The SCP Experience - The Smiling Men | SCP-5657

Episode Date: March 17, 2023

SCP Foundation KETER class object, SCP-5657: The Smiling Men This podcast is sponsored by BetterHelp. Go to betterhelp.com/scp today to get 10% off your first month! This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-5657 and is released under Creative Commons Sharealike 3.0. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/ Author: Matt Doggett Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/MatthewDoggettAuthor/ Website/Newsletter sign up: matthewdoggettauthor.com New Book Releases: https://www.amazon.com/Matthew-G-Doggett/e/B08FD5378Z 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

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I'm sitting in the back of an SUV as it speeds through Juarez, Mexico. Low, tan, white and brown buildings streak past on both sides. The screaming sirens of our police escort are low. Thanks to the specially made insulated SUV, I stare at the real-time body camera footage on a screen in the back of the seat in front of me. A man speaking English with a slight Hispanic accent answers in my earpiece. They've heard signs of a struggle. They're going in.

Before I can answer, the policeman whose body cam I'm watching moves. He's outside a motel room door with two other men. It's not enough. They think there are just people inside that motel room, but they're wrong. I watch as the door flies open with a crunch. The cop steps into the room, bringing a man and a woman into view. The woman flails against the wall. her neck clamped in the man's outstretched hands.

She's wearing a sparkly red dress, and her blonde brown hair is matted here and there with blood. The man wears a navy blue suit that has been ripped in several places. He's also bleeding from various injuries. Put your hands up! Three cops take turns shouting. Let go of the woman and put your hands up! The man lets go of the woman and turns around.

He has a pale, generically handsome face under black hair, parted on the side. Behind him, the woman drops to the floor, gasping. Thank goodness. The man says, she attacked me. She said she wanted to have sex with me. But when we got here, she attacked me. He's a liar.

The woman rasps. He's not even human. He's empty. He's empty. She's nuts. The man says, smiling slightly, doing his best to look like an exasperated guy dealing with a crazy woman.

I don't buy it. Anyone who's injured as badly as that guy wouldn't be smiling. And the cops seem to notice this too. There's a moment of silence as the man reads the room. What? The man says, apparently following the cop's gazes. He lifts his arms up and looks at it. The sleeve of his suit jacket has been torn open there,

and a jacket piece of his arm bone is sticking up through torn flesh and ripped shirt. It seems impossible that he would even be able to use the arm. if he were a human anyway. He smiles wider. Oh! He says. Then he lunges toward the cops. Gunfire erupts in the room as all three cops fire on the man.

Bullets punch into his chest, but he keeps coming. My view tilts as the man crashes into the cop whose body cam I'm watching. Shit, I say, reaching up to the control panel next to the screen. I change feeds in time to see the man ripping the cop's head off as the other two continued to shoot. at him. Then he lunges at one of the two remaining officers, cracking his head with a dead cop's skull. The cop whose body came on watching retreats out of the room to reload. When he steps back in, the man in the suit is using the severed head like a bludgeon, smashing the downed cop in the face. The whole thing's a bloody mess. That's two cops down.

We're here, my driver says. I look out the window as we skid to a stop, seeing the motel there. About 50 yards away is the lone remaining officer. Backing away from the open motel room door, his pistol pointed inside. As I jump out of the SUV, along with the driver and Lowe in the front seat, the man in the suit lurches out of the room. He's pretty much surrounded by cops now that backup is here, but he doesn't seem to care. He still has that strange, fake smile in his face. Get down on the ground! No yells.

Do it now! The man pauses. for a moment. Then he moves toward us. A dozen cops fire on him, blasting his body apart until he falls down. He hits the asphalt in the parking lot, and I think he's done for. But then he reaches his right hand up and squeezes his neck. His body disappears like a water balloon exploding on impact. All he leaves behind are a set of bloody clothes and something that looks like a puddle of dirty oil. Several men run up to the clothes on the asphalt, but I run past them. and into the motel room. The woman looks up at me.

Is he dead? She asks. I'm not sure he can die, I tell her. But don't worry. My name's Dr. Adelard, and I'm here to help. I'd rather hear this from you, Dearborn says. He has a thick head of color-length gray hair, slicked back from a tanned and wrinkled forehead. I have the report, but I don't read them unless I have to. Takes too much time. Time that I don't have, so give me the cliff notes. Okay, I say. The woman's name is Nikki Leto, and she used to be a television show host. We sit in Dearborn's office, which has no windows and only one door.

I have no idea where the place is. I was unconscious on my way here, and I'll be unconscious on the way back. That's how important this man is. I heard about her several months before the strange occurrences, and had a couple of foundation assets among the shows. crew, I continue telling Dearborn. They were monitoring her and reporting back regularly. Nikki has what you would call psychic abilities. She can touch someone and feel their emotions, their dark secrets, the truth of who they are. Dearborn nods, and I continue. She had been

using this ability of hers to entertain on her show Nikki knows. She would have celebrities on, and after she touched them, she would then work to help them through their issues. The messier it got, the better the ratings. But, of course, people didn't believe it was actually real. If they did, I would have shut down the show immediately. As it was, there was really no harm. Not until he showed up. And who is he? Dearborn asks, leaning forward in his wingback chair and propping his elbows on the desk. Presidential hopeful and Maryland governor, Timothy Marshall, I say. As soon as she shook his hand, she felt his emptiness. That's how she puts it. Emptiness. There was nothing there. And it terrified her. So she panicked. She ran out of the studio and drove to Mexico. That was where Marshall caught up to her. In the months since that little incident, there have been several more attempts on Nikki Lotto's life. Despite our protocols and security, Marshall, and whoever is working with him, has gotten very close to killing Ludo several times. I'm afraid he'll soon succeed, unless we'd do something. Which is where you come in, sir.

Dearborn grunts. If I understand right, what you're asking is unprecedented, he says. It's a huge risk. I nod. Yes, but it's clear that our normal operating procedures aren't working. We need to think outside the containment cell, so to speak. Yes, Dearborn says distractedly. Why don't you lay it out for me?

Don't skimp on the details. I want to know everything. I nod. Take a breath. and then tell Dearborn everything. RBC Training Ground has discovered potential in over 20,000 Canadian athletes and counting. Your story could be next.

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After setting my briefcase down and levering off my shoes, I walk into the living room. Willis? I call. You home? There's no answer. I don't think much of it as I head to the fridge to grab a beer. It has been a full week since my meeting with Dearborn. The lack of movement on this issue is getting old.

But as I crack open my beer, I have a feeling all that's about to change. I head up the stairs to say hello to Willis. But as I turn into the bedroom, I freeze. Timothy Marshall stands beside my bed, leaning over a suit. between lullis. One hand is covering Willis's eyes, and the other is poised above his stomach. His fingers pointed down as if ready to plunge into his guts at any moment. The threat is not lost on me. After swallowing, I tear my eyes away from that awful fake smile on Marshall's face. You okay, Willis? What the heck is going? Quiet, Marshall says, pushing down with his left hand

on Willis's head. A moment of silence stretches on before the man-shaped thing speaks again. You know what I want. You're going to get me in there and pass the security systems. Or your boyfriend is going to die. The beer can is painfully cold in my hand. My eyes bounce between Willis and Marshall. I can't do that, I say. Marshall digs his fingers into Willis' face.

The man screams out as blood sprouts up from underneath Marshall's fingernails. I will collapse his face right here, right now. Marshall says matter-of-factly. I dropped the beer, which glugs out. out and soaks him to the carpet. Okay, okay, tomorrow. I can get you in tomorrow. Now, Marshall says, Willis screams even louder. Fine!

I cry. Fine. Just stop hurting him. A hand lands on my shoulder from behind me. I jump, turning to see another smiling Timothy Marshall standing there. An exact copy of the first. Let's go, he says. I look back at the one by the bed. He's let up on Willis's face, but his hands are still there.

there, still ready to do the job. Now, the other one says. Without a word, I turn and follow the second Marshal down the stairs, pausing by the front door to put my shoes on again. As I drive, Marshall sits in the passenger seat. You know I won't be able to just escort you in, right? I can get in, he says. I just need you to disable the security systems.

If you do that, Willis will live. What are you going to do to her? I ask him. What do you think? Marshall says. The rest of the drive goes by in silence. It's nighttime, and when we're about half a mile from the facility, I pull over to let Marshall out.

But when I turn my head, I see him reach up and squeeze his neck just before he disappears. Resuming the drive, I recall how the badly damaged Marshall in Mexico disappeared by doing the same thing. I make it through security quickly and park my car in my designated spot. As I go to get out, Marshall appears in the seat next to me. If you attempt to alert anyone about this, we will kill Willis in the most painful way imaginable. I get it. I've seen movies. I know how this works.

Not with us, you don't. We can make five minutes seem like 500 years. I pause for a moment. I'll turn off the security protocols for herself. You will turn off the security protocols for the entire floor. I shake my head. Not possible. I don't have that kind of. of authority? If our security was like that, we would have breaches all the time. The only thing I have power over is the security for her containment chamber. That's it. Fine, he says, go. I get out of the car, slamming the door. While trudging toward the entrance to my building, I glance over my shoulder and see that he's gone once again. I don't doubt they can do what

they say to Willis. I keycarded my way into the building and head through interior security, something about unfinished reports. Then I'm strolling down the corridor to an elevator. I take it down several stories and get off on my floor. Using my key card again, I step into the control room for 5657's containment chamber. I look in and see her lying on her bed, watching the television on the wall.

I sit at the station and pull up the security controls on the computer. Just as I'm about to begin the process of shutting them off, I turned slightly and press the intercom. Press the intercom. I'm sorry, I say. Nikki Lutto sits up, looking at the reinforced window. She can't see me, but she knows I'm here on the other side of the two-way glass. Why?

She asks, her face drawn. I don't answer. I enter the code phrase to shut off the security protocols. It takes me nearly a minute to go through, shutting them all down. When I'm done, I look back up to see Ludo standing close to the window. What are you doing? She cries. It's done, I say, wondering if Marshall can hear me.

A moment later, it becomes clear that he can, because he appears inside the containment cell. Lutto senses him, turning around from the window to face him. No! She shouts, no! Marshall steps up to her, his psycho smile turning to her razor-made grin. He reaches one hand out toward Ludo's neck. His hand goes through her skin like it's not even there. because it's not.

Ludo flickers out of existence, only to appear sitting on the bed on the other side of the cell. Over here, she says. Marshall's grin falters as he turns around, but the smile never fully leaves his face. Hologram technology has come a long way. Ludo says. Before the last word comes out of her mouth,

a hidden spigot in the ceiling sprays a hardening foam down on Marshall. The foam turns to stone a fraction of a second after it touches him. He never has a chance. to reach up for his neck, to do his disappearing act. Nikki Lutto's hologram walks up to the frozen marshal. Enjoy your stay, asshole, she says. Then she disappears. It takes me a couple of minutes to ensure all the correct security protocols are running smoothly.

As I'm finishing up, Ludo and my assistant, Seth Coyle, walk into the control room. Everything looking good? Boyle asks. I nod. So far so good here, I say. spinning around in my chair to face them. What about Willis? Coyle lifts a tablet in his left hand and looks at it.

He shakes his head solemnly. Damn, I say. Even though Willis was a member of D-Class who had a terminal illness, I was hoping he could walk away from this thing unscathed. He still had a couple of months left. I take solace in the fact that he said he'd rather die doing something meaningful than suffering in a hospital bed. Sorry about your friend.

Ludo says. He wasn't really a friend. I barely knew him, I tell her. Still, it's too bad. We're all silent for a long moment. Then Ludo speaks. Well, as much as I'd love to hang around, the sooner you can get to studying that asshole,

the sooner I can get back to my life, right? I nod. Coyle will see you to your new accommodations, but remember, just because we caught one of them doesn't mean others won't come after you. We have no idea how many of you. of them there are. There's at least one other, probably more. Well, do your thing, she says.

I'll be waiting patiently. She follows coil out of the room. I turn back and look into the containment cell. Although I can't see his face, I know Marshall is still smiling. Okay, Mr. Marshall, say to myself, let's figure out just what the hell you are. SCP 5657 is Nikita Lutto, a television personality from Jacksonville, Florida. Miss Lotto hosted Nikki Knows, a daytime talk show formatted to resemble a therapy session. This hour-long program would feature weekly celebrity guests, each recounting childhood experiences and future aspirations

in front of Miss Lotto and a live studio audience. Unlike typical therapy, Miss Lotto would often criticize and berate her guests to the delight of her audience, revealing any lies or hidden details told throughout the interview with seemingly and now proven supernatural accuracy. SCP 5657 is capable of C2M minor empathic communication, i.e. the extrasensory perception of emotions through physical contact. Under ordinary circumstances, SCP 5657 would only require grade D passive surveillance. However, Miss Lotto must remain within Section O. at all times, having become the target of a newly discovered group of human mimicking life forms,

G-O-I-15, hereafter known as Smiling Men. The total population, objectives, and anomalous capabilities of the Smiling Men is currently unknown. However, after recently capturing one of their kind, studies are underway to determine their numbers, threat level, and optimal containment procedures.