The SCP Experience - The Infinite IKEA (Part 3) | SCP-3008

Episode Date: July 1, 2022

SCP Foundation EUCLID class object, SCP-3008: The Infinite IKEA (Part 3) 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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Fees and exclusions apply. The third and final story which I have to share with you about my time inside the infinite IKEA began immediately after my last account. Shaggy Rugg, the Meatball King and I, stood in the Church of Infinite Warranty, where we just confronted and overcame the nefarious bishop, before exiling him outside the flat-pack fortress. The bishop had killed my predecessor, Agent Ophelius, and tried to kill me, so he could hoard the exit locators which of Phileas and I had brought into this place. The exit locators offered the lost shoppers a chance to return home.

Now the king of the Meatball Kingdom placed the retrieved exit locators in my hands. One broken and one, which beeped rhythmically still working. Toilet brush, he said to me. Does that mean what I think? That an exit is nearby, I asked. Yes, that's right. Quite a rarity, but this confirms it. The king looked to Shaggy Rug, leader of the guards, and they nodded at each other.

The king sighed, then said to me, Excuse the timing, toilet brush, but we must ask you to take advantage of this rare opportunity. You want me to leave? I said. No way. This place is my home now. The king looked down at the floor. Shaggy stepped in and said, We just need you to take a quick expedition to the outside world, TB. The king chimed in.

There's some things which we are lacking here. Things we need. What do you mean? I asked. You have everything here. What more could you possibly need? The king solemnly looked at Shaggy. Shaggy said to the king,

Okay, let's show him. Then the king and Shaggy walked me out of the church of infinite warranty. It was early morning, before the store's lights had come on, and the kingdom's guards still portrayed. controlled the fortress walls, eyeing the surrounding departments, living rooms, bathrooms, kitchens, and so on. For sight of the monstrous IKEA staff who had no doubt found the bishop by now, and folded him up in flat-pack fashion, so they could store his compacted corpse on the shelves. But now Shaggy and the king walked me through the flat-pack 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. Inside its walls, table linens and bedsheets formed the homes of the citizens of the Meatball Kingdom. They walked me to a modest hut of chic bedsheets. This is where the king stopped us. As he opened the door for me, the king spoke. We're very proud of the civilization we've created here, but there are some things which we fail to provide our people,

namely, modern medicine. as we entered. I saw a boy of about 16, lying unconscious on a bed, with a man leaning over him, dabbing the boy's sweating forehead with a cloth. What's wrong with him? I tentatively asked. The man crouched over the body and turned to me, saying, this young man, his name is armrest, and he's recently developed type 1 diabetes. Then he offered me his hand, adding, I'm Dr. Draining Board, but most people call me DDB. The king put his hand on my shoulder. This boy needs insulin, as much as you can get.

A six-month supply would be prudent. About 60 pens should do it until we work out his exact required dosage. Armrest groaned and shifted onto his side, causing the beads of sweat that had accumulated on his forehead to slide off onto his pillow, which was already soaked. Dr. Drainingboard rushed over to the bedside. I turned to the king. I'll do it, I said.

Please be quick, said Dr. Draining Board. We might have six hours if we're lucky. The boy won't last much longer in this state. The exit locator was still beeping in my hand. I looked at it. It showed the exit was just a short dash away, a couple of departments over. Better get moving before we lose this exit, I said.

It could disappear any second. Wait! cried a voice from behind the curtain as a boy fell through it. He tumbled out from behind. behind the curtain and onto the floor amidst us. I'm coming with you, he cried. The boy had the exact same appearance as armrest, except healthier. Armrest's brother, chimed the king.

His name is Footsdool, and he should be in bed. I'm coming too. I want to see it, cried Footsdull. And I want to help armrest. This is not the time, said the king to Footsdool. You've never been outside before. Toilet brush spent his whole life outside. He knows how to handle it. So he'd be the perfect person to accompany me

while I get the medicine for armrest. Pride footstool. Let me go, please. At that moment, footstool's mother burst through the curtain. Footstool! What did I tell you about sneaking off? Come now. You'd only get in the way. I felt bad for the kid. He just wanted to help his brother.

Don't worry, kid, I said to him. I'll bring that medicine back for your brother. You can come on the next expedition. This one is a bit too rushed. Footstool sulked in that characteristically teenage way. His mom put her arm around his shoulders and walked him back through the curtain. Armrest coughed and sputtered on the bed. Better get going, I said.

The doctor nodded and handed me a notepad made from blank IKEA receipts stable together. On the pages, he'd scrawled a few notes in the bad handwriting that's typical of doctors. This explains what you'll need to acquire, he said, then turned back to tending to armrest. The boy whined. I snatched the notes from the doctor's hand and ran out the door. Following the exit locator brought me to a normal-looking IKEA exit. The big automatic doors which I'd passed when I entered this place.

It was weird. I'd not seen them since I'd first entered months back. As I approached them now, they opened before me. I took one last look back at my new home world. Then I ran outside. Stumbling out onto the pavement, I noticed two SCP guards posted either side of the door, a few meters out from the building, looking outwards towards the perimeter fence that had been erected to keep the public out,

they had their backs to me. As I slowly backed away from them, to stay out of their peripheral vision, I bumped into something behind me. When I turned around, I saw a footstool standing behind me. He'd followed me out. What are you doing, kid? I said, as the automatic doors closed behind him. And I saw through their glass that the department and the department and the department inside the doors changed from bedrooms to kitchens to gardens as the exit relocated itself inside

the store. There was no going back for him now. He stood there, trembling, looking up at the sky with a gaping mouth, and eyes stretched open in fear. He'd never seen the sky before. Slung over his shoulder was a backpack stuffed with various items from the IKEA shelves. Things he thought might be useful. Some cordage from the camping section. A couple of solar power lamps, two Tupperware containers of meatballs, and, inexplicably, poking out the top of his rucksack, the handle of a large frying pan. You think you're going to be frying eggs out here, boy? I joke. You never know what's going to come in handy, he said, with his eyes still stuck to the sky. Kid? I said, snapping my fingers in front of his face. We got to focus. Get the insulin for

your brother. You can cloud watch later. Right. He said. Snobing. having to attention. Though I could tell he was still a little distracted by the novelty of being outside the store for the first time in his life. His eyes kept darting upwards to the sky, or out to the horizon. Focus, kid. See those guards? We got to get past them. Now, the town center is that way. That's where we'll find a pharmacy to get the insulin. If I recall correctly, there's... Before I could finish, footstool sprinted at the leftmost guard, reached his hand back behind his head to grasp his frying pan's handle, then in one swift motion withdrew it and clattered the guard over the head with a resounding twang!

I guess the frying pan was useful. The rightmost guard jumped at the sound and spun around a glared footstool in me, not noticing that his comrade had been taken out already. He saw me before the store entrance, equipped with IKEA Homewheres, wearing a toga made from the linens of the bedrooms department, wielding a table leg as a club. He cried to his fallen partner. Johnson, it's finally happening, I told you. Then he turned to Johnson and saw him unconscious,

with footstool standing over and wielding the frying pan. Screw this! He yelled, dropping his sidearm and running away. It's happening! We took the opportunity to run the other way, to the perimeter fence, then wait for the patrol to pass, before we cut a hole in it and fled out, away from the infinite IKEA into the town center.

It was high noon, and the passers by in the streets, didn't pay as much notice. Some smirked or made little comments. They seemed to assume we were going to a fancy dress party or something. Footstool's eyes couldn't stop darting around, unaccustomed to being in an open space. Cars or motorbikes would send him flinching back in fear, as if someone had shot a bullet past him. Once I lost him only to trace back my steps and find him frozen, staring at a pigeon as if he'd seen an angel. What is that? He set an awe. He set an awe. It moves through the air.

Cool, replied the bird, with perceived divinity. Footswobled his head to it. Focus, kid. We have a job to do, I said, pulling his arm. He snapped back to attention and resumed our mission with redoubled vigor. Sorry, yes, let's go, he said. First off was a secondhand clothes store, where we grabbed some mismatched outfits off the rack. We were limited to what we could afford with the few dollars I had managed to keep in my wallet throughout my whole time inside the infinite IKEA. I took a shirt and pants that were

both too small when I put them on. Footstool emerged from the changing room, dressed like a 90s rapper, with a loud silk shirt patterned with colorful coy carp, baggy jeans, and a pair of garish pink, oversized designer sunglasses. Okay, I'm ready to blend in, he said. Do you really need those sunglasses? I asked. You said the same thing about the frying pan, remember? You never know what's going to come in handy. When we find a pharmacy, you wait here. I know how to deal with these people. They might get suspicious if they see you. As I entered the pharmacy and the bell in the door jingled, I suddenly felt a wave of social anxiety. I hadn't interacted with a normal member of the public in months. Without the Allen wrenches in my headband to broadcast my rank, I felt

naked. The clerk sensed my unease and knitted his brow together in a look of wariness as I approached his counter. Yes, he said. How can I help you? Insulin. I blurted. He put his palms down on the counter, leaned back, craning his head to look for his colleague or perhaps manager. Insulin, he replied. We have quite a range of insulin here. What exactly are you after? I stuck my hand into my tight pants pocket and dug around for Dr. Draining Board's note. Taking it out, I read, 63 milliliter pens, please? 60? said the clerk.

You going away somewhere? Yep, going traveling, I said. Okay, he said, turning to his computer and frantically clicking the mouse. Just let me check our system to see what we have in stock for you. As I stood there trying to look normal, in my skin tight shirt and pants, Clutching an IKEA receipt and hoping to pass it off as a doctor's prescription. I began to sweat. Was he calling his manager?

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that we love. Then, as he continued clicking away on his computer, hunched over the screen, I saw a movement behind him. Up on the shelf, sliding along like a cat burglar, was young footstool, dressed in his eccentric and baggy attire. He turned his head back around to look at me, wearing his enormous pink sunglasses and, hanging from the shelving with one hand, put his other hand to his face, and put a finger over his lips as if to say.

His sunglasses fell off his nose and clattered to the floor behind the pharmacy. counter behind the clerk, who began to turn. Ah! I shouted. The clerk snapped back around to me, just before he could see footstool. He gave me a questioning look. Chew! I added, baking a sneeze.

He wasn't convinced. Can I see that prescription? He asked, pointing to the crumpled IKEA receipt in my hand. Behind him, I saw footstool, looking into drawers until he found the insulin, then started stuffing the many large pockets of his oversized outfits with as many insulin pans as he could carry. This prescription here? I asked, trying to retain the clerk's attention. Yep, he said and stared at me, extending his open palm.

Can you speak French? I asked him, clutching at straws for something to say. French? Why? My doctor is French. Maybe you won't understand this. I said, trying to stuff DDB's note back into my tight pants, futilely. Are you French? He asked. We, I replied, watching Footstool pocket the last pen, then turned to give me the thumbs up. He began climbing back along the shelves looking like a very pimped-up rock climber. The clerk proceeded with his interrogation. Where are you going that you can't get insulin? Must be somewhere quite exotic?

France, I said, stupidly. I wasn't thinking. I was too distracted by the sight of footstool stopping to pillage some additional drawers of formalogical loot. What was he playing at? You can't get insulin in France, asked the clerk. I'm going climbing in the mountains, I said. I'll be very cut off. Better safe than sorry, eh?

At that moment, Foostool caught his shirt tail on the corner of a drawer and came tumbling off the shelves, pulling crates and boxes of medicine down on top of himself with an almighty crash. The clerk spun around and immediately yelled for security, but Foostool and I were already sprinting out of the store, down the street, and into the first alleyway we saw. Hiding behind a bin, we checked our hall, just shy of 60 insulin pens, three large boxes of prescription-strength

sleeping pills, and a rectal suppository for hemorrhoids. Do you really need all this? I asked him. You never know what's going to come in handy, he said, crossing his arms. I checked my watch. The clock is ticking, I said. We've taken too long already. At that moment, a pigeon, perhaps the one from earlier, cooed at us from the end of the alleyway. As it took flight, a pizza delivery guy pulled up on his motorbike to take its place. The pizza guy checked his watch, grunted in frustration, then jumped off his bike and rushed to a nearby door, leaving his keys in the ignition.

Was this divine providence? It made me think. Perhaps that pigeon was some kind of angel, as the kid had thought. Let's go! I said, and we ran down the alley, hopped on the pizza delivery bike, and sped off down the street towards infinite Ikea. As footstool's coy carp shirt flapped in the wind, he clutched his hands over all his pockets to retain the stolen medicine. I could hear him stifling his screams each time we turned a corner. He'd never seen a motor vehicle before today, much less experienced, being transported by one at high speeds. As we drove into sight of the perimeter fence around the infinite IKEA, I saw a supply truck being checked in at the gate. Hold on tight! I yelled.

Then pulled the throttle, so that we came roaring up alongside the truck. just as it was passing through the open gate. We overtook it and sped across the parking lot to the sounds of security shouting into the radios. Behind me, I heard shots fired and footstell yel helping in fear. Looking back, I saw a couple of patrol jeeps chasing us down, firing warning shots overhead and demanding from their loudspeakers. Stop now! I went full throttle.

Ahead, the store's entrance doors were closed and wouldn't open in time before we hit them. Get your head down, kid! I yelled. Then ducked behind the handlebars and squeeze the brakes to lessen the impact as we skid it through the glass. The bike jolted over and sent us both flying through the air, spinning like brisbee's, to land side by side in a memory foam, queen-sized bed, positioned as if to perfectly deliver us from harm. IKEA provides, gasped, putstool, who lay there with eyes widened and disbelief of what it just happened. Then the large automatic doors closed together and blinked.

out of existence. The exit locator stopped beeping. The passage of the outside was gone for now. I stood the bike upright and called footstool over. She's still working. Come on. Then we sped through homewares and furniture, spying out the flatpack fortress which rose above the surrounding departments. How are we doing for time? asked footstool. We've been gone over six hours, I said. But we're so close now. We'll be home in minutes. And then, as if I had jinxed it, we'd drove drove straight into a trap of bed sheets which fell over us from above, to tangle and ensnare us. Our wheels slowed to a halt, completely entangled in silk and cotton, and we fell off the bike. Wrapped up in the sheets, I couldn't see a thing, but I heard footsteps rushing in around us,

and then I felt hands grabbed me. Footstool, run! I shouted, as I felt myself being dragged away. Then I heard one of my captors grunt. Good night, and he cracked me over the head. Everything went black. When they unwrapped me, I was tossed onto the floor and looked up to see none other than the bishop. How much time had passed? Where was footstool? Were we too late to save armrest? Hopeed you'd seen the last of me? The bishop said with a smile, still wearing his tall lampshade hat. Well, fortunately, there are those here who remain uncorrupted and loyal to the church.

He gestured to his band of fanatics, who all wore lampshades in his style. though cropped shorter by being crudely cut and crumpled in. His was the tallest. We heard your bike coming and spotted you rushing here, and I thought I couldn't miss the chance to have a catch-up with you and offer you a chance to witness our second coming. What are you talking about? I asked, getting to my feet and marching towards him. Two of his fanatics stepped forth and crossed their garden forks to form a barrier between the bishop and me. Second coming? That's right. We're going to seize the power of the fortress and put the word of the church back in its rightful place.

But first we drink, he said, waving in the porters who brought two large jugs of spirit alcohol. Spirits to raise the spirits for battle, he cried. They all passed around the booze, taking a gulp, and started equipping their improvised armor and weapons. But strangely, as they donned their chopping board breastplates and took up their arms of Scandinavian cutlery, they all began to clumsily stumble and fall over and eventually snore. The bishop crashed into the floor, smashing the jug so the alcohol and glass splashed across the floor in front of me, wherein I saw some half-dissolved pills fizzing away. Then footstool threw off his lampshade hat and revealed himself. You never know what's going to come in handy,

he called, holding up the empty boxes of sleeping pills. He blew hard on a whistle. Then Shaggy Rug and his guards came rushing in, pulling trolleys, and loading up the bishop and his followers to carry them back to the king's court. Footstool ran up to me and cut off my ties. How about your brother? I asked him. He's okay now, thanks to you, said footstool. I ran straight home after you were taken. Sorry, I hope you don't mind. I was always going to come back for you. No, no, I said. You did the right thing. Then I heard the purring of the pizza delivery motorbike come up behind me, and turned to see the king himself screeching to a halt, jumping off, popping open the trunk, and holding up a stack of pizzas. He inspected the labels,

Margarita, anyone? And that meal marked the end of the turbulence in the Meatball Kingdom, after which we enjoyed continuous days of unmarred happiness and peace, until we didn't. But that's a story for another time. SCP-308 is a large retail unit. previously owned by and branded as IKEA, a popular furniture retail chain. A person entering SCP-308 through the main entrance and then passing out of sight of the doors will find themselves translocated to SCP-38-1. This displacement will typically go unnoticed

as no change will occur from the perspective of the victim. They will generally not become aware until they try to return to the entrance. SCP-38-1 is a space resembling the inside of an IKEA furniture store, extending far beyond the limits of what could physically be contained within the dimensions of the retail unit. Current measurements indicate an area of at least 10 square kilometers, with no visible external terminators detected in any direction.

Inconclusive results from the use of laser rangefinders has led to the speculation that the space may be infinite. SCP-308-1 is inhabited by an unknown number of civilians trapped within prior to containment. Gathered data suggests they have formed a rudimentary civilization within SCP-38-1, including the construction of settlements and fortifications for the purpose of defending against SCP-38-2. SCP-38-2 are humanoid entities that exist within SCP-38-1. While superficially resembling humans, they possess exaggerated and inconsistent bodily proportions, often described as being too short or too tall.

They possess no facial features, and in all observed cases, wear a yellow shirt and blue trousers, consistent with the IKEA employee uniform. SCP-38-1 has a rudimentary day-night cycle, determined by the overhead lighting within the space, activating and deactivating times consistent with the opening and closing times of the original retail store. During the night, instances of SCP-38-2 will become violent towards all other life forms within SCP-38-1. During these bouts of violence, they have been heard to vocalize phrases in English that are typically variations of, the store is now closed. Please, exit the building. Once day begins, SCP-38-2 instances immediately become

and be given moving throughout SCP-38-1 seemingly at random. They are unresponsive to questioning or other verbal cues in this state, though we'll react violently if attacked. SCP-38-1 is known to have one or more exits located within, though these exits do not appear to have a fixed position, making it difficult to leave SCP-38-1 once inside. Using any other door besides the main entrance to enter the structure or breaking through the walls of the retail unit leads into the non-anomalous interior of the original store. Since containment began, 14 individuals have managed to exit SCP-38. Following extensive debriefing, all individuals have been administered, amnestics, and released.