The SCP Experience - The SCP Foundation Opened a Theme Park | SCP-9035

Episode Date: October 23, 2026

Listen without ads and get exclusive bonus stories with a 7-day FREE TRIAL of⁠⁠ ⁠SCP Premium⁠⁠⁠ — Cancel anytime. No commitment. 👉🏼 ⁠patreon.com/TheSCPExperience Welcome to Foundationland, the SCP Foundation's very own theme park, where the rides defy reality, the food has questionable side effects, and the employees are anything but ordinary. For one young ice cream clerk, surviving another shift might prove more dangerous than any attraction the park has to offer. ⁠ This story is derived from ⁠The SCP Foundation Database⁠ and is released under Creative Commons Sharealike 3.0.⁠ ⁠⁠⁠⁠https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/⁠⁠⁠ Author:  Jake Bible * * * CONTENT DISCLAIMER: This episode contains explicit content not limited to intense themes, strong language, and depictions of violence intended for adults. Parental guidance is strongly advised for children under the age of 18. Listener discretion is advised.  #thescpexperience #scp #scpfoundation #scpencounters #securecontainprotect #scpstories Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Hey, Brock says, holding up the can of whipped cream. You want to do whippets and go in the back and make out? Kirsten finishes scooping from the tub of Jungleberry Surprise and plops the second scoop on top of the first, ignoring the wriggling surprise trying to get out. She hands the cone to the grinning, eager teenager, and mumbles for the kid to have a great day, not even bothering to try to speak Japanese.

Foundation Land takes care of all the translations automatically, using telepathy waves embedded within the walls of the theme park. A person could come in speaking Toshiro, a dead Amazonian language, and everyone would understand them without missing a beat. Kind of ruins the fun for Kirsten, since she thought she'd be learning Japanese when she took the internship at the park. But her dad had warned her that it wouldn't be the immersive, international experience she was hoping for. The fact that she has to work with Brock proves her dad's point every damn day. It's more like a torturous, immersive experience with the always-propositioning, sometimes hansy co-worker.

You hear me, Napa, baby? Brock asks, waggling the can of whipped cream in her face. Kirsten swats it away and moves down the long freezer case to help the next person. Man, why do you have to be so frigid? Brock asks. Kirsten sighs and takes the next teenager's order. A triple scoop of Psycho Peach, a park favorite. Apparently, the flavor makes you see everyone else as possible targets for your serial killer urges, putting you in the mindset of a pure psychopath for about three minutes. It always wears off before anyone can do any real harm.

Or that's what Kirsten had been told. She doesn't really like ice cream. Makes her flemy, so she hasn't tried it. Even so, she doesn't exactly trust any of the flavors in the freezer. case, not the mint chocolate wood chipper or the flying monkey brains, and especially not the gummy mindworm flavor. Brock, unfortunately, is still talking. What? Kirsten snaps. I said, get it? Brock asks, not giving up on his bad joke. Frid? Because you work in an ice cream shop? I get it, Brock. Kirsten replies, through a frozen smile she keeps on her face for the customers.

Can you go get more waffle cones? We're almost out. Brock turns and stares at the massive stack of waffle cones on the counter behind them. Um, just do it, Brock, Kirsten says. Then closes her eyes and swallows hard before saying in a cutesy voice. Please. Oh yeah, sure. Brock says with too much hope and eagerness.

Then we bit in a little make-out, Sush. Kirsten hands the Psycho Peach triple scoop to the teenager, then turns her plaster side. smile on Brock and says, Whatever you say, Brock. A gaggle of tween girls comes into the shop and all stare at Brock. Then they huddle and giggle and try not to point,

but they can't help themselves. Hey ladies. Brock says, and half the girls almost faint. Welcome, welcome. Try not to all fall in love at once. The other half join in the intense swooning, and Brock flashes them a grin so brilliant that they almost have to shield their eyes.

Brock, the waffle cones, Kirsten says. Right, right. He gives double finger guns to the gaggle of tweens. Be right back, lovelies, don't go anywhere. The second Brock is gone, Kirsten lets out a satisfied sigh and rolls her head on her neck, willing the tension out of her shoulders and upper back. It's hard work, scooping ice cream all day,

and Brock doesn't help things one bit. At the same moment, the tween gaggle stops their antics, and they all start blinking as they look about, confused. Kirsten groans. She's seen this before, too many times. Brock's anomalous abilities make anyone even remotely attracted to him four times as attracted in his direct presence. The longer they stay in proximity to him,

the stronger the attraction becomes, sometimes resulting in suddenly infatuated girls trying to leap over the ice cream freezer case to get to him. Kirsten has gotten very good at knocking out squirrel, teen girls with one hit to the head with an ice cream scoop. A quick call to security, and the unconscious victim is taken to the infirmary for an hour's rest and several helpings of hot chocolate. But that isn't what Kirsten is dealing with now. Now, now she has to handle a bunch of tweens, coming down hard and fast from a major hormone high, and a junkie Jonesing for a fix is never

any fun. Where can go? One of the teens snarls at Kirsten. Bring him back. Bring him back now. Another rushes the freezer case and tries to jab a finger across it at Kirsten's face. But the girl is too short and only makes it halfway. You get him out of you now! The shorty shouts, still trying to jab the finger at Kirsten. Go get him! She's keeping him for herself. A third adds. She wants him all to herself.

Kirsten shivers at the possessiveness in the girl's voice. She upchucks in her mouth a little and asks to swallow it back down before asking the girls. What can I get you? Him! Get us him! A fourth girl screams at the top of her lungs. Now! Sorry, but he died. I just got the notification in my earpiece.

Kirsten points at her right ear, which has no such earpiece. But we do have some nice dragon ripple, which will make you feel amazing. You'll forget all about Brock. Brock! The tweens all scream in unison as they fall to their knees, sobbing and wailing. Jesus Christ! Kirsten mutters. She clears her throat.

Hey, hey! The tweens all look up, snod and tears, streaming down their faces. Brock has a twin who works the smokehouse kiosk over by the tunnel of slime. He's even cuter. Go get a turkey leg or whatever they sell, and he'll be sure to give you some extra attention. The tweens stare at Kirsten. She shrugs. Or not.

He's probably busy talking and flirting with some other girls and won't have time for you anyway. They all pause for a second, then jump to their feet and fighty other to be the first out of the doors. Kirsten blinks at the suddenly empty shop. She has half a mind to take a bite of dragon ripple and ride the physical thrills for a few minutes. But then Brock returns empty-handed, looking like a lost puppy. I couldn't find more waffle cones, he says. Does that mean we can't make out? I guess so, Kirsten says, taking off her apron and tossing it onto the back counter, right next to the huge stacks of waffle cones. I'm going on

break, can you cover until I get back? It's a rhetorical question. Brock couldn't cover his own ass with a 50-foot tarp, let alone cover the ice cream shop for two minutes. Kirsten grins at the bemused look on his face. Don't sweat it. I'll have scoops cover for me. Kirsten says as she presses a button under the register. Then she pats Brock's cheek.

Don't you worry that pretty face of yours? You mean handsome face? Girls are pretty. Guys are handsome. Kirsten has a hundred comebacks, but keeps them all to herself. Yes, Brock, I meant handsome face. Before Brock can say anything else, do she, a side panel on the wall slides up,

and a spindly robot on a single wheel with six articulated metal arms comes rolling out. Oh, goody! The robot says in a cheery voice. Scoops has been activated. Scoops loves to serve ice cream. Hello, Kirsten. Hello, Brock.

Yo, Scoops, what's up? Brock says, holding up a palm. Scoops, high-fives him, then rolls up to Kirsten. Yes, Scoops, I'll be back in... She just lets the sentence trail off as she rounds the freezer case and heads for the door. Just as a young family comes in, the dad rolling a stroller with a sleeping baby in it, the mom holding a squirming toddler. Scoops crows.

How may I make your lives better? Maybe a double scoop of budgy dreams? Or a Sunday with a Sunday with a little. extra monsoon cherries? They taste like the eye of a Pacific Ocean storm. Kirsten hurries outside and into the throng of visitors. Still wearing her Foundationland uniform, she's immediately besieged by questions.

Where is this ride? Where's the cafeteria? Is there a restroom close by? During her best, not to smack the eager beavers upside their annoying heads, she answers politely but quickly and moves on through the crowd, headed to her quiet place. skirting to the side of the wide avenue, one of the main thoroughfares in Foundationland, Kirsten avoids eye contact with anyone else.

One of the anomalous workers spies her and starts to walk her way, a big grin on his scaled face. But Kirsten waves the guy off, not in the mood to talk about acid spit, and why an egg brood is better than gestating a fetus in a wound for nine months. Kirsten doesn't have it in her to listen to the guys, proselytizing about how reptiles are superior to mammals. Maybe later, after work, when she's had a few tequila shots, or down to bottle of sake. Finding the narrow, almost hidden alleyway, Kirsten ducks in and hurries down the long, dark corridor,

until it opens up onto a little-known enclosed courtyard with two picnic benches and a single, large cherry tree in the center. She plops down at one of the picnic tables and pulls out her phone. Her dad has texted her six times so far today, Although, with the theme park's temporal nature, most of them won't make sense for another year, so she flies them away with an alert set so she doesn't miss them when the time comes. It's been hard living in the future, six years in the future, but you take whatever internship you can get when it comes to the foundation.

Even with her dad being in the higher echelons of the bureaucracy, it was still hard to land the gig. Hence Brock's Nepo baby comment. He says it at least twice a day. But she doesn't really care. Not everyone can be an anomaly or instance and automatically be considered for a position at the theme park. Straight up, boring humans like Kirsten

have to pull every string they can, which she is very much regretting. She thought it'd be fun. She thought she'd meet some cool co-workers and party all night, then work off her hangover all day with everyone else. A summer camp, but with more monsters and seriously questionable ingredients in the kettle corn. No such luck.

She's been at the park for six months so far, and has made one friend, the mermaid in the fountain up by the front turnstiles. They like to smoke cigarettes together after the park closes and talk about all the perves who come to the park to spy. But the mermaid can't leave the fountain, so Kirsten spends most evenings by herself in the dorm, reading or watching videos that won't be released back home,

back in her time, for another few years. She folds her arms on the table, and lays her head down on them, ready to take a quick power nap, before returning to the never-ending flirting and inappropriate comments from Brock. Maybe when she gets back, she'll do inventory and let Scoops run the show. She'll tell Brock that Scoops might be stealing ice cream, which will keep the douchebag up front the whole time. Brock loves a bit of intrigue,

as long as everyone still acknowledges how handsome he is. Kirsten is just about to nod off, her body relaxing against the picnic table, as a pleasant breeze finds its way into the courtyard when she hears the scuffle of shoes, a lot of shoes, soft shoes. Having spent most of her childhood at boarding schools, she knows the sound of school uniform shoes

and quickly lifts her head, surprised and not surprised, to see the gaggle of twines standing at the mouth of the alleyway. Each of the tweens is glaring at Kirsten, while also holding a very large smoke, turkey leg in their grips. One of the tweens lifts her turkey leg and points it at Kirsten. The rest raised their turkey legs and echo. You! Yep, me. Kirsten says, sighing. She's not surprised that they came looking for her, violence in their eyes, and chaos in their tween hearts.

She is surprised that they found her, though. No one ever comes to the courtyard, but tweens will stop at nothing if they feel that they have been wronged. Hell hath no fear. like a 12-year-old girl scorned. Can we not do this? Kirsten asks. I'm really not in the mood. The tweens only stare and aim their turkey legs at Kirsten. Brock is all by himself at the shop.

I bet if you head back there, he'll talk to you for a good four or five minutes. Kirsten is lying. Brock has the attention span and personality of a Cocker Spaniel. So he'll last three minutes max before he'll start ignoring the Twins, looking for a new target for his handsome douche-bagger. It doesn't matter. The tweens don't take the bait. Instead, they take several steps toward Kirsten. The lead tween, her school uniform tie undone in an obvious attempt at looking cool, but really only making her look sloppy, holds up her turkey leg, and the rest pause as she continues forward.

When she gets to the picnic table, she smacks the surface with the turkey leg, leaving a splotch of grease on the fine wood. Kirsten frowns at the stain. Can we please not do this? She asks the tween again. Seriously, I just want to finish my break in peace. Oh, you'll get a break all right. The tween says, sneering. A break in the head!

Oh, Jesus, that was lame as... Hey, not cool! The tween swipes at Kirsten's head with the turkey leg, forcing her to lean far back, almost falling off the bench. Back off, chicky! Kirsten shouts, getting to her feet, and backing away from the dangerous gaggle. All of you chickies can back off.

I need to warn you that as a foundation employee, I am well within my rights to defend. A turkey leg nails her right between the eyes, and she stumbles backward until her ass bumps into the courtyard's back wall. Blinking, she looks down at the turkey leg at her feet, pissed off at the assault, but also impressed with the accuracy.

Give me that back! The tween who threw it shrieks. That's mine, and I paid for it! Kirsten doesn't know what to say, so she doesn't. She just hooks the toe of her shoe under the large piece of poultry and kicks the leg back at the girl. The tween can't catch the leg, and it splats against the white shirt of her uniform, leaving a serious grease mark. Ah, crap, Kirsten says is all the tween scream and charger.

She races to the right, putting the second picnic table and the cherry tree between her and the enraged little bippies. This gives her an extra two seconds to pull the metal cylinder from her Foundationland Uniform Pants Pocket. She holds up the canister and aims the nozzle at the charging girls. This will hurt, she shouts. So back off! The tweens do not back off. They hopped the picnic table, run around it, dodge past the cherry tree, and come for Kirsten. Their turkey legs raised over their heads like clubs.

Kirsten presses the button, and a stream of green liquid sprays out at the girls. The tweens skid to a stop and screech as they wipe their faces, trying to clear the green liquid from their eyes. Kirsten nods and starts to walk around the struggling gaggle. She doesn't get far before her way is blocked by the snorting and snodding leader of the gaggle. What'd you think that do, huh? You ugly coos! Jesus, Kirsten says. What'd you learn that word? Don't ever say that again. It's just gross. Kirsten frowns as the girls all recover quickly and close in on her.

The spray should have dropped them all to their knees and kept them blind for at least ten minutes. But it's barely had an effect on them. Then Kirsten eyes the turkey leg the leader is holding, sees the huge bite taken out of it, and realizes her mistake. Not a turkey leg. The smokehouse kiosk by the tunnel of slime doesn't sell turkey. It sells Velociraptor.

The stupid tweens are hopped up on dino hormones, which mix with their already exploding human hormones and make them immune to the park's standard stun liquids, gases, and bombs. Dropping the useless spray canister, Kirsten pulls a different cylinder from her other pocket. She snaps out the metal baton and holds it down close to her leg with her right hand, while she puts the palm of her left hand out in a stop gesture.

Girls, chill. This doesn't have to get ugly. The only thing ugly here is your stupid face! The lead tween shouts. Then she leaps at Kirsten, swiping viciously with her dino leg. The steel baton catches her across the temple, and she drops like a sack of wet cement, unconscious before her body hits the ground. Why do you have to be so damn mean? Kirsten mutters. God, I hated being your age.

Kill the granny bitch! One of the others shouts. And Kirsten is suddenly swiping and swinging, parrying and dodging as half a dozen whacked-out girls come at her with their dino legs. A brunette shrieks as her tibia is shattered by Kirsten's baton. The girl falls to the ground, clutching her broken shin while still calling for Kirsten's death by any means necessary.

The curses coming out of her mouth almost make Kirsten blush. Where did you even learn those words? Kirsten asks, ducking under a leg just before jamming the baton into one girl's chest. The tween falls on her ass and crosses her arms, huge tears in her eyes. A leg slams into the side of Kirsten's face, and she staggers right, trying to keep her footing. She knows that if she goes down, she's done for. The tweens will tear her apart, and it'll take forever for anyone to find her body, since no one ever comes to this courtyard.

Putting her hand out, she shoves off the wall close to her, dodging a massive swipe from the shortest girl. It's the small ones you have to watch out for, Kirsten thinks, as she kicks the girl square in the stomach. It's not as satisfying as kicking Brock would be, but it gets the job done. The girl drops to her knees, and Kirsten punches her in the face with her free fist,

sending the girl collapsing onto her back as her eyes roll up into her head. Three more charger, and she barely has time to swipe with a baton to keep them back. One throws her dino leg, and Kirsten ducks under it. But the move was a little bit of her. a ruse to distract her. And before she is upright, the three girls tackle her, each slamming their shoulders into Kirsten's belly, hips, and ribs. She goes down under a pile of tweed

skirts and starched white blouses. A hard blow to her forehead stuns her briefly, but she knows that if she doesn't fight with all of her ability, these tweens will rip her limb from limb. She really isn't sure why the park serves dino legs, considering all the aggression they create. But some visitors prefer the food rush to the excitement of the rides. figure. A dino leg slams into Kirsten's nose, breaking it instantly. The pain is so intense that Kirsten barely feels the next blow and the next. She tries to get her baton up, but one of the girls has that arm pinned to the ground. There's another blow to her already shattered nose, and dark spots form in front of Kirsten's eyes as her vision becomes a tunnel, then a pinprick,

then mostly a theory. The world begins to go dark. At least the pain is fading away along with her consciousness. Damn tween girls. Kirsten knows she was never this bad at their age, but she also knows she was no peach, no cherry either, which is a strange thought to have, and she smells it, the distinct scent of fresh cherries.

The tweens screams, turn from murderous to offended and surprised. The pressure of violent bodies on her lessons and goes away, and Kirsten lies there, gasping for breath through her mouth, since her nose is a swollen, bleeding mess. The twins shouts get bitchier and bitchier until they fade.

and stop completely. It takes a couple of minutes for Kirsten to summon the energy to focus. She opens her eyes, squinting at the pain the light makes in her head. Then she blinks a few times at the strange sight above her. All of the girls, including the ones she downed, are suspended in the air, each held aloft by a branch from the cherry tree. I am so sorry I didn't animate in time, a voice says. I get lost in my own thoughts and forget that I can interact with you, silly homo sapiens. Painfully, slowly, Kirsten pushes up onto her elbows and rests there as she stares at the cherry tree, and the face in the trunk that is smiling at her. The tweens are squirming, but not shouting or screaming. The scent of fresh cherries get stronger,

and within seconds all the tweens' eyes close, and their bodies go slack. Kirsten clears her throat and spits a glob of bloody mucus onto the ground. Um, did you just kill them? Oh, heavens no. They are just sleeping. I've tranquilized them with my aromatic mist. Why am I not knocked out? Do you want to be knocked out? No. Then don't worry your beautiful head over it. The trees grin widens. You know, I have meant to speak to you for months now, but as I said, I get stuck in my own thoughts and forget. So you've been watching me every time I come here? Oh, yes, you are my favorite homo sapiens. Others use this courtyard?

No, that's why you are my favorite. Right, got it. Kirsten groans as she sits all the way up. Blood drips from her nose and onto her uniform pants. Damn it. Would you like some help standing? You look like you could use some help standing. Yeah, that'd be great, but no one is here, so...

Holy crap! A branch wraps around and up under her arms, then gently lifts her to her feet. It holds onto her, until she is steady and standing without swaying. Wow, thanks. No problem, Kirsten. You know my name?

The tree only laughs. Kirsten points at the tweens dangling from the branches. What are you going to do with them? Do? Nothing. I'll wait until they wake up and are calmed down. Then I'll let them go. They'll wonder what happened,

but won't remember any of this. Oh, cool. That's handy. Kirsten touches her nose and hissed. I should go and get cleaned up. Cherry. What? My name is Cherry.

Kirsten gives a half shrug. Makes sense. Will you come back? I do like having you visit here. Come back? Hell yeah. Having a sentient cherry looking out for me makes me love this place more. Oh, I am so happy to hear that.

Two branches clap. I was afraid you'd be freaked out. From a talking cherry tree? Um, no. Have you seen this place? I can only see this courtyard. Oh, right. Yeah.

Sorry. No apologies. I am not sure I would like the wider world. You and me both, sister. Kirsten takes a step. Test your balance and takes several more. All right. I got to get back to work.

Thanks again, Cherry. I appreciate you saving my ass. Anytime. I'll see you tomorrow, cool? Lovely. Bye, Kirsten. See you, Cherry. Kirsten walks slowly out of the courtyard and down the alleyway,

until she is back on the main thoroughfare. She dodges visitors' questions until she finds the closest restroom. Once inside, she goes to the sink and starts cleaning herself up. It hurts like hell. She's holding a wad of bloody paper towels when a toilet flushes and a stall door opens behind her. In the mirror, Kirsten sees a tween girl rubbing her belly with one hand and holding a half-eaten dino leg with the other. She ignores the sanitation issues the image suggests, whirls around, and punches the girl in the face before she can even move.

The girl staggers, wobbles, and falls to the floor. Kirsten nods, shakes her bruised hand, and hurries out of the restroom. She makes it back to the ice cream shop. Brock and Scoops both paws at the side of her as she walks behind the freezer case and into the back room. I'm going to do some inventory, she calls out. I'll help. Brock says. I would not, Mr. Brock.

Scoops intervenes. I believe Ms. Kirsten needs some alone time with that inventory. Kirsten finds the inventory tablet and boots it up. Thankfully she at least has a Scoops and a cherry in her life. Brock, she can do without. But there will always be Brock's around, and hormone-raging tweens, unfortunately. Hello! Scoops calls out from up front, as Kirsten closes and locks the back room door

and starts counting boxes of sample spoons. sample spoons. SCP 9035 designates Foundation Land, the official SCP Foundation theme park, located in Fukuoka, Japan, and all anomalies contained within. The park includes thrill rides, dark rides, eateries, mascot meet and greets, and educational facilities, all assisted by or created with anomalies. Foundation Land receives 18.25 million visitors annually, and generates approximately 5 trillion yen per year, $32.5 billion.

SCP 9035 was created in response to the booming interest in the SCP Foundation since Valefall. It was developed in collaboration with the Department of Entertainment, the SCP Foundation's Japanese branch, and the Japan Tourism Agency, and is operated entirely by Foundation personnel. The park began development in 2022 and has been open to the public since the summer of 2031. Thanks for listening. Be sure to click that follow button with all notifications on to get notified every time a new episode is released.