The SCP Experience - Wild Ride | SCP-112

Episode Date: October 23, 2023

Want to listen ad-free? Try it FREE for 7 days here: patreon.com/TheSCPExperience SCP Foundation EUCLID class object, SCP-112: Wild Ride This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-112 and is released under Creative Commons Sharealike 3.0. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/ Author: Lucas Click Discover the Author's impressive series of SCP Tales here: https://www.amazon.com/kindle-vella/story/B0BVWJFGV3 Check out more of Mr. Click's work here: newpulptales.com 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

Today is September 6th, the day I came into this world kicking and screaming. Two days before my dad took off, never to be seen again. I try not to think about my birthday party last year. It had been a real bash with all my hellhound brothers, strippers, weed, and drugs. And that's only the parts that I can remember. There's no feeling quite like raising a little hell with your brothers. The past year hasn't been kind to me or the club. We had a traitorous rat in our midst, taking money and selling our secrets to other gangs for some extra cash.

Somehow, that bastard got the jump on both our sergeant-at-arms and vice-president. Honestly, no one misses the VP much except for the big man. Not his fault. Bo was his son, and he had to love the dirt bag. But the feeling was far from mutual. Things haven't been the same since. Our funds have diminished. and our rep is severely damaged in the wake of the betrayal and murders.

Even worse, Bo's death took the fight out of the big man. Other clubs and gangs saw this as a weakness, and I've been taking territory that's long been ours inch by bloody inch. Needles, that son of a bitch. He good has killed the whole club when he plugged Big Dave and Bo. So much for not thinking about it. I try to focus on the roar of engines from the three bikes riding with me in formation. Axel, our new treasurer and my best friend since high school, is taking the lead.

On my left, his gears, a short man who doesn't talk much, but is better with a wrench and a switchblade than anyone I know. To the right of me is Connor, a prospect a couple months in, and one of Axel's many nephews from his slut sister's many baby daddies. I forget which one, but thankfully he's too young to be one of mine. The kid's got potential. He takes the ribbing we give him in. stride. It's a shame he signed up when he did. No one says it out loud, but nobody is sure how much longer the club will be around. We blaze past the city lights of Lexington, one of only two of Kentucky's big cities, another 10 miles, and we're on US 25. The townhouses in quiet suburbs grow sparse between vast swaths of open land and farms. The path seems somewhat familiar,

But it's not until Axel signals us to take a left that I realize where we're going. Looming toward us in the distance are the decrepit shadows of a failed business venture that the locals thought would turn northern Kentucky into a mini Gatlinburg. We go slow over the remains of the parking lot. The black top is littered with potholes and patches of grass have grown where the earth tries to reclaim the land. We park alongside Axel, and through the haze of our headlights, I can just make out the battered sign for a Musiland. Brings back memories, don't it?

Axel chuckles as he steps off his bike. I'm no slouch in the height department, but Axel stands nearly a half foot taller than me. He's so big that even Bo didn't fuck with him. And that prick fucked with everybody. No, Connor frowns. Before your time, numb nuts, I was talking to Joker. His words are harsh, but he puts a hand over his nephew's shoulder.

time ago people thought this would be the next Kings Island well people got more money than sense my mama's old saying flows easily from my lips something like that Axel's grin broadens long before me and Joker here started wearing leather we used to run wild here got my first hand job on that Ferris wheel over there yeah I remember it well really wish you and Shelley had waited for me to get off before you started that hey I got off just It was fine. A snort escapes my lips, followed by a chuckle.

Even though I'm well past 30, being a biker cements your sense of humor. Dick and fart jokes are as common in our clubhouse as on a playground. Not that I'm complaining. I tried to listen to some of the new stand-up shit. It's over my head. A loud creak makes me reach for the piece tucked in the back of my pants, but it's only gears. Quiet as a shadow. He's pushed the rusted gate open.

Welcome to Amuseland, boys! The desolate remains are a walk down a Battletorn memory land, especially after Axel lights a joint, and we start passing it back and forth. The horses on the merry-go-round have mostly rotted through. A couple look like they've been smashed by stoner kids with too much free time. Not that we're much better. Hell, this close to 40, we might be even worse. As the marijuana takes effect, Axel and I laugh our kids.

I laugh our heads off at an old poster of Tommy Cat. Originally, the mascot had been Willie the Wildcat, designed to win the hearts of everyone who called Northern Kentucky Home, until the University of Kentucky saw the resemblance to their mascot and threatened to sue. The owners decided to paint the fur orange and black, and that was enough to keep UK off their backs. Guess they were lucky that whoever the fuck created Garfield never took a glance at it. Memories lurked behind every corner.

A falling apart park bench was where Axel and I swapped a bottle of Jack back and forth until a security guard tried to confiscate it. I smashed it over his head, and we took off running. We were scared shitless for nearly two weeks, but couldn't resist the allure. Not that there was much else for us to do. We were just a couple of local boys until we set out to make our fortune in Lexington and ended up outlaws instead. Even with the recent trouble with the club, it's the best decision we ever made.

All right, I say after the weed spent, and the nostalgia has run its course. Spill it. Why, Joseph Kearns, Axel says, doing a pretty good Val Kilmer from Tombstone. Whatever do you mean? I cross my arms and look at him. A biker club ain't so different from most other organizations. You need people with different skills to make everything run smoothly. Enforcers like me are good at cracking skulls.

Guys like gears know how to keep our bikes going and won't hesitate to kill anyone. Even rookies like Connor serve a purpose, with their blind loyalty and eagerness to please. You never know when you'll need a good alibi. Axel's got the body to be a mindless brute like me, but that ain't never been the case. He's always been a big picture kind of guy. He probably should have been treasurer long ago. But Dave had vouched for needles after Crazy Carl's death. I know he didn't bring us out here to wax nostalgia over a little grass,

but my gaze on him breaks as the lights around us flare into life, blinding me. The merry-go-round starts spinning again with a warbled melody as the Ferris wheel lurches along its axis. The lights studded into it flare brilliantly before popping and going dark. One of the lamp poles stutters and shines on axle like a spotlight. He opens his arms and twirls around. round in a slow circle. A loud clunk gets my attention, and I catch gears closing a fuse box from the corner of my eye. Axel thought this out beforehand, knowing I would eventually ask him about his motives. A muse land is dead, but picture its replacement. Weiss land, he points to the

house of mirrors. I'm thinking we clean out the broken glass, fill it with mattresses, and make it into a whorehouse. His finger points to the old cafeteria. Make us a little meth shack there and start cooking. He opens his hand and grins. Think about it. We could turn this shithole into a regular Sodom and Gomorrah. Connor's face crunches up in confusion. The green chick from the Marvel movies?

Connor. Axel shakes his head and rubs his eyes. Do me a favor and think before you speak. I thought I did, Uncle A? Then don't just speak, all right? Axel reaches into his vest, fishes out a pack of camels and offers me one. What'd you think?

I take the cigarette and light it, inhaling a cloud of fumes. Think shining a light on where you're hoaring and scoring is a good way to get the fuzz's attention. Ah, don't be a dipshit, Joker? This is just for... What do the college boys call it? Ambiance. The club keeps me around for my muscle, but that doesn't mean I'm a complete idiot. Smoking gives me time to form my words carefully.

I don't want to accuse anyone of going against the club's interests, especially not Axel, who's a brother in every sense but blood. Still, there's a protocol to this sort of thing. Any source of income is supposed to be brought to the club where every member votes, and we don't proceed without a majority. If Axel wasn't doing that, when you plan on running it by the big man, I posed the question as diplomatically as I can. Axel runs a hand through his hair and shifts on his.

feet, like a kid with his hand caught in the cookie jar. Look, the club needs funds. And you know I love the big man like a father. But his heart ain't in the game right now. Not after Bo. We're losing, Joker. Every day, the club's getting bled a bit more. We need an influx of cash to keep it going.

And you know what they say? Better to ask for forgiveness than permission, right? It sure as hell sounds like Axel is asking for my permission to run the operation without the big man. It says a lot that he's got gears to go along with him. If he sees sense in Axel's words, then things with the club are worse than I thought. Before I can give my answer, a loud roar ripped across the sky. We turn toward the horizon as a blue blur streaks across the track further into the park. Whoa! The tingling excitement of my youth builds in me despite Axel's proposal. Is that? No fucking way! Axel claps his hands.

together and I see I'm not the only one losing to their inner child. He takes off toward the lights and noise, and I grin before running after him. Lasagne sur-gillet, puissance-moyance-moyerned 15 minutes. We're like their dojo. Prere to play the pleasure with Leo Jo.

The casino in-line that proposes the most recent machine-ass-sou and the games of casino in direct. Profite of 50 tours gratis on Big Bas-Bas Bonanza, without exigience to miss and with the payment instantane. Hey! I've gained! Woohoo!

Please you play, auto. 18 years, 1st, 10 tours for the machine a sub-based Bonanza. Depos minimum of $10. Veil to play a fashion responsible. The conditions apply.

I'll be goddamn. I whistle. To blue steel surfer. Compared to the rest of the park, the roller coaster looks good as new as the carts pull to a stop at the start of the track. Vitalic blue paint

shimmer against the blue and white lights that dot the tracks. Memories of the last summer of our senior year flashed through my mind. waiting in anticipation for the roller coaster to be finished. Gears! Axel rubs his hands together. Take a look at it and make sure it's good to go. She's a beauty, Conor smiles, and it reminds me of just how young he is.

Bet the two of you rode this all the time, huh? I shake my head. We never got the chance. Connor frowns. Why not? Arc went belly up before anyone bought a ticket for it. Axel shrugs. I guess the owners put all their hopes and dollars on one stellar attraction to bring the tourists in.

How's it looking, gears? The silent mechanic looks up from the console and gives a thumbs up. Well, that'll settle it then. Axel steps up to one of the carts, with Connor close behind. I grab him by the shoulder before he can climb in. Whoa, you want to go on a roller coaster that hasn't run in 20 years? How high are you, brother? High enough to kiss your mother.

He grins broadly. Again, come on, man, it's your birthday. We got to do something special. Tell me you're not itching to give this baby a ride. Think about it. We'll be the only ones to have actually ridden the steel surfer. I can't express how annoying it is that Axel is always right. Don't we need someone out here to flip the off switch or something?

No. Hearing gears speak makes me stop in my tracks. In the 20 years I've known him, I've heard him say maybe as many words. He looks appraisingly at the console, flips a switch, opts into the second car, and pulls the restraints down over his shoulders. That settles it for all of us. If gear says the thing is safe, then we're golden. Axel climbs into the front car with Connor.

I barely make it into my seat as the roller coaster jerks forward. Gears slams the protective restraints over me, which locks with a loud click. I give him a light punch on the shoulder, and he gives me a thumbs up in reply, hitting new. on his lips again. I'm glad I decided to sit beside him as Axel starts cackling maniacly and hit him connor's shoulders to pump him up. Oh yeah, baby. Big way for the hellhounds!

This is going to be one wild ride! My excitement builds as the roller coaster rises along the track. It feels like we're miles above the earth. The star is growing closer, while the rest of Amusa Park shrinks below us. In the distance, the glittering lights of Lexington's downtown sparkle like the Vegas strip. The steel surfer is slow and steady as it raises us near the top, but it sounds as good as new. There's no squawking of stalled parts or squeaking of unoiled gears. Everything is running like a well-oiled

machine when it pulls to a stop at the crest of the track, letting us get a good look at our surroundings. Holy shit! Axel loops with joy. Check that out! It takes some doing, but I strain my neck as high as the restraints will let me. The dip beneath the track is just as long as the ascent and reveal several massive loops in the near distance. Before that, though, is a tunnel, and standing over it is a giant Reaper. Its hood is pulled back, revealing a snake for a tongue. In its hands is a massive scythe, the curved blade as long as the skeletal arms.

Jesus? Shake my head. Thought this park was always going for a family-friendly vibe. Wicked! Connor yells in between laughs. Sure! Axel nudges him as much as he can. His large body hampered even more than us due to the restraints. If by wicked you mean fake is...

We plunge down the track, turning Axel's words into a yell before being swallowed up by the angry wind, whipping through our hair. Gravity pushes me back in my seat, my neck digging into the leather padding. My testes retreat into my body as our speed increases, faster and faster. A joy built. up within me. Man, I forgot how much I loved writing these things. It's almost like going

full out on your hog, heedless of speed limits and sirens. The Reaper approaches in a blur as we near the tunnel, and just as fast, the scythe drops. The movement is so fast I can barely track it as we plunge into the tunnel. There's a heavy thunk and a hot, familiar spray slaps my face as something heavy falls into my lap. Connor is screaming as we exit the tunnel, and my vision is coated red, confirming my suspicions. I wipe the blood from my face and stare at Axel's head in my lap. Shit! I recoil from the grisly sight on reflex,

making Axel's head bounce before a neck-breaking turn makes the head tumble over the side, swallowed up by the night and the roar of the steel surfer. Forcing my eyes up, my stomach flips at the sight. Axel was so tall that it's easy to see his decapitated body, still in the front car. Blood spews from the gaping hole like a fountain, the high velocity whipping it back onto me and gears. It's a drizzle compared to Connor. His uncle's blood showers him as we near the start of a massive loop.

He's jerking and pounding against his harness, trying to get out. Sobs are intermingled with his screams, and my heart goes out for him, but there isn't anything I can do. The shock and helplessness are the only thing keeping me from losing my mind, and I'm not sure I'd handle it any better if I was in Connor's position. I scream at the top of my lungs, but the wind muffles my voice. Quit pounding on that thing. I have to get out.

Get me off this fucking thing. His scream pierces through the night as his harness rises above his shoulders. I shout another warning, but it's too late. The roller coaster climbs up the track, tilting our world upside down. Blood rushes from my feet to my head as Connor falls out of the cart. His body hits the bottom of the looped track with a sickening thud. His screams ring out until we complete the circle. The cart rocks as it runs over his body,

splashing us with entrails, but it doesn't slow down. Fuck! Fuck! Gears is silent in the seat next to me, but his eyes are wide with shock. I want to do something, but I don't dare. Not after what happened to Connor. I gripped the handrails until my knuckles are white. Axel and Connor are dead.

And I just want to get off this stupid fucking roller coaster. All I have to do is wait for the end. It shouldn't be more than a few. Holy shit! The skyline around us has changed. There are no stars in the sky or any lights on the rails. The metallic blue tracks that look new are now yellowed with ancient bones. Lava lights the hellscape around us, allowing me to see for miles.

The track stretches on and on without any end in sight, and I don't see anything familiar. Gears! Where the hell are we? I run gears switchblade through my leather vest. There was a time when I would beat a man to death for disrespecting my gear. The only thing more sacred than a biker's cut is his bike and his brothers. But these are long gone, and I don't think I'll ever see them again. It takes several tries in my weak and shaking hands before I cut away a strip of leather and bring it to my teeth.

The stench of rotted meat makes me want to gag as the makeshift meal makes my remaining teeth work back and forth in their gums. I pray that I don't lose any more. Funny, I was never a little bit of my own. much of a praying man before, but I guess hell makes a believer out of everyone. Ain't that right, Gears? My voice is barely a whisper as I look at him. Most of his body is rotted away, and sadly, there haven't been any flies to lay eggs in the hole in his throat for quite some time. You get used to the way they squirm in your mouth. Friend, I don't know if I should think of

gears like that anymore. We've been on the surfer for months, years? I lost track a long time ago. The steel surfer blasted us from one barren world to another, unveiling winged horrors and giant creatures that defy description. They speak to me in uncomprehensive words that shatter my sanity. But I had stabbed Gears in the throat long before he saw them. Lucky motherfucker. We could always count on Gears to do the things nobody else wanted to do. Once, a civilian saw Bo's face during a bank robbery,

and Gears had no problem slitting her throat. He didn't even flinch when he learned she was only thinking. It sounds monstrous now, looking back. But sometimes you need someone like that on your side. Someone willing to do horrible things so the club can survive. I understand that now more than ever. To Gears' credit, it took him nearly a week before he turned on me. I kept flapping my gums for several days as our stomachs emptied,

and we started to wreak of our own piss and shit. All the while, he never said a word. I think he was prepping himself for what he had planned. I guess it weighed on his conscience. Maybe there were some lines that even Gears hesitated to cross. I awoke one day to a heavy thud. Gears' switchblade was plunged deep into my harness, and he was frantically trying to get it out.

Starvation left us both weak, but I was always bigger than him. Within the closed confines, it was easy to rattle my fist against his face, screaming and venting my frustrations as I fought for my life. As he lay dazed in the seat next to me, I pulled his knife free and jammed it into his throat. The weird thing is I didn't even feel guilty. I knew the guy for nearly 20 years, but I didn't even shed a tear as I watched him gurgle while blood spewed out of the hole in his throat.

I didn't think of him as a brother as the life drained from his eyes. My stomach rumbled. I only had one thought as I cut his tongue out. Fresh meat. The car lurches forward and my shoulders pop loudly. A bone juts out next to my mouth. neck, but I barely feel the pain as the harness lifts. I scream and thrash, remembering how Connor died. But the blue-tinted lights calm me and force me to look around. I'm back to where

we started. The ride is finally over. I pull myself out of the cart in a frantic dash. My numb legs carry me in two stumbling steps before needles creep up my legs, making me collapse into myself. I haven't stood up since we got on the ride, and the few muscles remaining on my skeletal frame deflate like air out of a balloon. But I need to get away from this cursed thing before it kills me, like it killed the others. My fingernails break and bleed as I force myself across the metal platform. Every inch gained sends flaming cuts up my arms and legs. Finally, I tumble down the steps near a rusted trash can. Fighting tooth and nail, I use it to climb up, and it feels so good to stand, even if a light breeze could knock me over.

Freeze! The glaring lights behind me. Another shouted command echoes with the first, but I can barely understand the words. Through the shadows, I can just make out the shape of a gun trained on me. And I laugh as a distant part of my humanity, recognizes the demanding attitude. I never thought I'd be happy to see a couple of cops.

My laughter continues as the cops finally lower their guns. Christ, look at him. The other cop clips his walkie-talkie. Car 94, responding to the possible B&E at Amuseland. Better send an ambulance. We've got a severely malnourished homeless guy crashing out here. Day? The cop browns at me, but his voice softens.

Thursday, buddy. No. It's been so long since I talked with someone that it takes me a while to form the words, and even longer, to force them through my chapped lips. Date. September 6th. What?

That fucking. roller coaster has a weird sense of humor, dropping me off on my birthday the day I left. Here? The cops exchanged worried glances. Twenty-twenty-three. My eyes widen as I turned back to the coaster. Time? Buddy, why don't you just sit down?

We've got someone coming to take a look at you, and then we'll get you something to... What fucking time is it? The cops' face contorts, trying to keep calm and composed. It's a little after a lot. I look at the carts and the rotting remains of Axel and gears as the laughter builds within me. It rises from my chest in a wave of hysteria that I can't control. It hasn't even been an hour, according to them. But how does that explain the things I've seen?

The state of Axel and gears. Hell, the state of me. One wild ride. I say as my laughter stops and my screams begin. SCP 112 is a steel sit-down roller coaster. formerly known as the Blue Steel Surfer. SCP 112 was marketed as the crown jewel of the Amusaland Amusement Park. Initial testing of the ride resulted in extremely negative experiences from testing staff.

The financial repercussions of the failure of the steel surfer resulted in the parent company of the amusement park going bankrupt. The property was abandoned and undisturbed until a local gang broke into the park and reactivated the improperly disabled rides. SCP 112 included. Suspecting the ride had traits within its mandate, the foundation purchased the park, under the auspices of rebuilding the park as a Musatastic land,

in order to test any potential anomalous properties from the ride. When SCP 112 is started, the ride functions as expected until point alpha, its primary drop. When a car reaches point alpha, the train vanishes. After three minutes, the estimated time the train would normally take, the train rematerializes at point Omega, three meters from the coaster's starting point. Human subjects riding SCP-112 have a drastically different experience compared to outside observation. The time frame between point Alpha and point Omega is massively extended,

with subjective ride times ranging from four minutes to 10 months. The properties of the ride also vary from person to person. Most subjects report elements on the ride that do not exist on the ride proper, like bat wings, cobra rolls, and inclined loops. Upon exiting the ride, subjects typically experience feelings of confusion and ill health, depending on the subjective time they spent writing SCP 112. These feelings are based not on any physical maladies, but the subjective experience of dealing with the physical malady for an extended period of time.