The SCP Experience - The Pipes and Plumber From Hell | SCP-015

Episode Date: July 28, 2021

SCP Foundation EUCLID class object, SCP-015: The Pipes and Plumber From Hell  Story written by: LurkD http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/lurk-d-s-personnel-file  This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-015, and is released under Creative Commons Sharealike 3.0. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/ #scp #drscp #scpstories #scpexplained Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

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Publié. Savoy. Admirate. And profite. Villaray, the voice that we love that we love. It had been another routine day guarding the site of SCP 015. The tall brick warehouse stood up three stories high and cast a long shadow in the adjacent parking lot. It was just me and the big fella named Marcus on shift today.

The patrol was nearly always the same. Walk the perimeter, report odd behavior, keep people away. Every once in a while, we are asked to actually go inside the building just to make sure it still looks the same. I am glad to say that since being assigned here, it has looked the same since day one. Inside the building, past the large double doors, is a tangle of metal pipes, and not just pipes, boilers, valves, vents, and anything else connected to the chaotic birds' nest. It was an awful thing to look at. A plumber's absolute nightmare.

We always heard stories about what flowed in the connected tubes. I dared not even to touch one of them, for fear it might want to burst and sprain me with God knows what. To say that it was alive was an understatement. The damn thing breathed. It groaned. I swear he even has its own language of clinks and knocks. The crazy thing, talking to itself or talking to us, I could never be sure. It is almost quitting time, and I am waiting for Marcus to hurry up and punch out with me.

He ran to go used the portable bathroom in the parking lot before leaving, just to take a quick leak. Well, this quick leak has been going on ten minutes now, and I am getting antsy. I walk over to where the port-a-john is when I noticed how safe. something didn't seem right. The walls appear to be bending inward slightly, and it was making a strange whistling sound as if air was being pulled inside. Marcus, you there? No answer. Marcus, this isn't funny. Get your fat ass out here. Still nothing. I had a small multi-tool with me so I could jimmy the latch open. With some brute force and ignorance, the simple latch lifted up. The door, however, did not open. With even more brute force, I pull with all my strength, and it becomes

apparent why it is so difficult. There is a strong vacuum inside the stall, and it is sucking the door closed. Slowly, I am able to warm my fingers into the crease and then a foot. I get the door open finally, and I stifle a yelp from what I see. It takes me about three seconds to figure out what has happened, the pipes. The damn SCP has tunneled under the asphalt and reached the portage on. Inch by inch, it must have tunneled through the dirt and gravel to reach here. The entire opening was about three feet in diameter. The toilet was ripped free. Not even the floor was left. I push a little further in to see if I can shine a light down the center. The wind rushing in was noisy. It drowns out my shouting as I call for Marcus down the metal throat. I can't see

anything. No debris. No Marcus. Nothing. It was then that I lost my grip on the door and to come swinging back closed, pushing me over the edge. I catch myself on a lip for a moment, but with my whole body being dragged in with the air, it didn't take long till my fingers lost against the slippery edge, and I fall in. I fall more than what should be reasonable. Out of instinct, I reach out towards the walls, but the rough metal skins my hands and arms. Not even the souls of my shoes help, as the speed just grates the rubber right off like soft cheese. The only light I have is my small flashlight. I try to look up and down, but there's barely enough room. Before I have time to contemplate what is at the bottom of the pipe, it suddenly opens up to a large chamber,

and I fall into a pool of liquid. It is cold and thicker than water. My entire body is submerged in the stuff as I scramble back to the surface. It stings my eyes as I paddle and grit my teeth. Breaking the surface, I take a long gasp of bear. I didn't have much breath going in, as it was lost to the screaming. A couple of panicked flailing, and my arm touches something solid. I grab it and pull myself up on it. From the feel of it, I'm sure that it is debris from the portage on above, likely the toilet itself. I wiped the slick liquid off my face and eyes and reach again for the small-handled flashlight. I look at my hand, which was bleeding from abrasions. It is covered in a slippery blackness, breathing through my nose. I instantly recognize the smell for my garage at

home. Motor oil? The air was choked with fumes, but still breathable, thankfully. I have no urge to light a match either. After clearing my throat, I call out for Marcus with a hoarse voice. The chamber echoes on, letting me know that this too is just another pipe. The river of oil has a small current to it and is pulling me upstream. I desperately search for the hole I fell through, but I can't seem to find it now. My mind starts racing. I need to act before I'm lost forever. My phone? No signal. Of course. Anything to grab onto? Smooth inner walls on either side that go on further than my light can reach. Forget Marcus. I am so, so fucked. After about a few minutes of floating on the world's worst lazy river, I can hear a rush of gurgling up ahead. Peering with my flashlight,

I can see the entire river of oil is flowing up, up like a reverse waterfall and into another pipe above. Instinctually, I paddle like mad over to the side to try and go around it. My arms and legs flailing webs of slick sludge as I close in on the walls. Finally, I touch the solid sides, but still nothing to hold on to. I can feel the pull of gravity lifting my body up, and the oil flows into the ceiling. toilet raft is pulled from my grip, and I am at the mercy of the current. As my fingernail scrape and splinter along the rough metal walls, I am somehow able to cling like a gecko and bypass the waterfall, only to fall out of the open pipe completely onto a web of criss-crossing copper

tubing. Behind me, the black effluence falls up and out of the open pipe and into another above it, which then bends through the tangled mass and into infinity. I am able to stand and wipe the oil off my skin. It is soaked into my clothes and hair, and Somehow, I lost my shoes while swimming. It is then when I noticed that these pipes are too warm to stand on, so I quickly hobble over to a few larger steel pipes and descend them like steps, only pausing to have a spark of thought that I am alive, just hopelessly lost. The open area is a relief to see, even though steam is blocking most of my vision.

I have no idea where I am in the underground, if even I am underground. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a person running through the vertical columns of pipe. They look hunched over, wearing only coveralls and a tattered shirt. Stringy gray hair was patchy, like the strands have been plucked out in certain spots. Eyes were glazed over in a frost, but I was pretty sure they could still see regardless. In their hands, it looks like a large plunger. Every so often, they'd stop and tap on a pipe with a white knuckle, then listen. Hey! I finally shout as I'd try to weave, duck, crouch, and hop my way over.

The person stops just before wrapping on another metal tube, and looks at the little tube, and looks through a tangle of lines to see me. A woman, possibly of Asian descent and about my age, though at a glance she could pass for someone much older due to her features and malnutrition. Her expression is emotionless as her cataract eyes focus through the steam. Hi, she simply replies. I can already tell there's a thick accent.

Hi? Can you help me out here? Is there a way back out? My name is no. No names. No back. Only fix. You fix.

You help. Help? Look, I don't know what is going on, but if you could just, hey, before I could finish, she darts down another opening. I am in pursuit, doing my best to keep up with her. I see that she has been down here a long time, with the skills she is able to navigate through the winding mess of tubing. I see her duck into one open pipe, just to appear from another above, then back through another and appearing behind me. Too slow, this way. I pivot on my heels and duck under a red-hot boiler. A frozen pipe with icicles blocks my path, so I have to move around. Finally,

catch up to her, and I am out of breath. Crouched over a manifold of pipes going in and out. She taps several times in specific areas. Mmm, yes, yes, it here, your problem. She lifts open a drain to a pipe no bigger than the thickness of my leg and starts plunging. The horrible suction makes the surrounding pipes curgle with each thrust and pull. She continues to talk to me as she works. Tap pipes, listen, can hear them. Who are you? I ask.

What are you? How long of you? But I don't get to finish my sentence. Plummer, long time, long time. I fix. Now you here, you fix. Slow man will work. I shake my head fervently.

No, no, no, no. I'm not supposed to be here. Can't you tell me how to get out? No, out. Only fix. Let live, eat. The plumber speaks in rhythm to her plunging, up and down trying to get something to come up.

I open my mouth to respond, but I'm quickly interrupted. Slow man, turn valve. Plummer points with a stern finger next to me. I nod and grab hold of the rusty wheel and start to turn it. Other way, slow man, this training, pay attention, she barks. I correct and start turning the other direction. The threads and joints squeal with resistance as I give five full turns. Not easily done, but after halfway on the sixth, I can feel it end abruptly, and I am stopped. Pipes start to groan

and gurgle louder as something very solid gives way beneath us and is pulled up. The wet suction reaches a higher pitch with each pump until it breaches and touches the plunger. What the plumber pulls out makes me trip and fall backwards. It is a head, steamed, cooked, and and bloated. The flesh falling off it like clotted cream. The spine and tendons were still holding, and pieces of a torso are pulled out. The mess of an adult human lays next to the drain in a steaming pile of hot, fat and bones. Clog, fat clog, the plumber complained. When the smell hit me, I vomited into another drain near me. I could tell by what was left of the face that this was Marcus. He must have fell in boiling water or something. Why sick? Have food. I can't. You can't. I have

To, plumber was already eating out of the pile that was once Marcus. Again, I dry heave with nothing left in my stomach. Tears well up in my eyes as the pain in my chest equalizes with the pain in my gut. Oh, God, why? I painfully asked. Why? The plumber swallows a handful of fatty pulp. Why what?

Why here? I nod and wipe my eyes and mouth clean with a bit of sleeve. It job. Oh, slow man, sad. hobbling over, the plumber pats me on the back. Slow man will learn. Have job. Good job. You start. I feel myself getting pushed towards a dim area where the pipes make up the corridor.

There is hissing and clanking all around. The plumber puts a tool in my hand. It is a plunger. You fell. You fell long ways down. Down, down. This sewage section. But not take my job. Your job deeper. Sump job. No. No. I can't work down here. It's all pipes and valves and pipes and pipes. I'd rather die. Nope. No die. Fix. I am shoved hard down the corridor and almost trip. It is darker here than the rest of this place, and colder too. I swing the handle at her to keep her back.

Leave me alone. I'll find my own fucking way out. No out. Just fix. Fix well. Get better job. Slow man is plumber now. I take a step back and my foot touches on the air. I'm at a ledge and I fall deeper. My hoarse scream echoes across the pipes that travel vertically down into the dark. Work well, plumber. Time passes. It must have been a week since I fell.

A week since I've seen light. A week of shouts and stumbling. I found a place to rest. on top of some warm duct work. I don't know what to do, or if someone is even looking for me, more time passes. I can find things in the dark that are edible, water that is drinkable. I'm just glad I can't see what it actually looks like. It's honestly not that terrible. How long have I been here? I found a wet shoe today while cleaning out some grating. I bet it was Marcus's. I will call it Marcus Jr. Hello, Marcus Jr. Have I always been here? Waste deep in the mire? I can feel the soft

solids between my bare toes. With a hand on a familiar skinny pipe, I guide along its length and search of the next valve in the line, knocking every so often as I progress. My plunger is held tightly in my other hand. I have shuffled off across continents of circular catacombs that whistle and shudder, oceans of sludge that drip down and collect with endless depth. Marcus Jr. and I will explore it all. Maybe someday we will find the pumps. Time runs like loose sand through fingers. I have forgotten what light even looks like. There is only taste and touch. and smell and pipes to guide me. Pipes that talk back to me. Pipes that cry in pain. But Junior and I can fix. I am plumber. SEP 015 is a mass of pipes, vents, boilers,

and other various plumbing apparatus completely filling a warehouse. The pipes appear to grow when not under observation, attempting to connect to nearby structures via sewer systems and underground plumbing. SCP 015 contains, at current estimate, over 120 miles of pipes, ranging in diameter, from 2.5 centimeters to over one meter. Some pipes appear new, while others are rusted and leaking. Pipes have been reported as being made of bone, wood, steel, pressed ash, human flesh, glass, and granite. No pipes composed of lead, PVC plastic, copper,

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