The SCP Experience - The Ultimate Revenge | SCP-010

Episode Date: April 10, 2024

Want to listen ad-free? Try it FREE for 7 days here: patreon.com/TheSCPExperience SCP Foundation SAFE class object, SCP-010: The Ultimate Revenge This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-010 and is released under Creative Commons Sharealike 3.0. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/ Author: Rhiannon G. * * * 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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Look, it's just unacceptable, Graham says to me, you've had the lowest sales in the department for two months now. You're going to have to get your shit together, or I'm going to have to fire you. I slouch in my chair. My brow is crumpled so hard that it aches. My mind is numb, except for one clear thought. Fuck you, Graham. I'm serious, Adam.

He snaps. I only hired you as a favor to Megan. Don't embarrass me by making me fire you. I thought to myself. Fuck you. And fuck Megan, too. I don't need your handouts. Graham groans and rubs his forehead.

Just... Get out of my office. With pleasure, I grumble. I take an awkward moment to heave myself out of the tiny, tiny chair. I can feel Graham's embarrassed stare on me as I struggle to get my 300-pound frame out of the small seat. The air gets tense and how humiliating it is. Finally, I get myself out of the chair.

Heated and sweating in my suit, I start walking out. As I get out onto the floor again, I can see my coworkers. They lurk amongst the shining cars, gossiping like schoolgirls. As I walk out, they all look up at me, not even being subtle about it, and start cackling. I hate them. I hate them so much. Graham too. And Megan, for treating me like such a damn charity case.

People are just the worst. As I waddle past them, I can feel the sweat making its way down my spinal cord, traveling down at speed. I'm so hot. For fuck's sake, everything is such a pain. A person comes in, a tall woman, dressed and luxury brands. That sneer on her face tells me she expects to be weighted on hand and foot. I hate her already. One of my colleagues looks over at me. Hey Adam, you want to take this one? You know, since you haven't made a sale yet this week. Oh, fuck you, Ben. I thought. I force a smile and walk over to her. Hello, welcome.

Do you have an idea of what you're looking for today? I ask. She looks at me and her lip curls. Her nose scrunches up at me. Oh, I see. Fuck you too, I guess. I unlock the door to my house after work, and the dank, small space greets me.

Most of the floor is covered in trash and other junk. So I just shrug my jacket off and throw it down on the pocket. My computer chair welcomes me, shiny in its near constant use. I collapsed down onto my chair with a squeak and start tapping away at the keyboard. At least, getting to my happy place doesn't take very long. The forum I always frequent to small but dedicated. We started as a fan forum for a game,

but now it's just a collection of friends who vent about their lives. You learn the regulars quickly, so when a new string of numbers appears and speaks, I pay attention. I pay attention. If you're so dissatisfied, then do something about it. Everyone else pauses for a moment. Then the forum starts flooding in. Who the fuck is this guy? Yeah, and how would you say we do that, genius?

Who asked you? Are you lost? Who invited this guy? I just watched the chaos unfold. Eventually, the mysterious speaker speaks again. I have the means. All you have to do is ask. I'll give you exactly what your nasty hearts desires.

Again, another pause as everyone absorbs that. Then, another explosion from the regulars. Oh, so you're a scam? Get the fuck out of here. No one asked you. Who do you actually think you are? No one's giving you money here. Who is this guy?

I click on the account. The username is a string of numbers and characters. There's nothing. No other posts. No registered activity. It's not in any other forums. It's like it just materialized in this forum right now. I want to ask what they have to offer,

but I'd be ripped to shreds by the other members. They're already convinced it's a scam, so I'd also look like an idiot if I... Hmm? There's suddenly a private message addressed to me. I click on it, and it comes up. It's from the mysterious account. You are interested, I can tell.

For a second, a finger of ice. traces down my spine. My fingers tremble as I reply back. Who are you? You're not satisfied. You want to prove what you think to the rest of the world. You want control. This is so weird. I didn't reply at all to the forum. How does the weird account know this? Forget the forum. This is between you and me. I completely freeze. My blood turns to ice in my veins. I can't move. I can give you something you'll like. All you have to do is say yes. My fingers still shake as I repeat my question. Who are you? Do you want it? I pause. It doesn't take a genius to know they're going to deflect my questions.

What do you want for it? I then ask. I want someone else to have it. The voice replies. Why? I ask. What is this thing? If it's so valuable, why don't you keep it? Do you want it? Yes or no? I hesitate for another second. The concept rolls around in my head, but then work pops up in my head. Graham and Megan, all those smug bastards smirking at me. Answer accepted. Expect it at your house tomorrow.

What? What happened? I start typing frantically. Wait, I didn't type anything. I didn't even think anything. But my message doesn't go through. I click on the account. The account cannot be found error message hits me in the face.

The moment that message fades away, there's no trace of the account at all. My attention moves back to the main forum, and everyone's still chattering away. But no matter how many messages pop up on it, one question keeps coming up over and over again. Who was that guy? Yeah, who was that guy? I fall asleep thinking about it, and wake up with it still on my mind. I slept in my work clothes, so I got to sleep in a little more. I only have about 15 minutes before work.

Barely enough time to drive there when I hear a knock on my door. Oh, God, it's that Mrs. Frankton complaining about the smell again. Nosey old bitch. I push my arms into the sleeves of my jacket and storm towards my door. I seized the handle and pull the door open, drawing in a breath. There's no one there. Just a box. When I look out onto the street, there's no mailman, not even a bystander.

I strain to lean down and pick up the box. It's a mess, the cardboard barely holding together. When I look at the box, it seems to have some faded characters on them, not the Latin alphabet, maybe Russian? I'm not sure. But I barely have enough time to even get to work right now. I can't open it. Or I won't be able to give it the attention it needs. I can't leave it behind, though.

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Another day, another shit day of sales. As those arrogant assholes smirk whilst finalizing the papers for car sales, I take an early lunch. That box is more important than everything else today. Once I get into our rundown little break room, I'm pleased to see it empty. That means I can grab a table and open my box in peace. As soon as I've sat down,

I pull out a box knife and run it along the seams. I'm trembling a bit as I dig my nails in and open the cardboard. And inside are shackles? I'm not entirely sure what they are. There's about six rusted rings in there. Buried underneath them is some kind of remote. It's one of the brick kinds with a little screen and a lot of buttons. Is that... is that it?

What am I supposed to do with this? Remote control the rings? I dip in and pull one out. It's about as heavy as I would have expected a ring of metal to be. So I have been ripped off. At least I didn't pay for anything. But if I've been ripped off, then how did the mysterious account know what I was thinking?

I mean, I'd understand if I'd been hacked, and they were reading what I was typing. That would explain how they got my address. But I didn't even type half the time. And yet it knew what I was thinking. Maybe it was a cold reading technique. Either way, I'm disappointed with how underwhelming these are after all that. I put the ring I'm holding back into the box and pull out my lunch.

As I'm finishing up, Bob pokes his head in. There you are, he grunts, then looks down at the remains of my lunch. Jesus Christ, hungry were you? What do you want? I ask. Graham's asking you to come out and handle this new customer, he says. Word to the wise, this is an easy one, and he's trying to give you. you new sales, so don't fuck this one up. Whatever. I scraped the garbage left over for my lunch into the trash and tuck the package under my arms and start walking out. For God's sake, Adam,

at least try to wash the stains out before you go face a customer. Bob snaps, and then turns and leaves. Fuck you, Bob. I stride out of the break room and spot the customer lolling around on the floor. A man this time, but he has the same snooty expression as the woman. The too rich for this sneer. I put on my best customer-facing smile and approach him. Hi, do you know what you're looking for? I ask. Yeah, I do. He says. I've been looking around, and I want this Tesla. I just need someone to finalize the papers with. So, that's what Bob means by it being an easy sale. It's all but sold already. They honestly think I'm such a charity case.

But I keep the smile on my face. Of course. Let me go get that squared away for you, I say. I weezed my way across the floor into the office to get the paperwork. Once I bring back the forms, I start filling out my portion of it, trying to hide how hard I'm panting from the walk. Finally, I swiveled the papers around and skid them across the table to him. It happens again, that lip curl.

The nostrils flare. That's almost 5,000 more than the other place. He snaps, pushing the papers back. Are you going to fix that or what? What? I ask. Are you going to match the other place or what? He says again, a smirk spreading across his face.

I was going to go with you because you were selling it cheaper, but you're not anymore. You bastard. If I sell the car for that, then we'd be losing money, I think in my head. I grind my teeth for a moment, trying to keep my smile up. I'll see what we can do. Sweeten the pot. I growl. Good. He chuckles.

He reaches towards the rings in the box. He pulls out a ring and the remote. You don't use these parts to fix the cars, do you? And what's this other thing? Some kind of gauge? He laughs. Jesus Christ. It's so old I don't even know what it is.

If this is what you're using on your cars, You're going to have to sweeten the pot a lot more. God, this son of a bitch is trying to get me to sign a shit deal. He's going to get me fired. He starts prodding away at the buttons on the remote idly, but they don't do anything. Figures, it was a scam after all. Well? He sneers as he fiddles with it.

Don't you have a manager to talk to or something? Oh, shut up! I snap. Suddenly, the customer's face goes blank. His eyes become vacant. He shuts up. I wait for a moment and then walk towards him. He doesn't move at all. He's gone completely blank.

I wave a hand back and forth in front of his face. He still doesn't move. As I walk closer, I see his finger is pressed firmly down on one of the buttons. The screen on the remote is reacting. Spiked lines dart up and down like it's registering some kind of frequency. A feeling weighs down in my stomach. like a stone in my belly. An idea crosses my mind.

I take the remote. Walk in a circle, I order him, pressing the button. The man turns and starts walking around in a circle. Once he's done that, he stands still again. Oh my god. So that's what they do. Sign the papers, I say, pressing the button again. The man turns towards the papers

and then reaches his hand towards them. But as his hands open, and reach for the papers, the ring drops out of his hands. He blinks hard, and that odd veil over his eyes moves away. He leans back and holds his head. What? What? As the ring clatters on the floor, something else about them hits me.

They'd fit around the man's neck. I move forwards as quickly as I could, and lean down laboriously towards the collar. I grab it and pull at its edges. It snaps open. After a few more strides, I reach towards the man. towards the man, the collar snaps shut. Hey, what?

I pressed the button again. The vacant expression comes back. Sign the papers, I ordered. The man turns obediently and leans forward, picking up the pen, signing the papers. Once he has, I take the papers from him. They are signed for the exact price. No negotiations.

Perfect. Good. Now, walk away, take off the collar, and leave it down at the doorway. He spins on his heel and begins walking out. Bob is nearby and tries to get his attention. Hello, sir. Are you satisfied with the service you received today?

The man keeps walking and doesn't even look at Bob. I'm fairly sure he doesn't even hear him. Sir? The man walks right out, and, like I ordered, he takes off the collar. Once he's put it back down, he blinks hard and frowns. Then he starts walking away. Bob comes up to me. What did you do?

That sale was gift-wrapped for you. Yeah, and I made it. Without any negotiations. I cheer, flashing the signed papers. What? Bob takes the form and looks over it. As he does, his eyes widen. Huh.

He grunts after he looks over it. I snatch them back from him. Now, if you'll forgive me, I have to go hand this in to Graham. I start striding off before he can say anything else, and I continue walking toward Graham's office. As I do, my mind is racing. My God, I have so much power in these things. I can get anyone to do anything I want.

I need to be careful. I need to think about exactly what I want to do with them. I could make myself rich right off the bat. Every customer who walks in here could leave with the most expensive car, and I'd be rolling in it. But I think I need more. I'm not interested in more money. The text of the mysterious account comes up in my mind again. You want to prove what you think to the rest of the world.

You want control. That's right. I know what that means now. More money would be nothing compared to showing Graham and Megan and all the others how fucking wrong they are about me. They think I'm pathetic. Both my sister and her husband think I'm some kind of charity case. A pitiful man-child who can't get a job by himself.

who can't take care of himself, who can't handle life by himself. If I could just once see some respect in their eyes, well, respect would be nice, but I'll settle for fear. I smirk to myself as I walked to Graham's office. Things are feeling a little less human these days, aren't they? But isn't the whole point of progress to make things more human? That's why, at TD, when we design a product, whether it's an app for making trading easier

or monitoring your account for fraud, We ask one simple question, how does this help people? That's how we're making banking more simple, more seamless, and more intuitive. But most importantly, that's how TD is making banking more human. Hey, tell me something. I type into the forums. If you had the power to control what someone you hated did, what would you make them do? The first collective response I get is confusion.

What do you mean? Bro, that's a weird question. Wait, is this part of the game or something? Before the conversation can move on, I add. It's just a question. Now I start getting answers. You could get them to steal shit for you. Like, if they don't get caught, you get the stuff.

If they do, they're going to jail. Win-win, right? That's an idea. Another pair gets into the conversation as I consider. You could get them to kill themselves if you're. really don't like them. Like, jump in front of a train or something. Whoa, abyss toast. That's dark, bro. What? He asked. It is dark, but no one could stop me if I wanted to do that. I'd just have them do embarrassing shit if it was me. No, they deserve worse than that.

I really want to see just some fear in their eyes. I can't have them kill themselves. At least, not so quickly. I won't be able to see the respect and fear I'm looking for if I do that. Suddenly, another private message pops up on my screen. It's another regular, Stephen. He's one of the few I've met before, if only once for Comic-Con. He goes by Moist Pigeon. I don't know why he goes by that, but I know he's earnest. I click on the DMs and his message comes up. Hey, are you doing all right? I pause for a second. People rarely ask me that. Yeah, Why? That's just a weird question in the GC man, he replies. I know there's some people who treat you like shit, but that's just a weird question to put out there.

I guess so. I'm all right. I'm just kind of posing the question. Okay, just making sure, he replies. But I'll check on you tomorrow. It's now starting to feel vaguely threatening. I know he lives a state away, but that doesn't mean he couldn't come over by tomorrow. It's only been one since I got the collars of control, but I have my plan. I only have six of them, so I need to be careful about who I choose. But I know where to start, at least. I knock on Graham's door. His gruff voice echoes through. Come in. I walk in, and he's there at his desk, scribbling away. When he looks up at me, he actually smiles at me for the first time since, I think, since he hired me.

Hey Adam, great job on that sale yesterday. I knew you had it in you. If you keep it up, neither of us will have anything to worry about. Yeah, it's all about you, isn't it? I think. But I offer an open collar to him. I found this car part on the floor. Do you know where it could have come from? He frowns a little, then takes it from me.

I hit the button on the remote in my pocket. Graham's face goes completely vacant. Put the collar on, I tell him. using the remote. Snap it closed. He does. I handed another one to him. Go put this one on my bitch sister's neck.

Then, both of you need to come to my house tonight. Graham stands up and walks away without a word. So that's two. Four more left. I walked back to the break room. All my bastard colleagues are sitting and chatting together. I can see Bob amongst them, the manager who always squealed to Graham

and made my life a misery. This one's going to be a little harder. As we get close, I tap Bob's shoulder. Hey, I say. They all stop and stare at me. It's like when a hero walks into a saloon and a western. All the outlaws inside start glaring at them. Bob, I need help with this thing, I say.

They all look between each other in confusion. I've never asked for help before, but there's always a first time, right? So Bob sighs and stands up. What's up? I want to get my uniform up to Scruff. You and everyone else has been nagging at me too. And I got this tie knot assistance thing from online. I present him with a collar.

It's supposed to be one of those things that helps you tie a tie, but I can't figure it out. Can you help? Bob looks a little surprised, but smiles a little bit. Oh, good. He then takes the collar, and I hit the button on the remote behind my back. His eyes go blank. You need to put it on your neck, I say, very aware the others are staring.

Bob does. There are instructions that came with it in the other room. Come with me, I'll show you. I start walking away, and Bob follows obediently. As soon as we're out of the room, I hiss to him. Do your job as usual today. Act normal. Then, come to my house tonight.

He blinks, and a look approaching normality covers his eyes. but I can still see the sheen of control over him in his eyes as he leaves. I wait in my house, this time waiting by the front door. Then, a cluster of shadows appeared in my front door. I get up and open the door. There are five of them, Graham, Megan, Bob, and my old school friends, Jordan and Alex. Come in, I ordered. They all walk inside and then look around at me.

I could make them do anything with this remote. Kneel down. They do. All of them. I want your bodies to still obey me, but I want your minds and mouths to be your own. They all blink, and I see every one of their eyes clear. What the hell?

Alex howls. What's going on? Jordan asks. Adam! Megan says. What's happening? Jordan, you start massaging my shoulders. Alex, you go get me a diet soda.

They both stand up, and their bodies start obeying. my orders. What the hell? Alex screams again as he walks by into my kitchen. How? I can't stop moving. Jordan yells as he walks towards me. Okay. The novelties worn off. Stop talking, Alex and Jordan. They do. Their eyes shine with terror. Yes, that's what I want. Adam, what are you doing? Megan begs. Why? I just want a little respect, Megan. What do you mean? She cries, getting tearful.

I love you. I always did everything I could. You didn't respect me, though. I snapped. You've never respected me. You always saw me as some kind of pathetic charity case. You always have. Megan opens her mouth, then closes it again.

She has nothing to say. Nothing to defend herself with. She knows it's true. Tears come flooding down her face, but as she opens her lips to beg, I cut across first. You know what? You don't speak either. Her mouth closes.

Tears fall down her face. I'm finally seeing the respect in there that I deserve. But not in Graham's eyes. He glares at me. Fiery rage pushes out the room for any respect. That won't do. But I've had my own idea. Better than the forum's suggestions.

Megan, go get a kitchen knife. Her eyes widened. She shakes her head. More tears spilling over. But she can't speak, and she can't stop herself from obeying. When she's back, I point to Graham. Since the pair of you want to treat me like a child, let's see how you like it. Megan, you're going to write the lines.

I will not treat Adam like a child. You're going to write it with the knife on Graham's skin. Finally, a little fear enters Graham's eyes. Not a lot, but a touch. Megan's hands lower towards Graham's body. As the tip of the knife breaks the skin, and a little red ink starts to drip down, his eyes scrunch up, and his head throws back in silent pain. How does it feel? Not such a pathetic charity case now, huh? I wheel around. A figure walks in through my broken front door. They've kicked it down.

They're dressed in military gear and they stride in. They have gas masks on. Dar is it? Just like we were told. They say, voice is buzzing through the... Who are you? Why? In here, move in. Suddenly, an entire squad of military-dressed people thundered into my house. They're armed to the teeth, and suddenly a dozen gun barrels are pointed at me. Emblazoned on their bulletproof vests are the White Words' SCP Foundation.

All of them grab a few people, and before I can even turn to run, there are three soldiers pinning me down. The last collar is whipped for my grasp. One above me barks. Good. One guy said. What do we do with the people, sir? Anyone on the outside knowing of SCP-10's existence again? The entire squad chance.

Yes, sir! Wait! I yell. But then I feel cold, rusty metal, clasp around my neck. My vision goes fuzzy. My brain starts fogging up like a windshield on a cold day. You will slip into a quick and painless death. The order comes through.

I barely hear the words before I obey them. SCP-10 consists of a series of six apparently identical cast-iron collars. with numbered metal tags and one remote control. The control is SCP 10-1. The collars are SCP 10-2 through 10-7. The collars contain intricate electronic components and are powered by small 5-millimeter diameter, 2-millimeter-thick 100-volt batteries.

These batteries are rechargeable. The remote is a heavy black box resembling an old-style handheld radio transmitter with a primitive blue, white, cathode ray screen, and a series of more than 100 unlabeled buttons, as well as a frequency tuner. Through trial and error, the frequencies of all six currently found collars have been discovered.

A label in Russian is stamped into the metal, along with a logo consisting of workers building a pyramid. No official Russian corporation or government agency uses this logo or matches the words stamped into the metal. Placing the collar around the neck of a person and securing it allows one to control their every movement with the remote. It is also capable of producing an adrenal response and activating or deactivating the sympathetic nervous system. The most abnormal feature of the collars is the effect they have on the body morphology. They allow the user of the remote to reconfigure the shape of the victim to an extent that is apparently only limited by the knowledge of the programming language of the remote.

Thank you.