The SCP Experience - The Possessed Swing Set and the Red Crystal | SCP-2483 & SCP-5944

Episode Date: November 13, 2023

Want to listen ad-free? Try it FREE for 7 days here: patreon.com/TheSCPExperience SCP Foundation KETER class object, SCP-2483 & SCP-5944: The Possessed Swing Set and the Red Crystal This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-2483 and https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-5944 and is released under Creative Commons Sharealike 3.0. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/ Author: Ryan Major Check out more of his work here: https://www.reddit.com/r/gtripp14/ 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

Lazang sur-gillet, Puisance-Moyerned 15 minutes. Oh, you'd say that's the Dojo? Prere to play? Vive the pleasure with the Ojo. The casino in-line

that proposes the most recent machine-a-sou and the games to get-a-bos-grat on Big Bas-Bonanza, without exigents of insurgents, and with the payments instantane.

Hey, I've gained! Woo-hoo! Scenture the pleasure! Play-O-Jo! 18-10 and plus, 1-Depos only depose in Ontario. 50 tours,

on the machine-a-Bass Bonanza. Depos minimum of $10. De Pohue of $1 Responsible. The conditions apply. I looked down at the white bandages covering the stumps of my legs just below the knees. Phantom pain was surging through the missing appendages, and I thumbed the button in my palm to release another dose of pain medication.

An old man in a white lab coat and khaki trousers walked into my hospital room without knocking and sat at the table beside my bed. His face was weathered and the deep lines of a permanent frown framed his chin. He slipped a digital recorder from the heavy leather bag on the table and positioned the microphone facing my direction. Churps and the dull thrum of medical equipment punctuated the silence as he placed a clipboard and pen neatly in front of himself. He pushed the record button on the machine and cleared his throat. Are you Mr. Austin Brantley of Site 24's External Environmental Labs? The man asked without looking at me.

Yes, sir, I said. I work on the physical observation team there. Was the site a complete loss? Thank you, he said, scribbling on the yellow legal pad, ignoring my question. My name is Harrison Woolridge, and I work for the Foundation with the development of internal affairs. I'm here today to discuss the breach and removal of SCP 2483 from Site 24. Our office believes the events may have been orchestrated by sleeper agents within the Foundation. serving a yet unidentified group of interest in opposition to our mission.

I would like for you to tell me about the events of the second day of August in as great of detail as you are able to. A warm wave of relief washed over my body as the painkiller swam through my blood. My eyes closed and I leaned my head back against the pillow. I could hear the man tapping his pen impatiently on the notepad, but the euphoric feeling from the medicine made it a distant. concern. Mr. Brantley, if the medication is making it difficult for you to concentrate, I can have the nurses administer a stimulant to regain your attention. I would strongly imagine

this could increase your level of discomfort. Your statement, if you please. My smile faded at his threat, and I pushed myself up in the bed, turning my head toward him. I opened my eyes and met his steely gaze. The lines on his face were even deeper now. and I could see his irritability growing. Reliving the events of August 2nd would be a small price to pay to get him out of my room so I could drift off into a drug-induced slumber. I was sitting on the observation deck of SEP Site 24.

I was positioned at the center sideline with a clear view of the entire area. The external environmental lab was a nine-square-mile tract of flatland, devoid of any obstructions. In the center, set a swing set with five, seats, four of them broken and blowing lazily in the wind. Through the lenses of my binoculars I could see white flecks of birds should appear and disappear occasionally, though there wasn't a bird to be seen. Ultrasonic emitters at the

edge of the field kept the area clear of wildlife. SCP 2483 was a boring anomaly as far as foundation work was concerned. It was just a swing set that changed shape and size now and again. The number of seats would multiply or divide occasionally. Counting the number of times the phantom bird droppings appeared and disappeared was about the only amusement to be had throughout the day. I had counted as many as 300 on a shift, fizzling in and out of existence. There was no testing allowed on the site anymore.

Anyone who came within 26 meters of it would become overwhelmed with concern for the anomalous swing set as though it were a living thing. It fills them with such a way. crippling sorrow and worry that they forget whatever test they wanted to perform. This also made transportation and containment to a more secure site impossible. It also held a few unexpected dangers. A D-class personnel had once been made to sit on the only working seat. Things seemed fine for a moment, but the chains sprang to life, and the seat lifted him into the air. It came back down, the chains jingling as it came to a stop.

but the man had vanished. On another occasion, a field agent was approaching 2483, when the object suddenly changed in size. One of the metal poles of the swing materialized inside the man's left arm, holding him in place until rescue staff were able to amputate the trapped limb and remove him from the area. The entire operation had taken nearly an hour due to the entire team, falling into hysterics over the well-being of the anomaly.

The O-5 Council handed down orders that the site would be purely distance observation with all field notes sent directly to their offices. Not that it did much good. 2483 had another neat little trick. Any audio or video recordings of it were distorted. Almost all written notes, both physical and electronic, are altered, even when recorded outside of the area of effect. usable data was nearly non-existent outside of verbal accounts. I took notes anyway, though. The 12-hour observation shifts crawled by so slowly it would nearly bore you to tears.

So jotting down even the most minor observations helped pass the time. I would make a note when a new spot of bird crap would appear only to look back and see an earnest Hemingway quote or a recipe for deviled eggs. It was amusing and frustrating all at the same time. time. That day had been no different. Though the notes were useless, I remember looking through the binoculars to see 2483 had grown from five swings to 12, six of the seats unbroken. Ten of them sat unmoving while two of them swung back and forth as though an invisible child were sitting in them. It lasted for 23 minutes before it changed back to its original shape

in the blink of an eye. I jotted a time check note in the ledger on the table beside me. useless as it was. The job had seemed fascinating when I first started, but the strange events quickly became commonplace. After complaining about my boredom to the lab supervisor once, he casually mentioned they could find me a more lively posting. I learned quickly to keep my complaints to myself, and be content with counting the phantom bird droppings. It was 10 till noon when I heard the door to the main facility open behind me. Samantha Redding, the relief observer, usually came around half-past noon to give me a lunch break, but she was early from time to time.

She had eight other lab workers breakout for lunch in addition to compiling observation reports for review, so I never begrudged her for showing up early now and again. I was getting ready to greet her when a man spoke behind me. A very nice day, isn't it? He asked in a deep, jovial tone. I turned in my chair to see a red-headed. man with pale skin and a dark suit. A fedora sat low on his face, casting a shadow on the deep purple of his shirt and tie. There was a red crystal glowing in the pocket of his coat.

Hello? I stammered, trying to place him. There were only a few dozen staff working on site, but I didn't think I had ever seen him before. Can I help you? Likely so, my fine gentleman. My name is Mr. Deakin, and the O5 Council has sent me here to transport these operations to a new black site. SEP 2483 has been targeted by the chaos insurgency, and immediate evacuation has become necessary. Technology sufficient for its removal has been developed and approved by the Research and Development Division, and you are to accompany me to debrief and serve as our new chief of containment and study. My men are moving into position now to retrieve 2483. If you would be so kind as to come with me.

The news was so sudden that I was certain I hadn't heard him correctly. Foundation policy regularly required personnel to move with little notice or discussion, but I wasn't aware of any cases where someone was reassigned with no warning at all. I turned my head toward the field and looked through my binoculars to see an armored transport. truck rolling across the flat grass field toward SCP 2483. It came to a halt and five MTF personnel climbed out, opened the back hatch, and began passing out shovels. The men walked toward the swing set and began to dig around the legs of the anomaly, sending dirt flying over their shoulders. Let's get a move on, Mr. Brantley. We can't be doddering around all day on the platform. We need to be on the

road shortly and there is much to discuss. I'm going to need to see some kind of orders, sir, I said, still gazing at the men in the field. This seems highly outside of protocol and I would feel better if the words died in my throat. RBC Training Ground has discovered potential in over 20,000 Canadian athletes and counting. Your story could be next. If you've got the drive, they'll help you find your path to the Olympics. Let's see what you've got. Sign up for free at rBC training ground.ca.

In the field, the men had freed all of 2483's legs and were lifting them in the air, revealing the buried concrete supports wrapped at the base of the poles. The left leg farthest from the open hatch began to move, swinging wildly and striking the task force member standing to the side. He held up an arm to block the blow, but the metal pipe smashed against it and ripped it from its socket, sending the detached limb and the man flying through the air.

The other four men scrambled to take control of the writhing swing set and began dragging it hastily into the back of the truck. Whatever protocol and research and development had designed hadn't worked. 2483 would change shape, but there was no record of it moving its support legs like appendages. I looked toward the one-armed man lying on the ground in horror. Certain he was dead. Clumsily, he pushed himself.

up with his remaining arm and began to walk calmly toward the truck as though nothing had happened. The anomaly was inside, and the other four men walked down the ramp as the one-armed man slammed a hand on the button to the side, causing the hatch doors to seal shut. He banged a gloved fist on the back of the truck, and the engine rumbled to life. I turned back to Mr. Deacon to see him leveling a handgun toward my head. It seems my little charade is up. It's no matter, though. The anomaly is secured and you'll be coming with me now.

On your feet and down the stairs. I don't want to keep those gentlemen waiting. The sight staff here may be subdued, but the foundation is likely to send a few curious folks here soon when no one sends a status report to their superiors. I opened my mouth to argue, but the slim, pale man brought the butt of the gun in a wide arch against my jaw and sent me tumbling to the floor.

He grabbed me by the collar of my shirt. and dragged me toward the stairs, pulling me down while my knees and feet clattered against the boards. He was incredibly strong for such a lean man, and I scrambled trying to get my footing. We reached the field below, and the grass skidded under my shoes as I kicked and fought against his grip. We were almost to the armored truck when he hoisted me up, setting me on my feet and pushing me out in front of him. I was just regaining my balance when the barrel of the gun pressed firmly in my back. Stumbling forward, I could feel warm blood pouring down the side of my face where he hit me. My vision was swirling, and I felt like I might pass out.

You would be better served to do as directed from now on, Mr. Bratley. I am no man to be trifled with, and those gentlemen in the truck will subdue you if necessary. Do you think you can find it in yourself to cooperate? I took a deep breath and began to run. Mr. Deacon began to laugh behind me and shouted for the men in the men in the same. the truck to retrieve me. I heard the sound of opening doors and thudding footfalls coming behind me. My equilibrium was shot from the blow to the head, and I felt like I may fall at any moment. But I mustered all of my remaining strength and willed my legs forward. My fear of being shot by

Mr. Deacon vanished quickly. If he wanted me dead, he would have already killed me. He wanted me alive. In the distance I could see the perimeter fence had been bent and broken inward, likely knocked down by the impostors and were chasing me. My lungs were burning, and my legs ached from the effort of running. The opening was my only chance, but it was so far away that I doubted my struggling body could carry me through to freedom. Sounds of the feet thumping behind me were growing closer by the moment,

and I knew they would be upon me any second. A set of arms wrapped around me and sent me spinning and slamming to the ground. The air rushed out of my lungs, and I felt like a great weight had crushed my chest. Panicked, high-pitched noises escaped my mouth as I struggled to take a breath as hands took control of my arms and legs, hitting me to the ground. Standing above me and looking down was the one-armed man in the black MTF uniform. The raw stump in his shoulder was a shred of flesh and bone,

but no blood came out. His eyes were the milky white of ancient cataracts, and his skin was ashen white, aside from a deep purple patch on the left side of his face. Pick him up and take him to the truck. I heard Mr. Deacon say as he approached. If he tries to escape, break his arms and legs, but I want him alive. He may hold some useful information. The other men hauled me from the ground, and I struggled weakly in their tight grips.

They followed the one-armed man as he walked toward Mr. Deacon. He was speaking to the imposter now in lower tones, and pointing toward the cab of the truck as the maimed man nodded. Deacon looked toward me with a smile. The foundation will find you and kill you. kill you. I said in as menacing of voices I could muster. The men stopped in front of Mr. Deacon. You and these damn impostors! These men aren't impostors, Mr. Deacon said, gesturing to the red crystal pinned to a suit coat. This little marvel is SCP 549 and has the Bower to bring up to five

corpses back to life. Your ridiculous organization didn't understand how to control all of its properties, so I took it off their hands. I killed these men and used them to enter your facility. Now 2483 is mine as well, and you'll tell me all you know. If you prove useful, you may be of some use to me and my efforts. I'd rather die than help the insurgency, I said, spitting at his feet. Kill me now. Not yet, but soon perhaps. He said with a laugh. I'm not sure why you think I work for those fools in the chaos insurgency. Put him in the truck. The men lumbered forward, pulling me toward the cab of the truck. A loud slamming noise and the squealing of bending metal erupted from the containment area in the back of the transport unit. The dead men pivoted

toward the noise just in time to see a concrete-tipped metal pole burst through the metal plan of the hall. It connected with the head of the one-armed man, making it vanish in a spray of red and gray matter. Metal poles and concrete feet sprouted from the hole, ripping it open like a budding steel flower. 2483 pulled itself from the opening, its chains and seats, rattling as it scrambled onto the grassy field. It lifted a massive leg and swiped toward us, striking us and sending me and the dead men falling to the ground. From the grass, I watched as 2483 lifted each concrete foot and stomped the heads of the dead man while they rived on the ground. They fell still one by one,

and the anomaly moved toward me. I closed my eyes, feeling the concrete bottom slamming around me, waiting for them to crush me as well. When I opened my eyes, 2483 nestled beside me in its original resting place, concrete foundations back underground, and the seats swinging idly from their chains. My eyes filled with tears,

and I suddenly began to hope they hadn't heard it, that 2483 wasn't scared. I tried to stand up and go to it, But I only fell over each time. My feet couldn't find any traction. Looking around me for something to help push myself from the ground, I saw bloody and twisted legs by the side of the truck. When SCP 2483 swung its concrete-laden pole at the dead men,

it had torn their legs off. It had taken mine too. I didn't care, though. Not then. I only cared about 2483. I hoped it was okay. Everything went black. There's something else here now.

Something new. From exclusively on Paramount Plus. It's the series Stephen King calls Scary as Hell. Everything here is impossible, but it's also real. Sci-Fi Vision calls it the best show streaming right now. We're running out of time and we still don't know the rules. Don't miss what the movie blog calls something you need to watch. Saving those children is how we all go home.

From binge all episodes exclusively on Paramount Plus. First response crew found you bleeding out in the field upon our arrival, Mr. Woolridge said. Five dead Mobile Task Force members who were reported missing in the past few weeks were also discovered. They had been considered AWOL until their discovery, and your report here has certainly brought some terrifying possibilities to light. The other anomaly, I said, mind hazy and swimming. SCP 5944, Mr. Deacon said he took it from the foundation. Has he taken anything else? That is classified, the old man replied,

placing his notepad and recorder back in his bag. That will conclude the interview for today, but I cannot imagine this is the last time you and I will speak. The O-5 are interested in this Deakin character and are likely to have more questions. Sir, what about Mr. Deacon? Did you find his body at the scene? With that, Mr. Woolridge stood there.

from the chair and walked to the bed. The old man gave me a pat on the shoulder and opened his mouth to say something, but he turned and left the room before he did. SCP 2483 is a Euclid class anomaly that appears as a swing set with five seats. It looks to be a new condition aside from patches of rust and four of the five swing seats appearing broken.

Bird excrement materializes and dematerializes with no fixed schedule. SCP 2483 generates a reality-altering effect that changes its size and number of seats without warning and alters any audio, video, or written documentation involving information about the swing set. The anomaly also has an extreme psychological effect on anyone who enters a 26-meter perimeter around it, causing them to become increasingly concerned about the emotional well-being of SCP-2483. These effects dissipate within 48 hours of removing the subject from the proximity of the anomaly. SCP 5944 is a Euclid class anomaly in the form of a translucent crystal.

Making physical contact with 5944 between 40 seconds and 12 minutes will cause the subject to develop paranoia and suicidal ideation, as well as attempting to adhere the crystal to their skin with adhesive or insert it into their skin. 5944 is capable of reanimating up to five deceased individuals at a time via skin exposure with the crystal. Success rates and cognitive function vary depending on the decomposition rate of the corpse. Each reanimated body causes the crystal to take a new color, ranging from blue to deep red. Additionally, the subject identifying himself as Mr. Deakin remains at large and is considered a person of interest to the SCP Foundation.

Recovery efforts for SCP 2483 and SCP 5944 are ongoing.