The SCP Experience - We Punch Sharks | SCP-4416

Episode Date: June 26, 2026

A mutated great white shark unlocks something violent in Gabe, sending him down a spiral of obsession, rage, and impossible memories. But when he finds others like him gathering on the shore, he realizes too late that their anger may be exactly what the anomaly has been feeding on. 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:  Matt Doggett * * * 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

Look, someone called from the side of the catamaran. There's a shark! Captain Ron, a man who didn't have an eye patch and looked nothing like Kurt Russell, came over and peered into the water. That's a black tip shark, he said, nodding. There's a few. Sure enough, I spotted three sharks swimming lazily 30 yards from the boat. Captain Ron had just stopped the tour boat so we could snorkel.

My girlfriend, Nikki, and I were looking forward to getting into the water. and peeping some fish. But I wasn't crazy about swimming with sharks. Probably a good idea to stay out of the water while they're around, Ron said. But we can go to a different spot about 20 minutes away. What does everyone think? A chorus of Yazz sounded for most of the 15 people aboard the boat. Ron and his teenage son headed off to start the motors.

Nikki stepped away from the railing to take a seat under the awning, along with most of the others. I stayed, along with a couple of kids, all of us watching the Black Tip sharks. They were majestic creatures, if a little intimidating. It had been far too long since I'd been on vacation, and I couldn't help but smile. All the frustrations I didn't even know I was carrying were melting away. My smile faltered as my mind jumped back to an argument Nikki and I had while packing. Well, not really an argument.

an observation she had made. I was trying to set up a waterproof GoPro, thinking I would get some footage, put it up on YouTube just for the heck of it. In reality, the foundation kept me too busy for anything like that, but it was fun to dream. The only problem was that I couldn't figure out the camera. The setup screen was in Mandarin,

and I couldn't figure out how to change it. Finally, flying into a rage, I shouted a couple of expletives and through the camera at the floor, breaking the brand new device. Nikki, who had been in our walk-in closet, stepped out and looked at me and then at the broken camera. She wasn't scared.

I'd never laid hands on her and never would, but she wore an expression of disappointment that crushed my heart. Shame and embarrassment flared hot in my cheeks. You really are an angry person, Nikki said. No judgment in her voice, but unmistakable sadness. She turned and went back to choosing outfits in the closet.

I wanted to protest to say I wasn't, but I knew it would be a lie. Just because I never took my anger out on her or any other person didn't mean I wasn't angry. I was, and I knew it. Now, as I stood on the deck of the catamaran, I promised myself I would start therapy when the vacation was over. Whoa! The kids next to me said in unison, I followed their gaze and saw it, a great white shark. Its dorsal fin jutted from the water like a threat as it swam toward the boat. My head is like a shark's fin, I thought, remembering the LL Cool J song from that movie Deep Blue Sea.

Yeah, cool song, man. Ends her salled by its massive size. I stared as the shark grew closer and closer. Soon, I could make out details along its body. My brow furrowed. Were those extra eyes dotting its sides? Was that a lipless human mouth on top of the top of? of its head, teeth pressed together in a grimace? I wanted to look away, to ask if the kids were

seeing the same thing, but I couldn't pull my gaze from the creature. And then the pulse came. It originated from the Great White, although there was no physical evidence of this. It didn't affect the water, and it wasn't like a gust of wind slamming into me, but I felt it coming from the shark. My legs buckle, and I fell to my knees on the textured fiberglass. I heard Nikki exclaimed behind me, but the things I was feeling consumed the rest of my awareness. Visions accompanied the feelings, flashing images, shark's eyes, and the quote from jaws about them being lifeless, like a doll's eyes, until the shark bites you and they roll over white. Images of a world in chaos raced through my head. Recent news headlines about wars and

government corruption and murders and robberies and corporations stealing expensive Lego sets from dying old men. I only later realized, It was strange that none of the horrific stuff I'd witnessed while working for the foundation came to mind then. As Nikki grabbed my shoulders and crouched next to me, asking if I was okay, I looked over at the three black-tip sharks, still visible behind the boat. My hands formed fists. Shrugging Nikki off, I lunged to my feet, ran to the back of the boat, and dove into the water. I still had my phone in my bathing suit pocket. I didn't care. I wanted to do one thing and one thing only. Two of the blackfin sharks swam away from me, but the third seemed to be curious. It was maybe six feet long, a lithe predator with sharp teeth and soulless eyes.

You bastards! I screamed into the water. The words coming out as a rush of bubbles. I cocked my fist, still kicking with my legs. And when I was in range of the shark, I punched it. I punched it with all I had, which wasn't much, considering I was underwater. Its sandpapery skin scraped my knuckles as they met its nose. nose, but I was already bringing my left fist in for a piece of the action.

The shark jerked its head and opened its mouth. My fist went straight inside. The shark clamped down, teeth slicing through skin and muscle, powerful jaw shattering bone. Its black eyes rolled up, turning white. Blood clouded the water as the shark jerked its head back and forth, nearly yanking my arm out of its socket. I screamed out the last of my oxygen, but the pain only made me angrier. I punched it with my right fist again, but the hit was no good because of the moving target. When the shark paused and it's thrashing, I hit it a third time. It jerked its head once more,

released me, and swam away. Or at least, I thought it released me. Then I looked down and saw that my left hand was gone, blood from the ragged stump clouding the water. I stumble out of my tent and into the early morning chill, trying to leave the bad memory behind with my rancid sleeping bag, half-empty boxes of cheap wine and research materials. It doesn't work. The memory stalks me down the short trail for my camping spot toward the beach, just as it had stalked me for the last seven months, causing my life to fall apart. As I come to the edge of the woods, I squint my bleary eyes in search of a place to relieve myself. The sun is just peeking up over the flat ocean horizon, like a shark's fin, or,

L.L. Cool J's hat. I can just see it through the winter barren tree branches between me and the beach. Struggling to free willy, I focus on the task at hand, using my stump to hold my boxers down, while coaxing the snake out with my right hand. A gust of wind reminds me I'm dressed only in boxers. Finally relieving my swollen bladder, I glance through the barren branches again. Only this time I see people on the beach, a group of them. Don't get your hope. Oops up, I tell myself, people on a beach at dawn doesn't mean anything. I count eight people. Five men and three women, all in their late 30s are older, but none older than 70, and they're all wearing wetsuits. Maybe it's an exercise group, staying fit during the winter by swimming in the

frigid ocean. As the remainder of last night's wine empties to the sandy soil, I watch the eight of them pair off and take turns punching each other's palms, like their training at a boxing Jim. Hope emerges from the inky depths of my blackened soul. This can't be a coincidence, which means I'm not the only one. I'm not crazy. After the shark punching incident, no one believed that I had been compelled to do it. Nikki chalked it up to my anger issues, and if I had just let it go, we might still be together, but I couldn't let it go. I kept trying to convince her that it wasn't my suppressed rage or unhealthy coping mechanisms that had caused it. Of course, I got angry when she didn't believe me, raising my voice or tearing at my hair

or punching at the shower curtain when I went into the bathroom to try and gather myself. After two months of this, she left me. Even the people at work didn't believe me, although they gave me a fair shot. My supervisor allowed me to use some of the foundation's resources in my quest to uncover the anomaly that had made me want to punch a shark. I knew it had something to do with that freaky-looking great white. What I didn't know was why I had been the only one affected. I searched for answers and chased down leads, only ending up at dead ends.

I would have kept searching forever, but I was eventually told I had to stop, get back to work. Well, not back to work exactly, because I only had one hand, which barred me from working my old job as a guard. Knowing I couldn't drop the investigation, I went on disability leave. I've been camping on various East Coast beaches since then, looking for some sign that I'm not a complete psycho who lost one of his hands just because he was angry. In the last couple of months, I've been hearing whispers, though. Stories told in salty bars about people who gather on secluded beaches to punch sharks.

Internet groups with names like, We Punch Sharks, or Shark Punchers Anonymous, that disappear without any trace the moment I try to find out more. But now, now, for the first time since I started my search, I'm seeing people on a beach practicing their punches, shark punchers. But if my experience so far is any indication, they're a jumpy bunch. I don't want to spook them, so I ease back into the trees, hiding, watching. I have to be sure. It doesn't take long. After a little more practice, they form a circle, arms around shoulders, heads leaning in. They chant,

We punch sharks! We punch sharks! Fuck you, sharks! Separating, they all run into the ocean, crying out as if heading into battle. I've been scanning the ocean while watching the punchers, and I haven't seen a single dorsal fin. But now, as the punchers move into the water, sharks suddenly appear in the shallows, like they've been waiting. They swim towards shore as the punchers move out among the gentle waves to meet them. watching with wide eyes and an open mouth, I wait for the urge to take control. I wait for the rage to become so potent, I have no choice but to run out there and start punching. But it doesn't come.

It only happened that one time. And I've seen sharks since that fateful first punch, plenty of sharks. I've even wanted to punch them, mostly in retaliation for one of their brethren taking my hand. But the urge hasn't been nearly as powerful as that day on the catamaran. Not even close. Today is the same, but different. The same because that implacable force doesn't take hold. Different because I do want to run out there and punch away.

Most because I'm so happy to have found others like me. But I resist, staring as elbows cocked back and fists piston forward, as water sprays up from the sharks thrashing tails and from knuckles parting the sea in search of a snout to strife. Flashbacks of my injury caused my heart to race. Phantom pain jolts my missing hand. Concern for those brave souls amid the waves causes me to see red in the water that disappears when I blink.

I'm not sure how much time passes before the sharks turn tail in unison, their dorsal fins disappearing as they swim swiftly away from the beach. The punchers, chests heaving from exertion, looking at each other for a moment before raising their triumphant fists and sending up joyful cheers. Success, victory. The battle has been won. The puncher swagger out of the ocean, laughing and slapping backs.

Everyone has all of their limbs. I find myself grinning as I rush for my hiding spot. You did it! I cry, running down the beach. Smiles fade as the puncher see me. They tense, looking around as if cornered. It's okay, I say, holding up my stump. I'm one of you.

The biggest guy in the group rushes forward, grabbing me by the throat. Who the fuck are you? Gag, go, gha. I say, unable to speak coherently. Let him go, Lucero. A woman says, petite but fit, dark hair and eyes, olive skin. Doesn't matter now anyway. No one can stop what's coming.

Lucero glances at the woman and then lets me go. I'm one of you. I say weakly, massaging my throat. If you were, you would have been out there with us, the woman says, looking at my stump. I suddenly remember I'm only wearing boxers. I suck in my wine belly. and hope my breath doesn't smell as bad as it tastes.

The others gather around, eyes on me. I'm pass, the woman says, offering a right hand with lightly bleeding knuckles. I shake her hand. Gabe, you know why you weren't out there with us, Gabe? Before I can answer, she says. Because you're not angry enough. Anger is a gift. I cock an eyebrow. Isn't that a rage against the machine lyric?

So what if it is? Lucero says. Does that make it any less true? I shrug. Guess not, but what about? I search for the words. I saw a great white, crazy-looking thing, like mutated or something. But it did something to me, changed me. Is that what happened to all of you?

Yes, Paas says, nodding. He showed us the truth, removed the blindfold from our eyes. The others nod along. We are among the chosen few who have had direct contact with him. Baz continues with a faraway smile. But once we reached a certain threshold, there was no further need for that. The truth spreads through us now. And the time we've been waiting for is fast approaching.

We've got to get ready and tell the others. There's others? Oh yeah, Baz says, smiling. Lots. Can I join you? She studies me for a long moment, considering. I don't know why you weren't out there with us just now, but he chose you for a reason.

He must have a plan for you. Join us and witness our triumph. I stay next to PaaS as we walk down the beach. You said no one can stop what's coming. What does that mean? What's coming? Paas's smile grows even bigger. You're gonna love it.

Early afternoon, a cloudy winter day. The temperature is in the low 50s, but you wouldn't know it by all the people on the beach. I've lost count, but there must be over a hundred. No one gets in the water, though. Most people eye the ocean like Clint Eastwood right before he draws his six-shooter and blasts the bad guy away. There are coolers with snacks and drinks, yes, but no fun beach activities and no booze. This is serious business.

All morning, since joining up with Paz and her group, I've been debating whether I should call the foundation about this. And every mental debate has ended the same. An angry inner voice says, Fuck the foundation. They didn't believe you. They didn't want you. These are your people. They understand your anger. They know it's a gift. Now, I finally put that debate to bed. I'm with my people. And I'm going to witness their triumph, whatever that means. I still can't get a straight answer from anyone, but it seems like it's going to be just a big shark punching session. Dozens of people punching dozens of sharks. I can get behind that. And now that I've found my people, I have to admit I feel confident I will join them in the surf this time. I'll finally punch another shark, and this time

I'll win. On some unseen signal, everyone on the beach turns away from the ocean and toward the land, pulling their phones out as they do. I look around for paths, but I don't see her anywhere, so I turn my attention landward. Soon, I hear noises, car engines growing nearer, behind that, sirens, and helicopters? The stretch of beach we're on backs up to a long parking lot. Beyond that, a trendy beach town that all but closes in the winter. A four-lane boulevard stretches away from me. I stare down its length, listening, waiting. And then I hear Paz's voice.

It comes from all around, from the phones everyone's holding. I know you're mad, she says. I'm mad as hell too. That's why we're here. That's why we found each other. I peer over a stout woman's shoulder at her phone. Paaz's face is on it. She's doing some sort of live stream with the ocean.

as her backdrop. As she speaks, I feel a pulse wash over me, much like the one I felt on the catamaran. But before it can fully take hold, a different flavor of anger seizes me. Why didn't anyone tell me about this live stream? Why am I the only one who doesn't have this on his phone? Digging my phone out, I asked the woman how I get to the stream. She says without looking at me. Rent is too expensive. Paz continues. Groceries are through the roof. No one can't afford to buy a house or have kids are, God forbid, suffering health problems at all. The engine noise grows closer. I look down the boulevard to see a line of vehicles coming toward us, taking up all four lanes.

A few vehicles going the other way have to swerve onto the sidewalk to avoid accidents. News and police helicopters hover in the sky, keeping up with the onslaught. It would have been an impressive sight if I weren't so damn mad. I pull up Facebook to search. They're siphoning money from our pockets, and they want to report. place us with robots, so we can't even afford to scraps we have now. The first vehicles arrive. They park as close to the beach as they can get, whether it's a legal spot or not, and they keep coming. Police choppers fly overhead, momentarily drowning out Paz's

speech. A cop says through a megaphone, this is an unlawful gathering, and you will be arrested if you remain in the area. No one pays them any mind. People pour out of the cars, coming down to the beach, their phones out, listening to Paz. Fucking bullshit, I muttered, pulling up TikTok as I continue searching for the stream. With a glance over at the woman's phone, I can now see that the ocean behind Paz is crowded with shark fins. Spinning around, I see for myself. There are thousands of them, stretching toward the horizon. I grip my phone until it creaks and clamp my teeth together until they hurt. You bastards, I think. You doll-eyed bastards! Paz continues.

listing grievances. Poor education, shitty food, poisonous water. The beach in both directions is now packed with people. They march down to the waterline, pushing me along as they come. I'm still trying to find the stream. Frustration building. Everyone stops, glaring out at the constantly moving dorsal fins. As says with disgust, yes, we're angry. Yes, we're being screwed over every which way we turn. But there's good news, friends. There's something we can do about it. because we now know the cause of all our problems. She pauses for a long moment. Sharks!

They're to blame! They've been pulling the strings for too long. And it's time we take back our world! A cheer sweeps along the beach, Paz's rousing words, and their accompanying pulse, driving everyone into action. Phones are discarded,

having served their purpose, as everyone rushes into the water to meet the sharks. Once again, the pulse tries to take control of me, but I'm too preoccupied with my own breed of anger. Great! I miss the whole damn thing! I shout, throwing my phone down in frustration as people jostle me on their way into the water. Realizing what's happening, I start forward, fist clenched, ready to take my revenge. The water is up to my knees when I stop, a memory distracting me from my task.

It was before the vacation. I was messing with that waterproof GoPro when I got frustrated and threw it down, breaking it. The expression on Nikki's face when she did. peaked out of the closet, looms large in my mind. What the hell are you doing, man? I asked myself, seeing how little I've changed since then. You just threw your phone down in frustration. For what? What did it solve?

Nothing. That's what. Nothing at all. But I know punching sharks will solve. What? What will it solve? The answer screams through my head, as other screams draw my attention to the ocean. The water is crimson. Sharks and humans thrash. But only the humans are screaming as their limbs are ripped off, their guts torn out, their fists shattered by powerful jaws. A panic-stricken woman tries to swim toward land when a massive great white rears out of the water and chomps her in half.

A man with his arm missing at the shoulder stares at his blood-spurting wound for a moment before a small shark jumps from the shallows and clumps onto his face. Another man with both his arms missing shouts at the ocean, It's only a flesh wound! Come back here and take what's coming to you. I'll bite your fins off. It's a bloodbath, a feeding frenzy, a human buffet. Looking down at my healed over nub, I realize just how badly all these people have been tricked, how their anger was used against them,

how they were manipulated into volunteering themselves a shark feed. Slowly, I back out of the blood-stained surf. I know what I have to do now. I have to call the foundation. No doubt they already know about it, thanks to this being all over the news, but I can provide valuable information. After that, I'll call Nikki and apologize,

even if she doesn't take me back. In a funny way, I think my rage has saved me. Paz was wrong when she said I'm not angry enough. If anything, I'm too angry. But that stops now. I can no longer let my fury control me. I turn around to find my phone and freeze when I see all the discarded phones lying everywhere.

Rage courses through me. Son of a bitch! SCP 4416 refers to the action of any person intending to assault sharks via punching. These coordinated attacks happen in small groups, made up of those with poor anger management skills. It is vital to intervene before groups can grow larger than eight people, as this seems to be a threshold that, once crossed,

can expand the anomaly quickly to others in a 500-mile radius with similarly poor anger management skills. A team has been dispatched to search for SCP 41416-1, a mutated great white shark that may be the root cause of this anomaly. Until the apprehension or annihilation of this entity, proactive measures to prevent instances of shark punching must be prioritized to avert the loss of human life in mass shark on human crime. Thanks for listening.

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