The SCP Experience - Wingless Pegasus | SCP-042

Episode Date: March 6, 2023

SCP Foundation SAFE class object, SCP-042: Wingless Pegasus This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-042 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

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the farm used to be different. For some reason, the memories of the farm are vibrant, never fading. I can remember the farm alive and brimmed with possibility, as clearly as if it was yesterday. My grandfather was a kind old man who never missed a day of work in his life. He worked the lands expertly and was as kind to the land at animals as his fellow man. I was only four when my grandfather died. My dad didn't inherit my grandfather's natural green thumb and lacked the work ethic to make up for his shortcomings. After grandpa died, Dad tried to keep the farm going by getting drunk and assuming it would run on autopilot. Farming isn't a profession for a mean drunk that doesn't get up before noon. Dad only got worse after mom left. It was just the two of us,

and Dad's drinking grew heavier and his temper shorter. Rather than try to work the land, Dad would sell off animals or machinery when he was short on money, which was often. Soon, the farm was little more than a massive plot of mud and wasted potential. Dad resented this, but didn't accept responsibility. Instead, he blamed it on everyone else around him.

That included the few of the few ones. animals that still lingered around the farm, but mostly he blamed me. When Dad got into these moods, I would retreat into the neighboring hills surrounding our farm. I'd lose myself, making friends with whatever wild critters I could find. That day was no different. After I heard Dad rousing from the couch and hacking out the residue of last night's carton of cigarettes, I took to the hills. I could hear my name angrily echoing through the farm. It wasn't long before a breed of lizard that I'd never seen before caught my eye. I almost missed it at first.

Its dull gray scales were coated in shades of green and brown to match the tree it basked on. It scurried up the bark after I saw through its camouflage, but it wouldn't elude me so easily. I hoisted myself up onto the lowest hanging branch and clawed after it, grabbing clumps of moss and knotted bulbs of wood in the process. The lizard was within arm's reach when a low growl froze me in place. Glancing up through the leaves, I saw a bobcat resting on the branch above me. Its fur was mangy and falling off in places. Its fangs glistened in the low afternoon light as a fat drop or drool fell from its lips and into my eyes.

The bobcat roared, and I nearly tumbled out of the tree. Looking down, vertigo washed over me. In my eagerness to chase the lizard, I hadn't realized how high I had climbed. The branch beneath me bobbed and nearly knocked me off like a bucking bronco. I looked up into the hungry gaze of the bobcat approaching me. I hurried down to the next branch, but my feet slipped out against the next holding place. My arms flailed as my body suddenly went weightless, whipping through the air. I closed my eyes, and beneath my screams of terror, I heard a small earthquake rushing closer.

My back slammed into something that stole the air from my lungs, and yet I knew that it couldn't have been solid ground. Even at a young age, I knew that falling from such a height would break every bone in my body, leaving me an easy meal for the bobcat. But it wasn't the cold, hard mud that rested beneath my body. Instead, it was something warm and soft. I looked around. ground, feathers littered the area around me. Had I fallen asleep and gotten lost in one of Grandpa's old feather pillows? My hands closed around a clump of feathers, and they flinched, causing me to let go. The feathers adjusted and slid me a short distance to the ground.

I realized I had landed on a pair of wings. My mouth fell open as I saw the winged horse. Grandpa used to keep horses and even had a pony for me that he was teaching me to ride. They were some of the first things Dad sold after he inherited the farm. The horse was a full-grown stallion, the same color that Grandpas used to be, a pale white, the same color as thick nimbus clouds, with a few scattered croppings of brown spots. Its wings were the same color.

Each one as long and wide as a man, spreading sea. straight from its shoulders. The bobcat's howl died off as it eyed the horse. Apparently, it hadn't seen one with wings before either. The horse's wings flared out to its side as it rose on its hunches. It brandished its four hooves, slamming them into the ground around the bobcat. The horse's attack made me fall to the ground. The bobcat hissed as it turned and vanished into the forest.

I climbed to my feet, wiped the excess dirt for my shorts, and smiled at the horse. Thanks! It lowered its head to me. I hesitated but rested my hand against its snout. Its tongue lapped at my fingers, slurping away the last bits of sugar for my breakfast. Giggling, I rested my head against the horse and froze. A sense of calm washed over me, like the horse and I were one. It reached past my thoughts into the images of the farm.

retracing my steps. The horse knelt on one of its massive legs and offered me its wing. Unsure, I climbed on the wing and let out a delighted laugh as it easily hoisted me up. As the wing reached its apex, I slid down the feathers and landed on the horse's back. It began a slow gallop back down the hill. You remind me of Grandpa's horse, I patted the side of his neck. His name was Cloud. What do you think? Cloud didn't say a word.

But I felt a warm bubble of happiness as we returned to the farm. He walked the paces near the stables and sneezed at the vacant crops and animal pins. I know. It's not what it used to be. I petted him again. But Dad says he's going to think of something to turn it all around. I had my doubts. I knew it was only a matter of time before Dad sold another tractor to make it through another month. A scream erupted in my mind as the horse shook. It reared back, and I fell to the ground hitting my head. The world blurred around me. All I could hear was the horse's silent

screams that were soon joined by physical winds of terror. My vision cleared, revealing my father with a cattle prod in his hands. He shoved into Cloud's ribs as the horse backed into an empty stable. Dad slammed the door shut and closed the lock. Cloud let out a corner. cry, and the whole stable shook as he slammed his hind legs against the enclosure. But Dad kept up on the cattle prod until his resistance died. Dad! I screamed and bolted toward him. What are you doing?

He grabbed me by the shoulders, smiling for the first time in months. But I could smell the alcohol in his breath as he laughed. I'm making us rich, boy. I ran the brush through Cloud's fur, stopping just short of his wings. He preferred to clean the wings himself, preening himself like a bird. I didn't know how he managed to keep them spotless using his massive lips. My hands were always coated in slobber when he ate sugar on an apple from my hand. I got along well with Cloud, and he trusted me to handle his fur and hooves.

Ten years had passed since Cloud found me in the woods. During that time, I never lost a sense of wonder and longing when I stared at his wings. Dad's plan to get rich had worked for a while. Our farm became a popular tourist spot in roadside attraction, pictures with the flying horse for $50 and rides for $100. Of course, the latter had to be called off after Dad found that Cloud was very temperamental about whom he bore on his shoulders. So far, I was the only one that could ride atop his back and not be tossed in the dirt.

We made the state and local news. I heard Ron Oliver even did a small bit about us on HBO, but I've never found the clip. The strange thing was that the news of a winged horse was never picked up beyond the tri-state area. Maybe it was too unbelievable to go viral. After a year, the business started dying, and Dad got another idea. The laws governing wildlife ownership were bare in our state, and realizing Cloud wasn't drawing in huge numbers anymore. Dad turned the farm into a wildlife sanctuary.

Tigers, gorillas, bears, kangaroos, and a whole litany of animals were brought to the farm. However, the words sanctuary was a bit of a stretch. The animals were kept in caged-off areas too small for them to roam comfortably. They were either lethargic or angry, and all were underfed. I did my best to care for them, but I was the only one. One of the reasons why Dad made such a poor farmer was his lack of understanding of overhead costs. It took massive amounts of money to convert a farm into a zoo, even with his minimal approach to safety for the animals, customers, and new employees. Employees was another word that stretched its definition.

They started as my dad's drinking buddies, guys who would work for free in exchange for a trailer to sleep in and cheap beer to keep them happy. The animals mainly ate from donations of expired food from the big chain supermarkets. That was the only way to keep them partially fed. The combination of alcohol and firearms, for animal control supposedly, went about as well as you expected. Most nights were filled with blaring rock music and dad and his goons firing off guns late into the night, oblivious to the discomfort it caused the animals. My shoulder throbbed and ached for my dad's previous night's. beating. Cloud lowered his head against my neck, and the pain subsided. Through our bond, I felt the

same longing and sense for freedom that Dad hadn't been able to snuff out. Cloud was strong enough to bear the burden for both of us. I always tried to repay Cloud's kindness. For 10 years, I tried to sneak the both of us out, but Cloud's wings weren't strong enough to bear his weight. He could soar over fences when he got a good running start, but he couldn't fly. I learned this several years ago when I tried to ride us to freedom. I didn't think Dad's goons would be willing to shoot their golden goose. And I had been right, but I had encountered on the tranquilizer darts they attacked both of us with. It's okay, boy, I whispered to Cloud.

I'll think of something. Good. You got him looking right and proper for his big debut. A set of familiar cackles accompanied Dad's voice. I turned around and sure enough, he was fond. by his most loyal men. They each brandished their cattle prods, eager to use them. Cloud snorted and lowered his head while Dad pointed a finger at me like it was a loaded gun. You're going to keep him in line?

As long as they keep their distance, they won't need the prods. I fidgeted, knowing the repercussions of defying my father. I don't think this is going to work. You know he won't run the obstacle course anymore. He prefers the one-on-one encounters. And those pay peace. I mean-nuts. Dad turned and spat a thick wad of chewing tobacco. Don't worry, boy. This is a surefire get-rich-quicky. No fuss, no mus.

My whole body tensed at Dad's words. I heard them countless times in the last ten years, and they were never a prelude to anything good. My nerves stabbed into my heart and head with every step. Dad and his goons led us toward the muddy plot of land that he had repurposed into a rodeo stand in the early days of his roadside attraction. I opened my mouth to remind Dad that Cloud refused to do these stunts anymore, but his stern look closed my mouth. The sound from the enclosed bleachers was thick in the air. Hundreds of people were muttering in excitement, stamping their feet. One of Dad's hired hands grabbed Cloud roughly by the side, but he reared back and knocked him down. The others raised their prods, but I stood between them and Cloud. I whispered.

I whispered to Cloud and stroked his neck until he calmed down. Eventually, I got Cloud through the gates and into the center stage. Dad surprised me and grabbed me roughly by the shoulder. I frowned in confusion. Just what was he planning? He knew he needed me to coax Cloud into performing anything. But instead, he dragged me off to the side of the arena, where another hired hand gave him a microphone.

That's right, folks. Dad's voice echoed through the stands, static filled and garbled, momentarily dulling the crowd's roar. Ashtar attraction for the last ten years, Cloud, the mighty and proud Griffin, Pegasus. My correction was drowned out by the drone of cheers, ooze and ahs, that left me questioning the situation even more. A crowd like this hadn't turned up to see Cloud in years. He was indifferent to the applause, plotting his hooves into the dirt, trying to find a scrap of grass that might still be beneath the muddy surface.

And who is Cloud's opponent? Dad let the crowd die down again, the silence palpable before blaring. Why? None other than the abominable snowman! A loud, beastly roar clashed with applause as the other side of the gate opened. Something big and white stumbled toward cloud on all fours.

It wasn't until I saw a flash of black that I realized it was Bucky, our black bear spray-painted white. Buck's ribs showed beneath its dyed fur. His eyes pinged back and forth in his skull. They had laced him with something, and I was still too shocked to move. That's right, but I did the death between two beasts. Welcome to Freak Fights!

Finally realizing his plan, I charged forward what was held in place by Dad's lackeys. I screamed at them to let me go. I thrashed and bit at them. I finally broke free, but Dad was there. His punch landed me square in my stomach and knocked me to the ground. Dad covered the microphone. Get the little shit out of here. I had no air to scream as I was lifted off the ground

and draped over someone's shoulders like a sack of the potatoes. As I looked up, I saw Cloud running circles around the ring, trying to escape Bucky. But the ring was too small, and Bucky was too hungry and enraged. Bucky towered over Cloud, his fangs ripping into his feathers with a spray of blood. We turned a corner so I couldn't see, but a sickening rip filled the air, followed by Cloud's screams. A week passed, and Cloud hadn't moved from the arena. He wallowed in the mud, refusing to move for anyone, not even me.

The connection between us was gone. I no longer felt his pride or his resolve. I felt nothing from him. I tended to his wounds as best as I could, cleaning the massive steel. stubs that used to be his wings with alcohol every morning. Cloud didn't even flinch as I did so. I had managed to close the wounds, but they were still raw and red between the stitches. The injuries refused to heal. I had to change his bandages multiple times a day, the cotton growing thick with his blood every few hours. Cloud wasn't getting better, but he didn't

appear to get worse. He seemed frozen in a state of agony. The crowd had certainly enjoyed the bloodbath, but there was at least one reckoning. Dad had recorded the video and attempted to sell it online. Of course, Dad knew as much about computers and coding as he did farming. It wasn't long before the attack ended up on YouTube, free for the whole world to see. It turned out that there are still some good people in the world. Nobody believed Cloud's wings were real, but the violence was impossible to deny. Instead of getting their jollies out of watching animals tear each other apart, most were sickened at the display.

Protesters had started showing up on our property, and Dad's hired hands were constantly chasing them off. There were even rumors that federal authorities were investigating the incident. Bucky died shortly after the fight. Whatever Dad injected him with made his heart explode. But he was only the first animal to die in a massive slaughter. the farm echoed with gunfire as they tried to dispose of any evidence of animal cruelty. Murdering animals to cover up abusing them, the irony is lost on everyone except me. In the meantime, I poured all my grief and guilt and attending to Cloud.

Step away from him, boy. Ever since Cloud's attack, I walked around with most of my emotions numb. Fortunately, that included fear of my father. I stood and turned slowly toward him, facing him with a shotgun in his arms, knowing what he intended. I moved between him and cloud. Don't be stupid, boy, dad stepped closer. I got a potential buyer stopping by. That beast is worse than lame now.

He's useless. So, you can just use him and get rid of him? I squared my shoulders. Like you did with the farm? with mom? He lowered the gun, only to strike me across the face with an open palm. But my emotional numbness gave me the strength to stand. You shut your goddamn mouth and listen to your father.

I took a steady breath. You take another step toward cloud, and I'll kill you. The threat stunned, Dad. In my 18 years of living, I had only cringed and ran from him. But my cowardice had only gotten my best friend maimed and living a joyless existence. His shock only lasted a moment, though, and he shoved me to the side.

As he raised the shotgun, I charged into him, and the gun went off. From Dad's shouted swears. I knew the shot went wide, and I punched him across the face. It was the only blow I got in. I was over 20 years younger than him, but while Dad didn't have the work ethic,

he had inherited Grandpa's enormous bulk. He slammed elbows and fists into me, but I refused to let go of the gun. Not until he shoved a knee into my crotch and dumped me over his shoulder into the mud beside cloud. You ungrateful little shit! Dad pumped the shotgun, ejecting the spent shell and loading a fresh one. After all I... A low growl came from behind dad, followed by the sound of two distinct cocks.

He turned over his shoulder, revealing two people. The man had long hair, a flogging Molly T-shirt, and a pair of slightly two baggy jeans. The woman wore a similar. casual outfit, her small frame tight and coiled with muscle. Each wore empty holsters. The guns in their hands pointed at Dad. The growling came from a mutt near the man's feet, barely bigger than one of the man's shoes, but growling at Dad like an angry wolf. Mr. Richards, the man said, if you want to conduct negotiations, I'm going to need you to drop that gun right fucking now. Dad's eyes widened, and he immediately lowered the gun. Mr. Hale!

I wasn't expecting you so soon. The man holstered his gun, and the woman lowered hers, but kept it ready at her side. It's Agent Hale, actually. Agent? Dad's grip on the gun's stock tightened. You a fed or something? Or something. The man strolled forward, and his two partners joined him, the dog running a bit faster ahead of them.

It crawled onto my chest and immediately began licking the tears from my face. I felt the first flickers of warmth that had been dormant for so long in my chest. Agent Hale lowered himself to his knees in front of Cloud, while the woman used her free hand to pull me to my feet. She said something that I didn't hear. I was too focused on Hale and Cloud. The agent rested a hand on Cloud's broad chest, which rose and fell meekly with his shallow breaths.

The horse needs to be put down. Dad cleared his throat. But there's still a lot of. Lots of good land. We've harvested practically every vegetable imaginable at some point. Some good machinery left too. And, of course, plenty of space if you have the means to buy some livestock. Yeah, I could do that.

Hale stood up and fished a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his jeans. My organization has pockets deeper than all the states in the western seaboard. My stomach twisted as dad drooled. I like the sound of that. I bet you do. Hale brought a cigarette to his lips, lit it, and inhaled slowly. But I'm not going to give you a goddamn penny, you sick fuck. What?

Dad brought a shotgun up, but Hale glared at him, unimpressed. You've made enough money exploiting animals, Richards. So, while it would be easier to give you the money, here's what I'm going to do instead. I'm going to have your property seized. All your assets are now mine. I'm going to wrap you up in government red tape, dig into your past, and find out every nasty thing you've done. In short, I'm going to fuck up your life in an afternoon.

And then I'm going to get creative and make sure you never come within spitting distance in so much as a pet store. Dad pointed his gun at hell. You cocky asshole! Do you know how many men I? Before he could get another word out, the shotgun was in the woman's hands. He stared at her dumbfounded before she cracked the barrel over his head. She pumped the shotgun rapidly until each cell lay in the mud, then smashed it over my dad's back, knocking him to the ground. Thanks, Minnie! Hale crouched before Dad and flicked Ash into his face.

Mr. Richards, we didn't come here alone. Two dozen men and women, each as hard as Agent Booth here, have already disarmed and arrested your makeshift Hillbilly, paramilitary farce. Most of them are on their way back to prison for parole violations as we speak. You really should have been more thorough with your background checks. Dad groaned and wiped the blood from his mouth. You can't just come here and take a man's land.

Mr. Richards, Hale stood and put his hands on his belt, one resting near his holster. Do you really want to find out just how much I can take from you? That shut Dad up. He stood to his feet, his body limped away. With Dad gone, I wrapped my arms around Cloud's neck and started to cry. You're here for him, aren't you? The two agents exchanged a look before Hale nodded. Yeah, my organization wants to know more about Cloud.

How he got his wings. If there's more of him or if he's one of a kind, the people I work for are not angels, but they'll give him a life better than here. That's not saying much. Hale sighed. No, it's not. I'm sorry we didn't get here sooner. I wiped my eyes and nodded.

Is it okay if I say goodbye? Hale fingered another cigarette from the pack, then frowned and replaced it. You know Cloud better than anyone. He trusts you in ways he'll never trust us. If he's ever going to recover, his best chance is with you. Are you interested in being his handler?

I leaped to my feet. Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. He frowned. None of that sir bullshit. I only pull rank on people who annoy me. Cody? Agent Booth spoke softly.

Are you even authorized to recruit people? He shrugged his shoulders. Probably not. But Ramirez still owes me a favor for that cock-up with my family. She'll make it stick. A favor with a director? You sure you want to use it on this? Cody knelt and scratched his dog behind the ears.

The animal's hind leg began to beat rapidly, and he and the woman exchanged a smile. Agent Booth stepped forward and offered me her hand again, and this time I shook it. Welcome to the foundation. SCP-42 is an animal believed to be a member of the genus Equis. Its coat is white in color with some small brown spotting. It stands at 183 centimeters to its withers and weighs 710 kilograms.

Its weight has dropped significantly since it has been in foundation custody, due to both atrophy from lack of physical activity and refusal to eat. The liquid nutrient diet forcibly administered keeps it alive, but it remains emaciated and weak. SCP-42 exhibits two large bone protrusions from its back, linked to powerful musculature throughout its back. These bones ended 37 centimeters from the surface of its back, and they protrude from the skin at open, ragged wounds.

To date, no healing has been observed of these wounds, though some clotting must be taking place for SCP-42 to have not bled out. SCP-42 exhibits a listless demeanor and has been unresponsive to any attempt by skilled handlers to incite activity. If allowed to do so, SCP-42 will lay down on the ground immobile, not moving to eat, drink, or relieve itself. Researchers are divided as to SCP-42's level of intelligence.

While some believe that it is simply an animal and no smarter than others of its genus, others have come to believe that it may in fact be sapient. It has been shown to make eye contact with persons entering paddock 12, most of whom describe its looks as pleading.