The SCP Experience - The Shotgun That Gives You Exactly What You Need | SCP-7553

Episode Date: August 14, 2026

Check out our new show Bedtime Horror Stories by Dr. NoSleep on Spotify and Apple Podcasts for those of you who enjoy atmospheric horror with relaxing rain sounds. Listen to the show ad-free and get access to exclusive bonus stories with a 7-day FREE trial of ⁠SCP Premium⁠. Cancel anytime. No commitment. 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 Check out all of Jake’s horror story collections at: https://jakebible.com/short-storiesnovellascollections/ * * * 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

The shotgun made a quacking noise, and a hundred small rubber duckeys in various colors and personality styles exploded out of the barrel, covering the Jeep Wrangler in their cuteness. There were yellow classic duckies, blue ducies dressed like cops, red ducies like firemen, Barbie ducies, superhero duckies, astronaut ducies, and cowboy ducies. There were a lot of ducies. Gainer whooped and spun on a heel, his orange jumpsuit a bright spot in the dreary parking lot. Did you see that? Did you? This damn thing somehow knew about the whole rubber duck trend. Rockford rubbed his chin, scratched his nose, and looked around the parking lot, his nervousness wafting off of him like the body odor of a three-day drunk. I don't know, Gainer. We could get into a lot of trouble.

Nah, no one cares about us or this shotgun. Gainer looked the weapon over. S.C. 7553. Remington. I had one of these back in the day. Not exactly like this one, obviously. Back when you robbed banks? Back before the foundation saved your ass from a certain prison sheaving because everyone was about to find out that you ratted out your old crew back then? Gainer pouted. Well, I didn't have it when I was in prison, no.

Rockford took another nervous look around. Let's get it back inside. I can't do more time. What do you think this place is? Gainer pointed at the huge building behind them, the one that the parking lot serviced. They ain't never going to let us leave, man. We are D-class for life. He cackled and leaned around to see the back of Rockford's orange jumpsuit.

Ain't that right, D-4893. Kiss my ass, D-66-D-66. That's the spirit? Gainer put the shotgun to his shoulder and aimed straight up in the air. What do you think this place needs next? That's what this baby does, right? Dispense what's needed. Rockford shrugged.

That's what the spec said, yeah. And I don't think the sky needs anything. Let's go inside before it starts to rain. Gainer rolled his eyes. You are such a loser, Rockford. Doing a little macho shuffle with his hips. Gainer set his feet and fired up at the clouds. Nothing happened.

The two men waited and waited. Still nothing. We already missed lunch. Let's go in and see if we can scrounge something from the break room. I'm starving, Gainer. You go ahead. I'm going to keep playing. Gainer.

There are cameras everywhere. Security knows we are out here playing with this thing. Cut your losses and put it back before someone gets pissed. Another nervous glance around the parking lot from Rockford. Another eye roll from Gainer. Do what you want, man. I'm staying out here and having some fun. Rockford blew a raspberry, then turned and walked back to the side door the two men had propped open. He was only feet away when he saw that the wooden wedge was no longer in place.

The door was closed. Gainer, we're locked out. This is just... Rockford's next words were drowned out by a calamitous roaring noise. It ran back to Gainer, and they both stared up at the clouds. Something large, its shadow preceding it, was headed straight for the parking lot, descending at an alarming rate. What did you do, Gainer? You saw what I did, man.

The clouds parted, and the nose of some giant, monstrous machine appeared. Oh, crap. Gainer gulped and handed the shotgun to run. Rockford, who automatically took it, his attention locked on the falling machine. Gainer, that's a... Yeah, I know. The only words that either man could summon were... Alien spaceship.

Which they said in unison. Nope. Gainer turned and ran straight for the foundation site building behind them. Where the hell are you going? Rockford shouted, the shotgun in his hands, his head swiveling from looking up at the impossible spacecraft to over at the fleeing Gainer. The side door is closed. Who cares about a goddamn side door?

I'm going in the front way, and I'll take whatever punishment is coming to me. Rockford paused for half a second, then took off after his colleague. The two men, their orange jumpsuits, making them the most obvious characteristics in the boring drab landscape surrounding the building, pumped their arms and legs, running as if the devil himself was on their asses. Then a loud claxon blared, and multiple security lights flashed red across the building's facade. No! Rockford shouted,

Hurry, Gainer! Hurry! Above them, the ship roared as it flew nose first toward the parking lot. Before them, the Claxon stopped, just as metal plate after metal plate began to surround the building, locking all together like a massive, high-tech pangolin. What had already been a formidable fortress became a truly impenetrable one in a matter of seconds. Rockford and Gainer slid to a stop right where the front entrance should have been,

but was instead nothing but five-foot-thick armor plate. Hey, let us in, Gainer shouted, pounding his fists ineffectively against the armor. Let us the hell in, God damn it. Rockford turned to look at the approaching ship. Its angle had changed, and it was starting to flatten out. Oh shit, oh hell, oh crap. Shit, shit, shit. Gainer was still shouting and pounding on the armor when Rockford grabbed him by the shoulder

and forced him to turn around. They have to let us in, man. They can't leave us out here. Gainer gault. Oh, shit. Is that thing landing? Yeah. No way.

No way, man. This is not happening. Gainer faced Rockford. Give me the shotgun. Give it to me now. Rockford clutched the weapon with both hands and took several steps away from his buddy. Not a chance in hell. You gave it to me to deal with, so I'll deal with it.

But you're shit with weapons. You were a second story, man. Not a stick-up thief. Lock-picking and alarms and fire escapes were your thing. Gainer held both hands out. Give me the damn shotgun. No! Damn it, you idiot! There's an alien spaceship landed in the parking lot. Stop arguing with me. Massive clouds of smoke and steam erupted from the bottom of said alien spaceship as huge pieces of landing gear extended, then locked into place.

The Jeep Wrangler covered in rubber duckies and all the other vehicles in the parking lot were crushed instantly as the massive vehicle set down, its power and weight, shaking the very ground that Gainer and Rockford stood upon. A storm front of smoke and steam assaulted the two orange-clad men, and they had to turn and cower to keep their faces from being cooked by the heat. After several ear-splitting thuds, thumps, and bangs, a loud hiss emanated from the vessel. Gaynor and Rockford stood straight to face the ship, their eyes wide, heads on a swivel, both hunting for a solution to their predicament. A voice boomed from the ship as a series of blue and yellow light streamed along the bottom edge. Gainer whispered. No, uh-uh, not happening.

Rockford turned to his left and started running. Where the hell are you going? Anywhere but here! The man made it about ten meters before the soles of his feet hit a patch of mossy pavement and went out from under him. Comically, almost in slapstick slow motion, Rockford fell backward, landing on his ass. His right index finger slid inside the shotgun's trigger guard

and squeezed involuntarily. Boom! Rockford cried out. Gaynor cried out. The two men gasped as two sets of what looked suspiciously like the power loaders from the movie aliens exploded from the shotgun's barrel, landing upright a couple of meters away from where Rockford, still on his ass, stared with his mouth wide open. Do not resist, Earthlings. You will be conquered or you will die. Before Rockford could pick himself up, Gainer was already running toward one of the power loaders,

the massive black and yellow machine just sitting there, huge pincers held upright. like a crab's claws. Shotgun firmly in hand, Rockford got up off his ass and limped toward the second power loader. Just as Gaynor climbed inside the first one and started to familiarize himself with the controls. Loud clangs echoed across the parking lot as wide bands of metal snapped together, locking Gainer into place. He lifted one leg, lifted the other, spun the pincers, then paused and nodded at Rockford. See ya. What?

Gainer turned the power loader around and ran off toward a strand of trees. mouth perpetually agape, Rockford could only watch his buddy retreat until the black and yellow machine was lost from sight inside the tree line. Asshole, prepare for conquering. Rockford's attention was torn between the power loader in front of him, the shotgun still in his hand, the last spot he saw Gainer before he disappeared into the trees, and the looming alien spaceship behind him. Fear built up in Rockford until he felt like he was going to explode in a messy ball of bloody panic. He even imagined his insides suddenly being on the outside as his anxiety forced him wide open. There is no escape. Submit. Submit. The word rolled in Rockford's fear-drenched mind. Submit. It was something

everyone had been ordering him to do in one way or another since he was born. His mother wanted him to submit to her crack addiction. His father wanted him to submit to an existence without the petty criminal in his life. Schools wanted him to submit to a his life. Schools wanted him to submit to a history and culture that he was barely a part of. Society wanted him to submit to a life of poverty and scraping by on barely minimum wage jobs. The police wanted him to submit to the law, whatever that happened to be at the time. The law wanted him to submit to punishment for his crimes. And the foundation wanted him to submit to a future that would include cleaning toilets and being shit on, sometimes figuratively, sometimes literally, by every single employee

not wearing an orange jumpsuit. And the other D-class personnel wanted him to submit to their own hierarchy of misfits and losers, all looking to get a leg up on each other so they didn't feel so used, abused, and discarded. Screw that. Rockford mumbled. He glanced at the power loader and its robotic arms.

He looked at the spaceship and studied it, with its alien angles and what looked like very large cannons, now easing out from the opening gun ports on each side. Rockford aimed the shotgun at the power loader and fired. Boom! All sorts of metal and plastic equipment poured from the gun's barrel. Armor upon armor.

Floodlights. New, human-like, articulated hands to replace the pincers, and weapons upon weapons. Chain guns, rocket launchers, grenade launchers, laser cannons. Gonna go goddamn Gundam on this son of a bitch! Rockford said as he climbed inside his new battle meck. He strapped in, stowed the shotgun with an easy and quick reach. and smiled at the hard-to-misinterpret on button, staring him in the face. He pressed the button without hesitation.

Straps wrapped about his body. His legs were encased in metal boots, and a helmet with a seriously complex heads-up display slid onto his head. Shall we kick some ass, Mr. Rockford? An electronic voice said from inside the helmet. Rockford jumped, then relaxed and smiled. Let's save this damn ungrateful planet, he replied. Can do, Mr. Rockford, can do.

Like he was piloting the meck. but also like the mech was piloting itself, Rockford took two tentative steps. He felt the energy running through the machine, like a pulse of violence ready to quicken. Stand up! Eat my ass, alien scum! Rockford ran the meck straight for the alien ship. The large guns and the side ports swive and took aim. Executing evasive maneuvers, the mech said, just as the alien guns opened fire.

Rockets and the mech's legs ignited, and the whole machine lifted off the pavement, soaring over the incoming laser or plasma or whatever type of fire the aliens were using. Not a single pulse could even get near the meck. Landing on top of the vessel, Rockford aimed his arm guns at the ship's hull and let loose. He screamed, his mouth wide open, but this time an aggressive triumph instead of panicked fear. Huge holes appeared in the ship's hull, but all were quickly repaired by a thousand small bots before too much damage could be done. A grave mistake, Earthling. I'll put you in the grave, Rockford thought that was a pretty darn cool comeback and grinned as he dropped a dozen grenades, then launched the mech off the top of the spaceship.

Explosions rocked the air. Rockford landed and ran around to the opposite side of the ship. His guns blazing, the large caliber bullets tearing lines of damage into the hull. But before the damage could be repaired, Rockford lunged at the ship, jamming the mech's fists into the tears. He stretched the mech's arms, widening the tears more and more until there was a convenient, mech-sized gap. Rockford climbed the mech inside the ship.

Smoke was everywhere. Red lights flashed in migraine-inducing intervals. A voice in an alien language was shouting over what Rockford assumed was the alien ship's PA system. Rockford launched four RPGs down the corridor he found himself in, then turned and ran the mech the opposite direction. Explosions rocked the ship, and Rockford's grin widened. The corridor was not built for mecks.

The top of the machine scraped a furrow in the ceiling, while the wide metal shoulders tore the walls and any equipment mounted on them to shreds. Incoming hostels detected, the mech announced. An image of the ship's layout was projected onto Rockford's HUD. He saw hundreds of red dots converging on his location. How'd you get a map? Rockford asked, checking the ammo levels of his weapons.

He was more than locked and loaded for whatever was coming for him. Attacking with... Possibly know the schematics of this ship. It's from freaking outer space. No, Mr. Rockford, it is from inner space. A team of alien soldiers rounded the corner and took their positions, half kneeling on legs that looked like they were put on backwards, half staying upright. All with weapons aimed at Rockford and the meck. Rockford didn't have time to argue with the meck about what the hell inner space even meant.

He opened fire with both flamethrowers mounted on his arms, sending a wall of flame straight for the soldiers. The thing screamed and cried out as their alien shapes became barely discernible from toasted marshmallows. First wave defeated. Second, still incoming. Where's the engine room? Get us to the engine room. Right away, Mr. Rockford. The meck took control and began pounding the corridor's floor with its huge fists.

The metal crumpled, then split, then was torn wide open. Without waiting for new orders, the mech dropped through the gap, landing in a lower corridor, squashing several dozen surprised alien soldiers. Then it repeated the motions, creating another hole, dropping through yet again, and smashing even more alien soldiers into greenish paste. Five repeats of that process later, and Rockford and the Meck were standing in a space that didn't seem like it could fit inside a spaceship

that was barely smaller than the Foundation Sites parking lot. The Mech fired a stream of plasma in all directions. Entrances have been sealed. We will not be bothered for several minutes. Great. Point me to what I need to break or blow up to destroy this damn ship. The Mex left arm aimed toward a large blue sphere rotating slowly in the center of the space. Two well-placed rockets will destroy their main engines' power source.

This will result in the ship imploding and being turned in on itself due to the quantum space parameters used to create this engine room. Imploding? Not exploding? Exploding is the opposite of imploding. So, no, Mr. Rockford, not exploding. Okay. Awesome.

Let's make that happen. A red blip appeared on Rockford's HUD, and he aimed all rockets at the target. No, Mr. Rockford. I said two well-eastern. place. Rockford fired. Oh, what I do wrong, Mac? It's not a subject we need to tackle right now. No, currently we need to get you out of here and hope that a wormhole isn't created that will consume this planet and possibly the entire solar system. That's more than, oh dear. I am trying to be calm. You're a machine. Again, a subject we will tackle at a later time. The universe

exploded. Well, not quite, but close. Rockford felt as if his very existence. was being stripped down to the molecules that make up the molecules that make up the molecules that both exist and don't exist at the same time inside a quarks butthole. His consciousness became unconsciousness, yet he never lost consciousness, while he also felt surprisingly rested as he screamed at the top of his non-existent lungs in his non-existent body. True nothingness consumed him. He no longer was. Then a bright light raced toward him, slamming into his mind like a freight train running over an errant dairy cow, but with less subtlety. Air filled his lungs, lungs, that he suddenly had again.

Pain filled the rest of him as he became aware of the fact that he was tumbling ass over tea kettle in the air. Then, bam slammed into the foundation building's armor. Rockford and the machine collapsed at the base of the building, a tangle of warped metal struts and sparking wires. Ow! The mech said. Same.

Rockford gasped. He rolled his head and could just barely make out the swirl. rolling black mass of coiled energy floating above the demolished parking lot. It was the size of a large RV, and it pulsed in and out, as if it were breathing. How do we survive? Rockford asked. You assume we did. What?

A joke. Not funny. That subject we will discuss later. Oh, shut the hell up. Rockford tried to stand, but the meck wasn't anywhere near capable of achieving an upright stance. It wasn't capable of achieving much of anything except for smoking from crucial components, as it lay in its own hydraulic fluid. Rockford had to claw and yank at the straps holding him in place before he loosened enough tension to ease his arms up and out, followed by the

rest of his body. He clambered out of the warped and dented cockpit cage, then collapsed onto the pavement, happy to feel the cold ground under his back. You will want to move, the mex said, its voice echoing inside the helmet that Rockford still wore. I discuss any of those important subjects due to the fact that I shall self-destruct and five seconds. No, wait. Don't blow up. I appreciate your caring, Mr. Rockford, but the process is already well on its way to completion. Three seconds. Rockford ignored his pain and injuries, scrambled back to the mech, jammed his arm into the broken cockpit, and grabbed out the shotgun. There! That's why you wanted me to wait. How heroic! Rockford wasn't listening anymore. He yanked

the helmet off and was running as fast as his battered body would allow. He just made it around the corner of the building when the mech went up. up like a mini mushroom cloud. Heat sucked the air from Rockford's lungs, and he clawed at his neck, thinking he was done for, when air filled the space once more, and he was on his hands and knees, gasping and retching. After counting to 50 and making sure nothing was broken, Rockford staggered up onto his feet and slowly limped back toward the parking lot. The mech was gone, nothing but a crater left behind. The swirling mass of dark energy was still there, though, and it was expanding. Rockford put the shotgun to his shoulder, aimed and fired. A trillion bright pink flowers exploded from the barrel.

They streamed at the dark energy, consuming it quickly. The mass was overcome in seconds. Then it was gone all at once, leaving a few pink flowers to float down under the crushed vehicles. A single rubber ducky went to squeak. Rockford stared at the carnage, the shotgun hanging loose in his grip by his side. He jumped and screamed when the building behind him began to deshield itself. Metal plates, under, around, and inside each other until the foundation site was back to its normal facade. The front entrance whooshed open, and a couple of dozen security guards rushed out. Half of them hurried to Rockford and surrounded him. The rifles aimed for his chest and head.

You'll just shoot yourselves. Rockford muttered, expressing the idiocy of a circled firing squad. No one is being shot today, D-4893. A man said as the guards parted to let him through. Oh, um, hey there, director, Rockford said. I can explain? The question mark at the end of that statement tells me that you cannot, in fact, explain. The director smiled.

However, I can. I would like to thank you for that intense test of anomaly SCP-753. I have been trying to get the council to approve a test on this scale, but I was rebuffed repeatedly. Um, what? The director laughed. Not that I would admit it. In fact, I will scorch the earth before I say anything incriminating.

But wasn't it a lucky break that your friends? and Gainer came across that shotgun. Rockford looked down at the weapon. He slowly, in the least threatening manner he could attain, held the gun out. The director took it without comment. Now, I guess I get to be the fall guy, right? Rockford shook his head. Of course.

You? Oh, no, Mr. Rockford. I have plans for you. In fact, you might be in for a promotion. The director put an arm around Rockford's shoulder and led him toward the front entrance. And why would I need you to take the fall? when I have a D-class rampaging around the area and a highly classified power loader. I suppose we both have Mr. Gainer to thank for our current situations, don't we?

Rockford smiled. Yeah, I suppose we do. He cleared his throat. So is this promotion a paying gig? Let's not get ahead of ourselves, Mr. Rockford. SCP-753 is a Remington 870 Marine Magnum Pump Action Shotgun. The object is in near pristine condition. SCP-553's anomalous properties activate when held by a living subject and aimed at an object or situation that they consider to be problematic to them.

Rather than pellets, one or more objects, SCP 7553-1, will be fired from SCP-7553. SCP-553-1 instances vary between manifestations and typically exceed the size of SCP 7553-1. Instances also share the trait of automatically resolving, or at minimum, presenting the means to reliably fix the problem at hand. However, SCP-7553 will not always react expectantly during these circumstances, as it has been observed to jam or focus on a different object within range on occasion. The reason for this is still under investigation. SCP-7553 became known to the foundation after a user of the website Parawatch, Falcon underscore Crazy, had posted on the forum claiming to own something paranormal handy. The user stated that the object was originally

purchased at a gun show and had accidentally discovered its supreme powers after trying real hard to clean it. After reviewing the digital evidence provided and noting that the user had previously encountered an unrelated anomalous object, these claims were quickly authenticated. SCP-7553 was confiscated, with their owner amnitized and given a non-anomalous replacement. All relevant forum posts were subsequently deleted. Thanks for listening. Be sure to click that follow button with all notifications on to get notified every time a new episode is released.