed all his guards into formation around the breach, as an engineer was screwing the last tabletop back into place. An enormous hand burst through the gap and grabbed him by the neck. The fingers wrapped all the way around his neck and touched at the other side. It twisted and snapped his spine at the brainstem. The engineer's arms dropped limb. Then the tabletop was forced aside as two more of the staff barged in. Breach! Breach! Reach! Realtogether, the guards marched forth to face the creatures invading the breach. I went with them. Spittle shouted in my ear, Agent Atlas, it sounds like carnage there.

Get back to safety now. You have a mission to complete, and this is not it. The staff lurched through the breach, uttering, the store is now closed. Please make your way to the nearest exit. As reached for the guards with their long arms. The guards slashed at them with their sharpened homewares and managed to hold the creature's back until one got hold of a guard by the arm. It pulled him in closer, then passed him to another creature. Between them, they laid the guard down on the floor and began to bend his limbs in on himself until they snapped and dislocated.

Another creature leaned over and stuck a screwdriver into the guard's ribs and started twisting it clockwise, as if tightening something. screamed. When they folded his spine with a crunch, he stopped screaming. The other guards were already rushing in and spearing the creatures with curtain poles, kitchen knives, and garden forks. Agent Atlas, this is not your mission. Get to safety now! shouted Spittle in my ear. I leaped forth and began clubbing the creatures with my Voxlova table leg, $189.59 from dining, until they were all dead and lay in a heap on top of our fallen comrade. Then, I felt something squeezed. around my waist, and I looked down to see enormous fingers wrapping around my midsection before I was

picked up off the floor. More hands grabbed hold of my arms and legs, and I was pulled out of the breach to outside the fortress walls. They pinned me to the floor. Their faceless and misshapen heads leaned over me, and they began twisting my arms and legs. I dropped my club. My knee popped out. My arm cracked. I closed my eyes tight and braced for my death. The store is now closed. Please make your way to the nearest exit. Then I heard a thud, thud, thud. I opened my eyes. Shaggy stood there, panting, holding my club.

Toilet brush, can you walk? I can hop, I said. Shaggy held me back towards the breach. When a creature lurched out from the shadows of a display bedroom, Shaggy shoved me through the breach to safety and turned to face the creature. It grabbed at him. He struck it over the head with my club so hard that the club snapped. As the engineers began pulling me inside, I saw the dead creature topple on top of Shaggy, pinning him to the ground.

A horde of creatures came from the shadows, stumbling towards Shaggy. I shrugged off the engineers and got to my feet. Agent Atlas, direct order. Retreat now or we're terminating you. Agent Atlas? Agent Atlas. My name is Toilet Brush. I yelled, running back out through the breach. He's gone native. Agent compromised. Terminate. Spittle was shouting in my ear so loud that I ripped out my ear.

earpiece, causing blood to spurt out along my shoulder. I threw the earpiece towards the uncoming creatures to draw their attention away from Shaggy. As it reached them, something crazy happened. The earpiece exploded into a huge blast that sent them all flying backwards. Spittle, that jerk, I thought. But that jerk just accidentally saved our lives. His bomb bought me a moment to grab Shaggy, pick him up, and drag him back through the breach. With the creatures blasted back, The engineers had time to close the breach, and the guards could hold off the remaining assault. Shaggy and I were stretchered to the tavern, and anesthetized with vodka. Days later, once healed, I was invited back to the king's court.

As I was called forth, the entire court took to their knee, and the king slotted a third Allen wrench into my headband. For your courage, I grant you nobility within the flat-pack fortress. Now, what will you do next? Pursue your search for your colleague or stay here with us. I'm not sure yet, I said. But I do know one thing for certain. You can't spell future without furniture. Lazzang sur-gely,

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