The SCP Experience - The Killer Thermostat | SCP-2297

Episode Date: April 5, 2024

Want to listen ad-free? Try it FREE for 7 days here: patreon.com/TheSCPExperience SCP Foundation SAFE class object, SCP-2297: The Killer Thermostat This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-2297 and is released under Creative Commons Sharealike 3.0. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/ Author: Cyrus S. * * * DISCLAIMER: This episode contains explicit content. Parental guidance is advised for children under the age of 18. Listen at your own discretion. #thescpexperience #scp #scpfoundation #scpencounters #securecontainprotect #scpstories #scpexplained #whatisscp Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Welcome to aboard Via Rai. Embarked and profite. Embarque and celebrate. Rigolet. Publiere. Savoyed. Admire. And enjoy.

And profite. Villaray, the voice we love that we love. It's really not that bad. Chris said as his mother parked, the blue Dodge Ram in front of the 12-story building. His mother didn't say anything in response. She was far too focused on trying to read the faded sign that loomed over the sidewalk.

Do I have to pay? She asked. I mean, we only have a few suitcases to take up. I don't think so, Chris sighed. His mother had been quiet for most of the trip. She hated driving long distances, and it wasn't like they had much to talk about anyway. He told her from the beginning that he didn't mind taking the train,

but then she got really emotional, and she insisted that her baby boy was not going to move into his first apartment all by himself. It wasn't until they hit the city that she started really complaining about everything. It was the traffic. It was the fact that no one else could drive. It was the one-way streets and the this and the that. He really wasn't looking forward to telling her that the building technically had an elevator. But it was not operational and hadn't been since the 90s.

They pulled his suitcases out of the trunk of the car and dumped them onto the sidewalk. Chris pulled out his backpack and swung it over his shoulder. It thumped against his spine right where his shoulders ached the most from the long car ride. Eleven hours, give or take. Seeing everything he owned in three bags really put his life into perspective. All the furniture he had belonged to his parents. His room at home looked practically undisturbed. All he had was the clothes from his drawers and the game system that he had purchased with his own money.

What side is the elevator on? on, his mother asked. Chris shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck. It's on that side, he pointed. But it doesn't work. It doesn't work? His mother sounded shocked. How are you supposed to get up to the seventh floor? There's stairs, Mom, Chris said. You know, I can actually do this by myself. Really? You should go check into your hotel. He gave her a half smile and reached down to set the suitcases upright. I can meet you for dinner or something, but you don't need to walk up all those steps. You know that I can't, she huffed.

It's 90 degrees today. You are going to boil alive before you reach your floor. It's not so bad, he said. I've done this before. Chris's mother hugged her chest and scaled the building with her judgmental gaze. She pursed her lips as if she was taking in every broken brick and crooked brown vine that climbed up the side. She would have been able to excuse it, maybe, if it was a school dorm. But he knew that the fact that he was moving into his own place without college being on the table

was just adding insult to injury. I love you, she finally said. Call me if you need me. Don't get stuck in the stairwell. She looked at the car as if she dreaded getting back behind the wheel. I have a flight that leaves tomorrow morning, so if I see you, I see you. But don't hurry on my account. Okay, he gave her a small smile. I love you too. I'll see you.

She huffed again and got back into the car. Chris gathered up his suitcases, struggling a bit as he pulled them all by himself. By the time he reached the door, he glanced back, and his mother's car had disappeared into traffic. On home for the weekend, be back Monday. The yellow note was taped to the fridge because, for some reason, they didn't have any magnets. The apartment wasn't very big.

The only thing that separated his bedroom from his roommates was the Jack and Jill bathroom with doors on either side. The bathroom itself was about the size of a closet, and there was no shower. That was down the hall, and they shared it with the rest of the floor. That was another detail that Chris had left out when he told his mom about the place.

When he got to his room, he dropped his suitcases and collapsed. under the floor. It was hot. The stairwell had been boiling, especially since all the stairs leading up through the levels were black steel. He had one skinny window just above where he had rolled out his sleeping bag, and it didn't have any curtains. The sun streamed right through, trapping him in a rectangle of blinding white heat. He moved to a dark corner away from the window and rested his back against the wall, giving himself a few moments to recover. He thought about his mother.

He thought about the expression on her face when she looked up at the building. He wondered if there was any choice he could have made, short of clocking in eight years at a university that would have made her proud. He decided to think about something else. That was when he noticed that there was something resting on the window sill. Chris leaned over to try and get a better look. It was a hunk of white plastic, and the back had wires sticking out.

out of it, like it should have been mounted to a wall. He picked it up and turned it over, and saw a dead blank screen on the front. A fucking thermostat, he thought. Hallelujah. He scanned the wall for the space where it might have been pulled out. The white plastic was filthy. It was black around the edges, dark like a toasted marshmallow, as if someone had tried to burn it. There were some dark smears too, like red ink. He used his shirt to try and clean it up a bit while he located the hole. It was a little dark space, almost the exact size as the device cut into the wall, and he rotated it in his hands before popping it right in. He was not sure if there was anything else that he needed to do, considering the wires on the back had looked a little

bit scraggly. He pressed the on button hesitantly and the screen lit up. A surge of triumph bloomed across his chest. Power on, the screen read. Then it flashed. Temp is normal. Chris frowned. He hit the little down arrow on the side of the thermostat and watched the numbers on the screen go down. He waited for a blast of air conditioning that would grant him some relief from the little oven he had created for himself. The silence was interrupted by a whirring sound. Satisfied, Chris stepped back and sat down on top of his sleeping bag. He thought about unpacking, but he was too tired. He stretched out across the rustling blue fabric and shut his eyes.

It would just be for a bit, a quick nap, and then he would get things sorted out. When Chris woke up, it was dark outside, and the spot where he had been laying was soaked in sweat. He didn't feel much of a difference in the temperature, although he could still hear that whirring sound behind the walls. He groaned and sat up. He felt a little dizzy. But he dismissed it as not having eaten. He didn't even mean to sleep as long as he did. He stood, slowly,

and placed his hand against the wall as he felt around for the thermostat. There was a little light coming through his window from the street lamps below, but it was not enough to let him see very well. He hit a random button and the screen lit up again. At first, no word. words were displayed. He hit another button, and it just flashed. Temp is normal, like it did before. Chris frowned and pushed a hand through his hair. The strands were sticky, like he had just gotten out of the pool. They stuck to his temples and the back of his neck. He sat back down

on top of his sleeping bag and peeled off his shirt. It was soaked through and it smelled disgusting. Chris made a face and balled it up. He tossed it into the corner of his room, and then and slid off his shorts as well. He stretched out again on top of his sleeping bag and stared at the ceiling. His legs still ached from the climb. His head throbbed, and even though he felt a little cooler, he could still feel the sweat pouring down his face. He wanted a shower, but he didn't feel like fishing out his shower supplies and walking down

the hallway to get one. His suitcases stood upright in the opposite corner, staring him down. He didn't feel like opening. them. If anything, he just wished he could go back to sleep. Chris closed his eyes and rolled over onto his side. The sleeping bag squelched underneath him and made him grimace, but it beat sleeping on the floor. If things got too bad, he would move to the couch. He wrestled with sleep for a little bit longer before it finally caught up with him. RBC Training Ground has discovered potential in over 20,000 Canadian athletes and counting.

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WestJet, where your story takes off. It was still dark when Chris woke up again. He had a dream where he could not stop vomiting, and when he opened his eyes, his stomach was queasy. He rubbed at his nose and tried to sit up, but his body was too overtaken by exhaustion. His hair was soaked, and when he pushed it out of his face, his fingers squeezed out droplets that flung themselves off the ends.

Just the act of rolling onto his side and adjusting his position made his stomach royal. He swallowed hard to try and keep himself. from puking. Whatever he had been dreaming about lingered. The whole room smelled terrible, like spoiled meat that had been left in a hot car. Chris pushed his hands against his stomach and fought to swallow down the bile that appeared at the back of his throat. He grunted and moaned, pushing his fingers into his eyes. The sweat on his brow trickled into the red ducts and the salty streams made them sting. He didn't know why he was sweating so much. It wasn't like the temperature had gone up at all. If anything, with the absence of the sun, it was a little cooler.

He glanced up at the thermostat above his head. He couldn't see any words on the screen, but he could see the green glowing rectangle. Chris rolled over onto his side enough that he could unzip his sleeping bag. He slipped inside and then pulled a corner flap over his mouth and nose. The bag smelled like sweat, dust, and chemicals, but it was leagues better than that disgusting, rotting odor that seemed to be seeping through the very walls. He took a deep breath inside the sleeping bag, and his stomach instantly felt a little better. He sank further down until his toes touched the bottom, and then he closed his eyes again. Maybe, this time, he could sleep through the night. The front door was a bit stuck, and Andrew had to be.

to fight to wrestle his key out of the lock once it swung open. As soon as he was inside, a wave of heat smacked him in the face like he was standing in front of an oven. The apartment was boiling hot. Even touching the other side of the doorknob felt like he was slamming his hand down onto a stovetop coil. Andrew kept his bag over his shoulder, not wanting to set it down when there was clearly something wrong. He kept the front door open behind him to try and let in some of the breeze from the hallway as he stepped in. Hello? he called. He looked at the note he had left on the fridge. It was still there, but there were some shoes thrown into the hallway,

so he could only guess that his roommate was home. Andrew started down the hall, sliding his finger around the collar of his shirt to try and loosen it up so he could breathe. The hallway was worse than the kitchen. The air itself was rippling like heat, was rising off asphalt. He had no idea how it had gotten to that point, or how Chris could he even still be alive. Andrew stopped in front of his roommate's door. He reached out and touched the dented knob without thinking.

It burned his hand and he hissed, jerking it back. The hot knob left a bright red blister across his palm that instantly began to puff and swell. Andrew grounded his teeth and used his other hand to bang his fist against the door. Chris? He called out. Chris, are you in there? He kicked the door.

It shivered in its frame. and he aimed another kick at the bottom. The door was the same age as the apartment building, so it was old, and it wasn't locked either. It sprang open with another kick, and Andrew stepped into the room. Immediately he was hit with the smell of rotting meat. Andrew gagged and turned around, pushing his hands into his guts as he projectile vomited onto the floor. All of his breakfast came up, and some of it ended up splashing on his roommate's luggage,

which was still standing up in a nearby corner. gasped and scrunched up his brow, wiping his hand against the back of his mouth. Oh, my God, man, Andrew said. I'm so sorry, but also, what the hell? He turned back to face the room, looking for Chris. At first, all he could see was a blue sleeping bag unrolled on the floor. But then he caught a hint of dark hair, and he saw Chris's head peeking out. His roommate was covered in sweat, and no wonder.

His skin was clammy, and there were dark circles underneath. his eyes. He didn't respond. Chris? Andrew stepped a little further into the room and glanced over at the thermostat on the wall. The green, backlit screen was flashing, and all it said was temp is normal. Andrew pulled up the bottom of his shirt to wrap around his hand so he could touch the buttons. Just being in that room made him feel like he was roasting inside of a crockpot and that meat was going to start falling off his bones. Jesus Christ, what do you have the set on? Andrew hit a few buttons, but nothing changed on the screen. That rotting meat smell was still making his stomach churn,

and it was stronger, for some reason, right where the thermostat was mounted. He tried not to think about it too hard. He didn't want to think that the smell was coming from the sleeping bag, but Chris still wasn't responding to his questions. If anything, he kept asking them just to maintain his grip on his own sanity. Stupid fucking thing probably needs new batteries. Andrew gripped the front panel of the thermostat and ripped it off. It made an awful squelching sound like cracking cartilage,

and when he pulled it away, red sinewy strings followed. More vomit rocketed up his throat, but Andrew swallowed it down as he kept pulling on the panel. Finally, the strings snapped, and the gooey mess underneath was revealed. It looked like someone had stuffed the thing full of gizzards from a butcher's shop. It was a pulsing mass of red meat and oil. organs, threaded through with juicy purple veins that made it look very much alive.

The odor of hot, stinking rot came up with steam like someone's bowels had been slid open. Some of the slick, wet meat tried to slide out, and Andrew slammed the front plate back down before it could. The plate didn't stick, and he didn't bother to put it back the right way. Andrew let it clatter to the ground and he dropped to his knees beside Chris, grabbing his roommate by the shoulder and shaking him desperately. Chris! He leaned over and screamed into his roommate's ear.

Chris? Wake the hell up! Chris's eyelids slid back partially, revealing just a hint of the dark eyes underneath. Relief flooded Andrew as he shook him again. Come on! Andrew said, We have to get out of this apartment.

He grabbed the edge of the sleeping bag and went to peel it back, but it was stuck. Confused, terrified, and desperate. Andrew grabbed as much of it as he could with his fist and went to rip it. The sleeping bag made a horrible sucking sound, but it was like melted plastic. Most of it was stuck to Chris's bare skin, like it had melted onto his body,

and the flesh underneath was like chewed-up bubble gum that had been mashed into the fibers. Andrew rocked back in horror, hitting his head against the wall. Stars burst across his vision as he stood, the heat and the terror working together to make him wobble on his feet. He tried to hold onto the wall, But it only made his skin bubble more with evil blisters that split open his palm. Andrew cried out and held his hand against his chest, swearing and stumbling as he ran towards the door.

Chris groaned, but if there were words, Andrew did not stop to hear what they were. Lazzang sur-gely, puissance-molyne, for 15 minutes. We'd say that's their dojo. Prere to enjoy. Vive the pleasure with the Ojo. The casino in line,

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has the appearance of a Bosch, R-T-F-5-1-109, 5-1-1-1. day programmable thermostat. Of note is SCP 2297's unique internal composition. Inside the casing of SCP 2297 rests a fleshy interior composed of various organs whose functions remain mostly unknown, though visual comparisons liken them to the lungs and kidneys found in humans. The flesh itself is highly resistant to mechanical sampling using conventional tools.

Thus, the use of projectional radiology has been necessitated. These tests were able to reveal a system composed of valves and flaps responsible for the intake and output of oxygen. A proposal to use more invasive forms of sampling is currently awaiting approval. SCP 2297 will remain in a dormant state indefinitely so long as it does not rest face up on a flat surface. When mounted or placed on a flat surface, SCP 2297 will activate and display one of several messages in the following format. X is normal. These messages pertain to the anomalous conditions that will be exhibited within the room SCP 2297 is activated.

Determined by the displayed message, the environment and temperature of the room SCP 2297 occupies will be altered drastically. These effects steadily increase in intensity upon activation of SCP 2297 before instantaneously dissipating four minutes after activation. After SCP 2297 has carried out a full uninterrupted four minutes of its chosen effect, it functions as a normal thermostat until removed and reactivated. Those located within the same room as SCP 2297 are not concerned with the effects of change. in temperature and environment and do not believe themselves to be in any danger.