The SCP Experience - The New Guy | SCP-162

Episode Date: June 30, 2025

Hired for a mysterious job in a frozen wasteland, one desperate man breaks the rules—and discovers too late why no one ever lasts more than a day. This story was derived from ⁠⁠https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-162 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. #thescpexperience #scp #scpfoundation #scpencounters #securecontainprotect #scpstories Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

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only depose only depose Big Bas' Bonanza. Depos Minimimumum of 10 dollars. Veillie to pay They're responsible. The conditions apply. I lifted the strap of my duffel bag, readjusting it to the dip of my shoulder. The entirety of my worldly possessions didn't amount to much.

Still, after carrying it across the ice-covered concrete, and now down a dimly lit corridor that seemed to go on for miles, I was beginning to reconsider the extra books I hadn't managed to part with. Those boots aren't going to cut it on inspection days. Craig said as he glanced at my shit-kickers. which moved in unison with his union-approved steel-toed boots. What size shoe are you? Eleven and a half, I mumbled. The guy before you wore a size 12.

I'm sure those will do. He paused in front of a metal door, identical to about 12 others that lined the hallway, except for the unique series of numbers displayed above its frame. I raised my brows and met his gaze. He left his shoes, I asked. Craig grubbed the back of his head, sliding his fingers beneath his overgrown hair. He left everything behind.

He shrugged as he opened the metallic green door. I decided not to press the question any further. I needed this job. And the reason I was here instead of the last guy was none of my business. This is your room. It's not much, but you have your own space. Curfew is at 10 o'clock on the dot. Corporate's really strict about us getting our beauty sleep.

I nodded, and Craig watched as I tossed my bag over the bed frame and onto the mattress. Is that all you brought? I shrugged, a little embarrassed that my life had been reduced to one duffel bag. I don't need much, except a new pair of boots now, I suppose. I pushed down the thoughts of my old life that was now an eternity away. At that moment, it was about survival paying my debts and staying out of trouble. Craig seemed to pick up on my discomfort because he awkwardly patted my shoulder. Most people who come through here pack light.

I guess the job attracts those of us with nothing left to lose. No wife, no kids, no assets. Makes this job much easier to do. His eyes met mine briefly before he pivoted toward the hallway. I'll leave the shoes in front of your door. Training starts at 7 a.m. sharp. I'll meet you at Block A. He turned to leave.

Thanks, Craig, I said, resting my weight on the mattress. Once his footsteps were out of hearing range, I opened my wallet and unfolded a small photo. I rubbed my thumb across Lindsay's smile, looking down at her stomach, which was concealed by the bright green cable knit of her oversized sweater. The photo had been taken a few days before we found out she was pregnant. I sighed, folding the photo back carefully and returning it to my wallet. Six months in this god-forsaken wasteland. That's all it would take.

I'll get in, lay low, get my check, and head home. We'll finally get a fresh start after all this time. Good morning, Charlie. The time is 6.15 a.m. Breakfast is available in the dining area located in Block A. The crisp voice of a woman echoed through a small speaker suspended from the corner of the room. I kicked the sheets off and shivered.

Shaking out my clothes from the day before, I made a mental note to find the laundry facility after work. My new boots were in front of the door, just as Craig had promised. I slipped them on and followed the signs to the dining hall. The room was sparsely decorated aside from a dozen fluorescent lights that hung from the ceiling. It reminded me of the chow hall in the penitentiary, and I hoped to God that the food would be nothing like it. You want sausage or bacon? asked a short, statured woman in a hairnet who waved a pair of metal tongs at me. Hello, new guy, you hear what I said?

Sausage, please. I extended my tray closer to her reach. She placed two chunks of meat next to the eggs and toast on my tray. I nodded a thank you to her and made my way across the room to join an odd mix of characters that were scattered around the banquet table. Each one leaned over their plates, scarfing their food as if they hadn't eaten in weeks. I poked the sausage with my fork. Looks like you made it just in time, Craig placed his tray next to mine on the table,

swinging one boot around the bench as he sat next to me. They just ran out of meat. I looked down at the meager serving of eggs, reached over his arm, and shook the sausage off my fourth and onto his tray. I got two, I said, looking down at my food, poking my fork into the remaining chunk of meat. You sure? Craig raised his eyebrows at me. I'm not very hungry anyway.

I lied. An older man who was seated across for me looked up from his food. I'd be careful if I was you, he said. Kindness in a place like this will get you killed. A bite's worth of breakfast squished into the side of his cheek as he spat the words at me. His index finger rested on the top of his fork, which he pointed in my direction. Craig tapped my shoulder, perhaps a bit harder than he meant to. Jesus, Frank.

Take it easy on the guy, huh? It's only his first day. He turned his head to face me. Don't worry. Just keep your head screwed on straight. You got nothing to worry about. I nodded. Certain I had everything to worry about. The quasi-hazmat outfit was less than comfortable, and it crinkled as I followed Craig towards a door labeled danger, authorized personnel only. I tried to readjust my hands inside the steel-plated gloves that Craig had assured me were never going to feel comfortable. Greg tapped his ID card against a small, illuminated box, and the door buzzed open. The room was bare, aside from a long metal table.

Craig picked up the digital camera and the infrared thermometer from the table, turning back to Face Me. The job's pretty simple, he said, gesturing to the window behind him. We take four images of the object and four heat readings, equidistant around the object's radius. Then, we come back here and record the temps on this clipboard. The images will be uploaded to the database by upper management. I looked at him, waiting for him to continue the list of tasks for the morning, but he didn't. That's it? That's it, Craig confirmed. I know it sounds easy enough. The real job is keeping your wits about you.

When you're in the room, do not do anything except what I told you, no matter what you hear or what you feel. Get in and get out. And do not, under any circumstances, touch it. His gaze didn't break from my eyes. I nodded. What is it? It's best not to be curious. We're here to collect data. Let the guys who make the big bucks worry about answering the questions. He handed me the infrared thermometer and motioned for me to follow him. He used both hands to lift the latch to the door, opening it slowly. I gripped the thermometer in my hand and stared at the object. The dark round shape took up a fair share of the massive room. Blades, hooks, and barbed wire extended from its dark epicenter.

The sphere seemed to be vibrating or pulsating, as if circulating blood throughout its dark metallic heart. Craig stepped forward, extending his arms to reach the camera closer to the object. He nodded at me, and I pointed at the thermometer, taking a mental note of the 98 that popped up on the display. I followed Craig to the next point marked by a worn-out two that was spray-painted on the cement floor. I continued to follow Craig as we completed our rounds.

When we got to number four, Craig turned to me. Now this final step is a bit different. His eyes settled on my steel-plated gloves. Take your gloves off and hand them to me. I was confused, but he hadn't mentioned this step before, but I removed my gloves. Now, walk closer to the object. You'll need to get pretty close for this part. He nodded towards the black mass, taking my gloves into his hands.

I stepped forward, slowly pacing one boot in front of the other, feeling as if a magnet was beckoning the steel that surrounded my feet. My peripheral vision dimmed, and my ears rang violently. I was now face to face with the object. I reached a finger out and touched the point of a small blade that extended outwards at my eye level. The prick felt hot against my flesh, like the burn of whiskey stinging my throat for the first time.

And, surprisingly, I didn't mind the pain. Sirens began to wail, and the lights cut out and were replaced by a red flash. I felt a hand grabbed my suit at the back of my collar and dragged me away. Craig launched me under the ground in the office, slamming the heavy door behind him. What the hell was that? He screamed. A vein protruded from the side of his forehead as if trying to escape his flesh.

I pushed my hands against the cold floor, standing up. What? I screamed back. I did what you said. I took off my glove. I didn't tell you to take off your fucking gloves, Craig spat. I told you, we get in, we collect the data, and we get out. I wiped the sweat from my upper lip, taking a deep breath.

I heard you say it. I asserted in disbelief. I looked down at my hands, noticing for the first time that my finger was bleeding. Craig rubbed his temples, as if he was trying to convince his vein to retreat to its rightful place under his skin. He let out a labored breath. Look, it's hard to explain until you see it for yourself. Your mind can play tricks on you when you're near the object. That's why it's important to stick to the routine and get out.

I thought I made myself clear, but I guess nothing can prepare you for the first time. He looked down at my hand. Let's get you to the medic. I nodded, knowing without a doubt that I was in over my head. I woke up to an unfamiliar woman's voice. Confused, I tried to reach my hands to my face to rub my eyes, but was stopped by two straps that were fastened on each of my wrists. I tugged at the straps harder this time, looking around.

A short woman, whom I hadn't noticed, stepped towards the bed. Mr. Lannan, I'm glad to see you're awake. Are we feeling better? She glanced up at the white monitor next to the bed and scribbled something under her clipboard. Sounds like you had quite a big day yesterday, but your vitals are looking. much better. Yesterday? I asked in disbelief. Howe had a glorified paper cut turned into an overnight stay at the infirmary? The woman rolled a stool over to the bedside, tucking her skirt beneath her thighs as she sat down and balanced the clipboard onto her lap. The good news is we were able to

remove the contamination with little complication. It'll take a bit of getting used to, but you're lucky. When mistakes happen in this place, people lose a lot more than a finger. My gut sank. I looked down at my hand. I jerked the straps violently, sweat, beating down my forehead. What the hell did you do to my hand? I screamed, choking back a sob that was fighting its way up my throat. The beeping from the monitor increased in volume and pace.

The woman set her clipboard onto the table face down, standing up and hovering over me as I struggled to break free. Mr. Lannin, I know this is a bit of a shock, but I'm going to need you to calm down. I don't want to sedate you again, but I will if I need to. Her pale blue eyes locked into my gaze, as if she was daring me to make another move. I forced my breaths to slow and tried to regain my composure. The monitor returned to its regular pattern of beeps.

Without skipping a beat, the woman returned to her stool. That's better. Now where was I? She crossed one leg over the other. You'll need to rest here a while longer so we can monitor your recovery. We're quite certain we've removed all contaminants, but we require a 48-hour holding period per company protocol. I glared at this woman who couldn't seem to stop giving me bad news. Where in the protocol does it mention cutting off employees' fingers?

I gritted my teeth still in disbelief. Amputations are rare, but sometimes necessary if the object breaks through the skin's barrier. It's in the handbook. She offered what was meant to be a comforting smile, but it only unsettled me more. I'll leave you B for the night. The little red button next to you will call the overnight nurse if you need anything.

She stood up, making her way to the door, pulling on the handle. She turned to me once more. I know it's tough, but believe me, I've seen worse. You'll be back to your regular shifts in no time. I rested my head back onto the pillow, which felt like it had been stuffed with a hundred crumpled-up plastic bags. The lights in the room went out, and I started plotting my escape. I didn't know what time it was, but after listening to the pattern of footsteps come and go for what felt like hours, I was sure I would have time to run after the next security round passed.

I continued to rub the strap that restrained my uninjured hand along the rough piece of metal on the bed frame. When the strap was frayed more than halfway, I tested it, tugging it as hard as I could. Feeling the woven nylon from the strap gave under the pressure, I pulled a bit harder, feeling my good hand. Finally, I unfastened the strap around my other wrist, carefully avoiding the bandaged part of my hand, and then I waited. Hearing the faint echoes of footsteps, I lay still and listened as they crossed in front of the door. My heart stopped as the steps came to a halt. I looked down at my free hands, certain that the door would swing open, and I would be caught. But after a moment, the steps continued.

I counted to 100 before quickly climbing out of bed. My bare feet recoiled against the cold, polished concrete floor. I looked around for my shoes, but they were nowhere to be found. Figures. They didn't plan on me going anywhere for a while, I thought. Taking a deep breath, I carefully turned the doorknob, which, to my surprise, was unlocked. Peeling the door open, I cringed as it creaked, echoing through the empty hallway. It was too late to give up now.

I turned to my left and saw an exit sign glowing at the end of the hallway. I took off in a sprint. My hospital gown flew behind me as I scrambled towards freedom. The veins in my hand pulsed, as if the blood was meeting a dead end where my finger had once been. Mr. Lennon! A voice shouted behind me. I didn't look back, but it sounded faint enough. Perhaps I still had a chance.

The hallway lit up red as sirens wailed. Mr. Lannin, stop! Please! It's for your own safety! I kept running. I could hear more voices behind me now, and their accompanying footsteps trailing quickly behind. I remained fixated on the exit sign. Nearly body slamming into the door, I violently shook the handle.

It was locked. I peered through the rectangular glass window on the door, then back at the hall behind me. A group of three security guards had slowed their pace, probably realizing that I was stopped by the locked door. One waved at me as if to say, we've got you. I caught the outline of a fire extinguisher that hung on the wall to my left and lunged towards it. ripping it from the wall and running back to the door. The glass window broke easily under the force of my swing,

and I reached through the shards of glass that lined the window frame, unlocking the door. My skin seared from the pain of broken glass that sliced through the tough skin on the bottom of my feet as I barreled through the threshold. I collided with the figure in the darkness, catching a whiff, a familiar aftershave. I looked up to see Craig, who watched as I stumbled back delicately on my cut-up feet. His brows lifted in horror at the bloody footsteps I had left behind. What are you doing here? He sped in disbelief.

I raised my bandaged hand, gesturing behind me and trying to catch enough breath to form a sentence. They're coming. They're not going to stop at your finger. He interrupted glancing behind me, as if gauging how much time we had. Follow me. He pivoted his body, picking up the pace. I trailed slightly behind as microscopic pieces of glass became harder to ignore with every step. In a few moments, we've got to ignore with every step.

In a few moments, we reached a door, which Craig opened as he gestured for me to continue. I can't go any further, he said, balancing the weight of the door against the back of his left shoulder. Keep running and don't turn back. It's been a pleasure knowing you. He nodded his head as I ran past him through the darkness. I heard the door shut violently behind me, and I ran two or three more strides before hearing a familiar hum. I stopped for a moment, allowing my eyes to adjust to the darkness. There it was. The object. and blades of varying shapes and sizes protruded outward as if the mass was beckoning me towards its orbit. I stepped forward. I could hear its mechanic call. A fish hook curled through the

pad of my remaining index finger, poking through the top of my nail. I yanked back, but it pulled me in further. As one of my legs came into contact, two scissor blades sliced through the flesh on my calf. Craig! I called out, turning my head back the way I had come. Another hook reached for me. This one was much bigger, and my entire body went cold as the metal hooked through my chest, finding purchase under my collarbone as it pulled me towards its center. Then it went dark. The pain came and went for what felt like hours. I tried to stay still. Every slight move I made seemed to incite an attack from a new angle. For the first time, I could see a faint light shining through the layers of blades. My eyes widened when I heard someone speak.

Damn shame, the voice said. last one day. This incident report is going to be a pain in the ass. My heart thudded in my chest. I screamed out. I waited for a moment, hearing nothing in response. I screamed again as a fish hook in my back tugged violently. I briefly perked up when I heard Craig's voice. He seemed like a nice guy. It really is a shame. SCP 162 is a large, tangled mass of sharp objects, fish hooks, lines, needles, and scissors, that induces an intense escalating compulsion in those who view it, drawing them to touch it despite the clear danger. Once contact is made, the subject is painfully ensnared by the hooks, leading to severe injury, entrapment, and often death from blood loss.

The compulsion persists long after exposure and can become obsessive with affected individuals growing violent if prevented from approaching. Attempts to rescue victims often result in further harm or additional casualties, as the object causes erratic shifts between agony and euphoric submission.