SCP - 024 "Game Show of Death"
Object Class - Euclid
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Site-██, SCP-024 Observation Lab – 09:00 Hours
D-8912, a wiry man with a fresh barcode tattoo, eyed the blast doors. Beside him, three other D-Class shifted nervously. Dr. Voss' voice crackled over the intercom:
"Proceed to the soundstage. Follow the announcer's instructions. Survive, and your sentence is commuted."
The doors groaned open. Inside, dust motes swirled in shafts of light piercing the rotting roof. A static-filled voice boomed:
"Welcome, contestants! Ready to win big?"
D-8912 froze. The voice was slick, rehearsed—familiar.
"Step right up!" it urged. "Grand prize today: a one-way ticket to freedom! Or… stay here forever!"
A spotlight flickered, revealing a neon sign: GAME ON!
The announcer chuckled, a sound like grinding gears. "Today's theme: Classic Hollywood! First challenge: The Red Carpet Run!"
The floor split, revealing a chasm of spikes. A narrow plank stretched across.
"Rules are simple! Cross without falling. But wait—" The announcer dropped to a whisper. "Look down, you're out."
D-8912 glanced at the others. D-304, a teenager, stepped onto the plank. Halfway, she wobbled—
"Eyes on the prize, sweetheart!" the announcer barked.
She looked up, teetering. A shadowy hand erupted from the spikes, yanking her down. Her scream cut short.
"Ooh, tough break!" The announcer sighed. "Three players left!"
The next round: a hall of mirrors. "Find the exit before time's up! But no touching the glass!"
D-455, sweating, brushed a mirror. Guardians materialized—faceless figures in tuxedos—dragging him into the reflection.
"Cheaters never prosper!" the announcer crooned.
D-8912 and the last contestant, D-677, sprinted. The exit loomed.
"Final round!" The announcer's voice sharpened. "Sudden death: trivia! Question: What's the real prize?"
D-677 hesitated. "Freedom?"
"Bzzzt! Sorry!"
A guardian appeared, swallowing D-677 whole.
D-8912 whispered, "What do you want?"
The announcer paused. "Ratings."
Lights dimmed. "Congratulations, winner! Your prize: a role in our next show!"
A contract materialized. D-8912's signature burned onto the page.
Outside, a VHS tape ejected. The footage showed D-8912 smiling, shaking hands with a shadowy host—a live audience roaring.
Dr. Voss frowned. The tape's date: 2053.
In containment, D-8912's cell stood empty. On the wall, a poster read: COMING SOON – THE D-8912 SHOW!
Epilogue
The announcer's laugh echoed through the soundstage, now pristine. A new sign flickered: AUDITIONS OPEN.