Item#: 6223

Containment Class: safe

Secondary Class: {$secondary-class}

Disruption Class: keneq

Risk Class: caution

Special Containment Procedures: A circular perimeter has been established 2km from the current location of SCP-6223, and a preliminary quarantine zone has been established 1km from SCP-6223 as well, subject to further review.

Residents of Caldwell, Idaho, and the Boise, Idaho area, are to be categorized into three groups in regards to SCP-6223. No action is to be taken towards the first group, who are listeners who have never shown interest in SCP-6223. The second and third group, consisting of Boise area radio professionals and listeners of Christian broadcasts, are, under Protocol PARAVELT, to be identified, interrogated regarding SCP-6223 and selectively amnesticized.

All tapes recovered from SCP-6223 are to be stored in the Euclid class media archives at Site 37.

Description: SCP-6223 is the KGBN radio station, formerly located in Caldwell Idaho and currently located in the deserts of the Danakil Depression in northern Ethiopia. SCP-6223 was transported to its current location through unknown means. Prior to its designation as an SCP, KGBN served the Boise Idaho area and broadcast Christian radio programs, with programs consisting of sermons and praise music. The station was bought from its original owners, ██████ and ██████ Wilton, by the ViacomCBS Corporation through its fledgling CBS Radio subsidiary. All employees were fired and replaced, and one month following the management change the station building and its broadcast equipment disappeared.

The building was discovered in its current location by a geological survey team from the Ethiopian government. Aside from damage by the elements, the structure was in a general state of disrepair inconsistent with its previous use. The interior and exterior of the building are marked by severe heat damage from an unknown source, but no fire detection systems activated. The interior also contains two charred corpses, presumably belonging to station employees, though DNA samples were inconclusive. Much of the furniture has been damaged extensively, including broadcast equipment, except for two objects: a SanDisk brand flash drive containing broadcast data found on one of the burned corpses (see Addendum 01), and a decorative wooden cross, rotated sidewise, completely intact save for a burn in the shape of the CBS logo. The origin of the building's damage and transportation remains unknown.

Addendum-01:

Addendum-01:

Addendum 6223.01: All broadcast data were completely corrupted by the heat damage save for those on the recovered flash drive, which only bore minor corruption. It remains the only conclusive broadcast to originate from SCP-6223 following the transfer of ownership. Due to station protocols of recording over previous data once hard drives fill, it is theorized that this was a broadcast that originated immediately prior to the anomalous destruction of the building. The file contains a record of a program that differs dramatically from usual station fare, and displays a record of several anomalous events. An upload of this audio file is as follows. All individuals are referred to by names given in the file.

BEGIN LOG:

(An electronic yowl - the distorted data remains of some kind of worship music or gospel. Gradually, it reconstitutes into music again - a choir singing Silent Night. A male voice speaks.)

DJ Slimy: Alright, ladies and gentlemen, that was the Joseph Reidy Chorus Singers with their version of Silent Night. I am still your host for the Hour of Falling, Fr. Nelson Devin Mothersbaugh, alias your friend DJ Slimy, coming from the borough of Congress Head in the beautiful snow-blanketed state of Maine. As sure as Jesus shining upon you I hope you are having a Merry Christmas. Remember the lessons of last week's sermon, remember that worship is never defined in the Bible. Funny how there’s no place where it says "you must worship this way.”

DJ Slimy: Sure, they tell you how to worship in the book of Leviticus and in the New Testament, but I'm not talking about worship that way. The true worship of God happens long before any of those texts are written. In the oldest ancient time, the beginning before the beginning, they were still worshipping God, in what some might say is the true way. Allow me to demonstrate by way of my latest program, coming at you right now as we round the corner on Christmas Day…

(Blurred, glitched noise, the corrupted remains of many many radio shows.)

(The noise fades into the soundscape of night in a city. Someone running, feet slapping pavement, they are breathing heavily. There are sirens in the distance.)

Paul: Fuck, fuck, shit, oh god, fuck.

(The running approaches a car. The door is opened and then slammed shut.)

Paul: Drive.

Tony: Took you long enough. You get the cash?

Paul: Just drive, fuckface! They're on to us!

(A car engine is turned on. It sounds as if it reverses and then drives quickly out of the parking space. The audio glitches and distorts, sounding much like a radio dial being tuned, resolving into the muffled sounds of the car on the highway.)

Tony: You see any lights?

(Someone, presumably Paul, shifting in his seat.)

Paul: No, no lights. Yet. They must be still in the city looking for us.

Tony: Jesus, how dumb do they think we are?

(A pause.)

Paul: I hope this was worth it, Tony. You know, now, now I can never go back there. Back to my home.

Tony: Relax, it's for a good cause. You know my mom in Billings can't pay her medical bills. We were forced into this.

Paul: Bullshit. Your mother isn't seeing a dime. You've been trouble since high school.

Tony: What, you don't believe me?!

Paul: (sighing) I guess if I didn't believe you, I wouldn't be here. Wouldn't have all this.

(A duffel bag is shaken around.)1

Tony: Well, there you go.

(Silence. The noise of the highway. There is a burst of glitched distortion.)

(The sound of traffic is now greatly reduced. The car's turn signal is audible.)

Tony: Jesus, I can't believe we're getting away with this.

Paul: Yeah, I've been checking for like ten miles and there's no cops, no nothing. Huh.

Tony: Huh.

Paul: Why did we get off the highway? If they're not on our tail, I mean.

Tony: Hey, you feeling tired? I can turn on the radio. Uhhh…I get, I get pretty good reception in this thing.

Paul: Wha-? Don't you have a CD player or like an aux cord or some shit?

(The sound of radio stations being flipped through, though mostly static, and gradually they all fade into static.)

Tony: Damn it! We must be in a dead zone.

Paul: Yeah…you know, this radio stuff feels like you're deflecting.

Tony: Shut up! I got something!

(The voice of DJ Slimy is audible again on their radio, giving yet another sermon. There is organ music underneath.)

DJ Slimy: I am still your host for the Hour of Falling, Fr. William Bonaparte II, alias your friend DJ Slimy, coming from the burg of Sodawater, Texas. Listen now as we revisit the story of the prophet Elijah in the Book of Kings and the lessons he can impart.

Paul: Oh no, turn this off. This is some Jesus shit. Why the fuck are we listening to this?

Tony: Shhh!

DJ Slimy: There was a fire.

Paul: What?

DJ Slimy: A great fire in the wilderness. And there stood Elijah upon a pale horse, and he survived the fire, and he saw that it was God, and that it was good. I ask you all at home now to cast your eyes out over the fire you are walking towards yourself, out over the infinite plain, and see that fire, visualize it within your mind's eye. Feel the heat. Feel the scorching on your flesh. That is the righteous fire of the Lord. Let us turn our attention now towards…

Paul: I don't like this.

Tony: It's all we got, I guess. These radio evangelists are getting weirder and weirder. I mean, that's what you get with a shrinking listener base, I guess.

Paul: No, I mean, where are the cops? We've got a bag of stolen cash from a jewelry store robbery and the moment we leave the city limits, we're just free? That, that doesn't make any goddamn sense, Tony!

Tony: I mean, maybe the universe provides? Shit, man, just go with it!

Paul: No, no, no, no, I've got a weird feeling. Something's not right, and I got the hairs on the back of my neck standing straight fucking up. Something's not good.

Tony: I mean, I'm feeling great! We got the hell out of Dodge and no one's the wiser.

(There is a brief pause. The sound of a flicker of some kind.)

Tony: What the fuck is that? That light in the trees?

Paul: I have no ide- JESUS CHRIST, FUCK!

Tony: Wha—?

(The car swerves and then suddenly screeches to a halt. A car door opens and there is the sound of feet on gravel. DJ Slimy's voice emanates from the car reading Bible passages underneath the conversation.)

DJ Slimy: Ecclesiastes 12:10 to 12:14. The words of the wise are like goads, their collected sayings like firmly embedded nails—given by one shepherd. Be warned, my son, of anything in addition to them. Of making many books there is no end, and much study wearies the body. Now all has been heard; here is the conclusion of the matter: Fear God and keep his commandments, for this is the duty of all mankind. For God will bring every deed into judgment, including every hidden thing, whether it is good or evil.

Tony: Jesus, wha-wha-wha, what was that all about?! What was it? What did you see? An animal?

Paul: I dunno. It was, it was huge! It didn't look like a… I mean, I dunno what it was!

Tony: The lights are gone.

Paul: Fuck the lights, we were just nearly hit by some kinda…

Tony: Deer? Elk?

Paul: I dunno, it was on two legs! What kinda deer does that?!2

Tony: So, was it a person?!.

Paul: Jesus fuck, Tony! It didn't look like a person!

Tony: Alright, calm down Paul, calm down, whatever it is, it's gone. We didn't hit it or anything.

Paul: (breathing heavily) We gotta get going. We gotta get outta here. I, I—

Tony: Yeah, I think you're right—

(His sentence is cut off when the tape degrades into digital corruption and glitches, as the distortion becomes unintelligible.)

(The distortion turns into the sound of a car crunching on gravel as it into a parking lot, from context likely a motel. The car turns off.)

Tony: Look, it's going to be okay. We're like 100 miles out from town now, we didn't hit the…the whatever it was, and most of all we seem to basically be okay. Yeah? So, we're just gonna stay the night until we can get to Billings tomorrow, that okay?

Paul: Yeah, yeah okay.

Tony: Jesus, what a dump.

Paul: Seems appropriate for us two.

Tony: Hey, lighten up!

(One of the two gets out of the car and shuts the door. The audio returns to glitches and distortion. Snatches of previous programs are audible through the static.)

Female voice: Three point nine—

(Distortion)

Male voice: Help!

(The crunch of shoes on gravel. Then a bell chiming as a door is opened. The rush of traffic on the highway is audible underneath.)

Desk clerk: Welcome to the Starbright Motor Inn. Wi-Fi Password is in the room, and we do serve a free complementary coffee and pastry in the morning, but no breakfast.

(A car drives by, very loud and close.)

Desk clerk: Can I put you down for one room, then?

Tony: (attempting to disguise his voice, badly) Uh, yeah. One room please. Double bed, please.

Desk clerk: Alrighty. Credit card?

Tony: Cash alright?

Desk clerk: Yep, fine with me. No problem. That's sixty dollars, please.

(A rustling noise, presumably Tony removing bills from a bag. There's the jingle of keys being placed on a desk.)

Desk clerk: Room 7, just down the edge of the lot. Good night gentlemen.

(The distortion returns, this time with the sound of tires on gravel as a prominent part of the mix. A male voice's whispering is audible but unintelligible.)

(The click of a television turns on. Channels appear to be being flipped through and snatches of programs are audible. The hum of a rattling old motel air conditioner constantly drones in the background.)

First older female voice: They really are too—

(Click. Static, then another channel. Canned studio laughter.)

Young male voice: Thanks very much, Mrs. Monk!

Second older female voice: Well, ah, aren't you two forgetting something?

Young female voice: Well, you'll believe—

(Click. Static, then another channel. There's a swell of melodramatic and suspenseful orchestra music.)

Older male voice: It's Stalin…

(The music continues. There's the sound of plastic Venetian blinds rattling.)

Tony: What is it?

Paul: I don't know.3

(Click. Static, then another channel.)

Sitcom actor: You know, if I made more dough, I wouldn't have to spend all my time riding the Downward Slope.

Sitcom actress: Heh, what is that? Some weird sex thing?

(More canned studio laughter.)

Paul: Turn that off.

Tony: Why? It's funny!

Sitcom actor: Uh oh, Bazinga!

Paul: I said, turn it off, Tony.

Tony: Alright, alright.

(The whir and click of the television shutting down.)

Tony: You're being weird.

Paul: I feel weird. I feel kinda freaked out, actually.

Tony: Well, go out and get some fresh air, get a drink from the vending machine.

Paul: …out there?

Tony: Yeah. Stop being paranoid, man. Don't worry about me, I got a book, It's…uh…Screwtape Letters.

(Paul takes a deep breath.)

Tony: I'm totally fine. Go get a soda or something and chill.

Paul: Yeah, maybe you're right. Maybe I am just being paranoid.

Tony: There you go.

(The door opens and closes. There are the quiet sounds of Tony shuffling around on the bed, making himself comfortable. There is a brief silence. Then, the TV turns on again.)

Sitcom actor: Tony, you are entering into a vast and terrible unknown!

(There is a roar of canned studio laughter, which continues on and on.)

Tony: What?

Sitcom actor: Yeah, you better watch out. It's an unspoken fact of the universe.

(The voice begins to distort and warp before it fades into more digital corruption. There are now the sounds of outside. There are footsteps on concrete, and a male voice, likely Paul, sighs. A coin is fed into a vending machine and a drink is selected and change dispensed. The can is opened and drunk. In the distance there is the sound of a drunken man slamming into a wall4.)

Dying man: I am never there! I am never there. Oh god, America!

Paul: Hey, hey, you need some help?! Oh shit.

(The dying man crashes into a trash can and sounds as if he has fallen over.)

Dying man: Roger, Roger you bastard! Let me go.

Paul: Hey, man. You okay?

Dying man: I love when I have slutty friends, man, they have all the best stories. No, wait, no I already said that. I didn't say that. What? Emma Lazarus!

Paul: Easy now, easy. You probably just had too much to drink.

Dying man: I'm at the end. I am never there, I am…Hey, hey, what are you doing here?

Paul: …I'm here to help, I saw you fall over.

Dying man: No, no, it's too late. He's got you, he's inside you. He is inside America.

Paul: What, what are you talking about?

Dying man: We're all dead here, we're dead. You're dead.

Paul: Listen, I'm gonna go get the desk clerk, I'm gonna go get you some help.

Dying man: (distorted) Rabbit.

Paul: I…what?

Dying man: (distorted) Rabbit rabbit.

(There is the wet sound of flesh ripping and bone crunching, something hard being pulled through a hole in flesh as blood spurts. Bone is thrown on the ground, and a body, presumably that of the dying man, topples over into a trash can.)

Paul: What the— Oh god. Oh fuck! What, why?! Why is this happening?!

Tony: (screaming)5

(A door closes quickly in the distance. There is a wet oozing sound, like a large gastropod.)

Sitcom actor: (distorted) The problem, Tony, is that none of your fucking friends is willing to help you. They're all fumbling, hurtling, pissed-off, hopeless adults who just don't know how to do things.

Tony: Get to the car!

Sitcom actor: Except for one of you. You smart-ass, who seems to manage all the stuff everyone else keeps on destroying for ya. It is an ill wind that blows nobody good.

(A car door opens.)

Paul: Tony, come on!

Sitcom actor: (distorted) And your mother.

(The sound of shoes on pavement, running, then skidding to a halt.)6

Tony: It isn't real.7

Sitcom actor: (distorted) She does not get it. She insists you're still angry at her, and yet your mother is doing everything she can to pick up the slack. How can you be—

(A shotgun blast!)

Desk clerk: Our Father which art in heaven, Hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done in earth, as it is in heaven.

Sitcom actor: (shrieking)

(Meat oozing and sloughing. The shotgun is cocked again, then fired.)

Paul: Get in the car! Get in the fucking car!

(The car's engine rattling into life.)

Desk clerk: And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil: For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, and the holy emptiness, and the fire at the end of the road, for ever! Amen!

Sitcom actor: (low, quiet, gurgling roars)

(The shotgun is fired again.)

(Distortion. A snatch of "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen" is audible8. It resolves into the engine gunning it on the highway.)

Tony: Where are we going? Where are we going?!

Paul: I don't know! I think we've been here before!

Tony: Fuck, we're going in circles!

Paul: I don't know, have you seen a road sign, like anything?

Tony: Not even a clue what state we're in. Is this desert now?

Paul: I don't know, maybe try the radio? Local station?

(The sound of the radio being turned on, as distorted snatches of programs are audible.)

Distraught caller: …in this world! I don't know how I can have feelings for him! I would lie down in front of traffic for this man. It's sin, I know it is, but I can't help it.

DJ Slimy: That's a lie! I know you can help it.

Paul: Oh god, it's him again. It's the same preacher, Tony, turn it off.

DJ Slimy: You can rise above sin! Above the pit of filth, above the rotting mass of dying pop stars and filthy sodomite hamburgers that is this country now. You know the trembling core of the nation is at last—

(The radio screeches as it is turned off)

Paul: I don't know why you didn't turn it off sooner.

Tony: Well the last five fucking thing you've said have started with "I don't know!" I hate it, it's annoying! Figure out what you do know, then open your fat mouth! You're fucking worst, Paul! You're the fucking worst! Get off my back!

(His rant begins to fade into glitches and distortion)

(The sounds of many bustling customers talking.)

Diner waitress: Another coffee, hon?

Tony: What? Oh, yeah.

(The sound of coffee being poured into a mug.)

Diner waitress: You know what you wanna order?

Tony: I'll have the Double Pancake Stack with…uh…hash. He'll have the villager omelet with a cinnamon roll, right?

Paul: (grunts)

Diner waitress: Okay then, I'll get that right out for you.

Tony: You were right. You were so right. Something fucky is going on.

Paul: Yeah, no shit. A drunk guy pulled a rabbit skull out of his neck in front of me. I think we're deep in…I dunno.

(A microwave beeps.)

Paul: I'm too tired to think.

Tony: I know how you feel. You know what I think it is?

Paul: Mmmm?

(A coffee maker drips.)

Tony: Promise you won't laugh?

Paul: Promise.

Tony: They put a hallucinogen in the cash.

Paul: Tony…

Tony: No, I'm serious. I read about it online, on Facebook.

(Someone pours a glass of water.)

Tony: There was this bank robber, in Kalamazoo, I think? Maybe Fargo. But the bank actually bought this super powerful drug called Brugmansia from a lab, they, and they dosed the cash with it in case of a robbery.

(Someone coughs.)

Tony: The guy was tripping for days. We just gotta wait it out.

Paul: Do you hear yourself?

(He laughs bitterly. Someone scrapes food off of a grill.)

Paul: It's the man.

Tony: What man?

Paul: The radio guy, the evangelist. DJ Slimy. He's the one who's doing it.

Tony: Shut up, that's nonsense. Do you hear yourself?

Paul: I'm sure of it! We've been driving for hundreds of miles and he's the only thing on the radio! He just gives me the creeps something awful.

(A microwave beeps.)

Paul: I think he's listening.

Tony: Oh my god. Paul, just listen to me.

(A coffee maker drips.)

Tony: We're just having some kind of trip. We haven't slept in days. And you have been paranoid since we left.

(Someone pours a glass of water.)

Paul: Well, maybe it's not him. But your theory is crackpot. Can't you feel it?

(Someone coughs.)

Paul: Even beyond the obvious bizarre shit there's something in the air, it feels like I'm in a cage or something.

(Someone scrapes food off of a grill.)

Paul: Like there's a massive pair of invisible hands just squeezing tighter and tighter. When we were driving? In those weird early-morning backroads and I was just staring out the window? I could hear him in my head.

(A microwave beeps.)

Paul: No, maybe more like feel. Like he was thinking my thoughts for me.

(A coffee maker drips.)

Paul: The radio voice. Like an oppressive judgement. Like he was telling me he hates me, but he wants me.

(Someone pours a glass of water.)

Paul: I think maybe he wants us both, Tony? I don't know.

Tony: Well, I don't know how to respond.

(Someone coughs.)

Tony: There you go, I guess.

Diner waitress: Okay, one pancake—

(Someone scrapes food off of a grill.)

Diner waitress: —and one omelet. Enjoy.

Tony: Man, maybe we're both crazy.

Paul: I dunno. Maybe.

(Distant whirring, like a grinder. This is the first sound that has not looped. A microwave beeps.)

Paul: (mouth full) Mmm, yeah, good pancake.

Tony: (mouth full) Mmm-hmm.

(A coffee maker drips.)

Paul: Yeah, maybe you're right, maybe we're through the worst of it.

(Someone pours a glass of water.)

Diner customer: Howdy, boys!

Paul: What?

Tony: …hello.

Paul: Oh, yeah, hi.

Diner customer: You boys look like you're from out of town so I gotta ask you a question.

(Someone coughs.)

Diner customer: Iffin' y'all are okay with that?

(Someone scrapes food off of a grill. The sounds begin to loop with greater proximity.)

Paul: Uh, yeah, I guess, but could you please back away from the table? Your belly is in our, uh, personal space.

Diner customer: Do you think they should kill all the vegans and baseball players? Like, once He comes back into power he oughta just send out Collectors. Hell, I'll volunteer! He, he, he!

Paul: …the fuck did you just say?

(The customer laughs again, and crunches into a large, meat-filled sandwich and chews. Liquid drips. He spits the chewed food out in a big wet gob. There is the briefest bit of digital distortion.)9

Diner customer: I'm serious, just a bunch of cancel-culture corn-hating hippies anyway. I think Zack Snyder deserved the pit. At any rate, they'll never take my farm subsidies. Milk, am I right? Pff!

Tony: It's not real, it's just a bad trip, it's not real, it's just a bad trip.

Paul: What the hell do you want from us?

Diner customer: Guns and hamburgers, shooting every anime lover in the street with a hamburger.

(The looping sounds are now so frequent they occur in unison.)

Diner customer: Y'all know what I'm saying? That's not even getting into sex.

Paul: (under his breath) Tony, do you hear?

Tony: (under his breath) Everyone eating at the same time?

Paul: (under his breath) Yeah, yeah that.

Diner waitress: These two bothering you, Waldo?

Diner customer: I think they're here to enforce Satanic rituals honestly, that and cosmic entity bias. Couple a' no good coastal elites.

Diner waitress: Oh yah, they definitely look like they've seen the houses where they cut up the little babies.

Diner customer: (countering her point) Black pit?

Diner waitress: (assent) Tar.

(More distant whirring. Tony yelps and throws his fork aside.)

Tony: Oh fuck! What's on the plate?!

Paul: God, it's crawling with maggots.

Diner waitress: Insulting our food? That does it!

(The looping noises stop. There's a crash of a plate thrown on the floor.)

(An unclear sequence of events follows. Paul sounds as if he has been hoisted out of his seat by the shirt collar, knocking the table. There are punches and the sound of physical assault, probably towards Tony. The whirring, sustained and close, sounds as if it is in the room this time.)

Diner customer: I HOPE YOU MOTHERFUCKING HIPPIES BURN!

Paul: Oh god, help me!

Diner customer: I HOPE YOU BURN IN HELL!! I'LL KILL EVERY MOTHERFUCKING LAST—

(A sudden crash of a plate being bashed against someone, likely the diner customer. There is the rattling of a metal tray rolling on the floor. The diner begins to shake, silverware can be heard rattling. There is a low, distant, inhuman roaring coming from outside, like from the horizon.)

Tony: (in quiet fear) Oh god…

Diner customer: (groaning)

DJ Slimy: (over restaurant sound system) Howdy folks, welcome back again to the Hour of Falling, I'm your ever-loving host, DJ Slimy. Today, we're taking a look at Proverbs 10:2 —Treasures gained by wickedness do not profit, but righteousness delivers from death.

(The whirring again. Something big and powerful rushes by outside, making juddering footsteps.10 The Diner Waitress breathes out a satisfied smirk.)

Paul: (pleading) No, no, no, no, no!

(Something jammed into spinning metal — The whirring at a higher, groaning pitch. Meat and bone being ground into paste. Paul screams in agony, almost sobbing. Tony screams watching the mutilation.11 The roaring sound is closer, wind whips through the diner in the background, scattering loose objects. The building sounds as if it is burning.)

Diner waitress: Mmmm-mmmm, just like momma used to make!

DJ Slimy: The endless road ends in fire. Always fire!

Paul: (softly crying, gasping)

Diner customer: (thickly, as if through a broken nose) Huh, must be wildfire season.

Tony: Oh god, Oh god.

Paul: It's back!

DJ Slimy: And we all get what's coming to us, right everyone? The end is the end is the end!

(Clapping, rapturous applause from the patrons of the diner. Paul screams in pain again. The diner waitress screams herself, but whether in terror or orgasmic glee is unclear. The sound turns increasingly liquid and gurgling, like her face is melting from heat.12)

Paul: (breathing heavily through gritted teeth.)

Tony: Paul, I got you. I got you. It's okay, I got you, man.

(Something lets loose a guttural, animalistic roar, like a predator. The roaring outside and the gurgle screaming turning increasingly glitchy, corrupted, turning into more digital distortion.)

(The distortion has distinct laughter audible in the background, resolving into the car speeding down the highway. DJ Slimy and a caller are on the car's radio.)

DJ Slimy: So, tell me about it again.

Zealous caller: I killed him. And her. She wasn't noble, wasn't whole. Or should I say, hole. The pit.

(He chuckles and DJ Slimy joins in laughing.)

Paul: (distressed breathing, sobbing, and moaning.) Ah, ah, ah, ah…

Tony: Turn off you stupid, fucking…

(The radio squeals as he slams it off.)

Tony: Hang on, buddy, we're gonna get you to a hospital, don't worry, stay with me!

Paul: Oh god, oh god, my hands! It hurts, Tony!

Tony: Just keep it wrapped up in the towel— oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.

(The radio burbles as it turns itself on again. The zealous caller gasps as if he was underwater and is just now breathing again. A distorted male voice is audible underneath the broadcast.)

Zealous caller: The Lord told me to do it.

DJ Slimy: Naturally.

Zealous caller: He is righteous and fearful in all things, and next to him I am a meek lamb, a servant whipped into submission, branded with the fire, a cow in the McDonalds slaughterhouse, nearly ready for processing.

DJ Slimy: The Lord would not have told you to kill them unless it was meant.

Zealous caller: Shall I go to heaven? I ate their skin as a sacrament, right as I was intended, right in the park, too.

(The radio show sputters, then continues underneath the conversation before gradually fading out.)

DJ Slimy: Well, I wouldn't count on it. Heaven is a myth made up by Disney to sell direct-to-DVD sequels. John Milton was a hack, and a sexual predator to boot. No, the truth is, we all find a comfortable place in the fire eventually, the burning encompasses us and breaks us down.

Paul: (delirious) He won't let you, he won't let us!

Tony: Shit, there's not an off-road, there's not an exit, fuck, not even a sign.

Paul: We just gotta keep driving, just keep going.

Tony: I'm not gonna let you bleed out, man! Just keep pressing the cloth to it!

(The car swerves slightly.)

Paul: What, what was that?!

Tony: Corpse in the road. Another one.

(Police sirens sound behind the car, a motorcycle. The car begins to slow down as Tony pulls over, and the police motorcycle pulls up behind the car. The radio is no longer on.)

Tony: Maybe we're out of this.

Paul: Ahhhhh…The money!

Tony: We just gotta come clean, it's more important that — we gotta get you to a hospital, okay?

Paul: (breathing heavily) Okay, okay.

Tony: God, I hope we're out of this.

(Tony unbuckles his seatbelt. There's a knock on the window. It rolls down. Hot desert wind blows and whips around the car.)

Motorcycle cop: Do you know how fast you were going?

Tony: Probably too fast, but please, officer, my friend here, he's bleeding out, we need to get him to a town, to a hospital.

Motorcycle cop: I can see that, but do you know how fast you were going?

Tony: (frantic) Please, I'll pay the ticket, just please radio in that there's a medical emergency, please!

Motorcycle cop: You talking back to me, son?

Tony: No, it's just, he's missing a hand, and I'm scared.

Motorcycle cop: No one talks back to me. No one. You understand me?

Tony: Sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.

Motorcycle cop: Say, aren't you those two boys who were wanted back two states over for that jewelry store robbery?

Tony: (sighs)

Paul: Please, I need help. It hurts so much, please.

Tony: We're sorry, we give up. You win. We'll come quietly.

Motorcycle cop: Far too late for that, actually. You're wanted men in every county from here to the Mississippi.

Tony: Look, please. We haven't even spent any of the cash, we'll return it, even. Just take us to jail, yes, but Paul needs a doctor. We're begging.

Motorcycle cop: There ain't no doctors in hell, boys.

(The sound of bones cracking and stretching, getting longer and more distorted.)

Tony: Fuck!

Motorcycle cop: (voice distorting) You'll need to come down to the station.

(A car pulls up alongside the two vehicles. There are heavy footsteps, again.13 The radio clicks on and again there is a distorted male voice under the broadcast.)

Paul: Tony! It's back, it's the thing

DJ Slimy: Crime. Crime never pays, does it boys?

Paul: What the fuck is going on?! Tell me now!

Tony: It's the radio, he can't hear you?!

Motorcycle cop: (distorted, snarling) He can hear you just fine.

DJ Slimy: I always know who I need, who I want. The subjects of my sermons are guaranteed to understand.

Tony: Understand what? Understand that you've been tormenting us, trapping us in some hellscape of your own design?

DJ Slimy: Understand more than that. Understand that you are part of a vast and churning machine. A people engine. The fuel that stokes the fire. The United States? Western Civilization? Civilization itself? Knowledge? Writing? Pfff! What a putrid, junky laugh. Pornography. Any system of organizing humanity, I'm riding out of town! Nothing yet stands but I decree it!

Paul: What the fuck are you talking about?

DJ Slimy: They're all being torn apart from the inside.

(The car metal being ripped apart slowly.)

Paul: Go!

(The car's engine revving, but not going.)

Motorcycle cop: (distorted, snarling) You have the right to remain silent. You have the right to ask the police to search or arrest you if there’s probable cause to believe you’ve committed a crime. You have committed a crime.

(A horrible sucking noise. Tony screams, and his screams are pulled out of the car. There's a sickening crunch, likely a spine being snapped in two.)

DJ Slimy: The road stretches.

Paul: Oh god, oh god, oh god.

DJ Slimy: There is no God. There is no gospel. There is only the Pit, and you've been in my keep since the day you were imagined.

Paul: Let me go, please, please, let me go!

DJ Slimy: Not possible.

(Distant fire, getting louder.)

Paul: Oh shit, oh god, that mountain! What's wrong with it?

DJ Slimy: Visigoths 45:12 — And I beheld a brilliant fire that burned like stars. And I saw that it was the whole land, and it was in the land. And the land was the terrible and powerful LORD, and the LORD was your jailer!

Paul: I don't want to go there, I don't.

(Paul jiggling the door handle with his one good hand!)

DJ Slimy: Can't!

Paul: Shit!

(Scrabbling and kicking against the windshield glass.)

Paul: Fuck, fuck, fuck!

DJ Slimy: No one's gonna miss a couple of delinquent criminals, college dropouts, selfish fucking bastards who had it coming.

Paul: I'm not a monster!

DJ Slimy: Burn with me!

Paul: No, no!

DJ Slimy: BURN WITH ME, SON!

Paul: NO! NO!

DJ Slimy: Burn with me, son…

Paul: I won't! I am a human being, damn you, I have dignity! I have rights!

DJ Slimy: BURN WITH ME ON THE ENDLESS SHOW!

(The car suddenly brakes, screeches, and crashes in a heap of metal and glass, breaking and twisting, despite previously it having been parked. Fire, lots of it. A body, Paul, gurgling, spitting blood. The melting radio plays the news, distorted, barely understandable, the anchor gibbering and shrieking as DJ Slimy laughs and rips off his ears. Only the phrase "I chose your screams, you are not clean" is intelligible. The heavy footsteps sound again on the pavement.14)

DJ Slimy: (almost kindly) Alright, come on now, on with the show.

(The fire roars higher. It dissolves into the sounds of a happy studio audience cheering and whooping. The desert wind is still audible.)

DJ Slimy: And we here at the Hour of Falling, hope that you will take tonight's lessons in stride, keep them close to your heart, and be merry as you enter the New Year. Merry Christmas, and may God grant you happiness.

(It is cut off with with another digital audio click. The file ends.)

Addendum-02:

Addendum-02:

Addendum 6223.02: Following the positive identification of two of the individuals in the prior audio log as Anthony Guiterrez and Paul Sockwin, the following memorandum was issued by the Director of Site 37 Media Archives, Barbara Pangborn.

Dr. Pangborn: Look, I know there's been a lot of debate as to the contents of the recovered flash drive. It's certainly disturbing, yes, but it's true some might consider there to be no clear evidence of true anomalous phenomena. I've certainly received one or two papers to that effect. Yes, this could be some kind of rogue DJ having a crisis of faith, broadcasting some kind of blasphemous radio play. But the truth is, we have no evidence to suggest whether or not this was a one off thing, certainly no way to confirm whether any of the on air personalities at KBGN actually…well…it's complicated. We have plenty of otherwise non- anomalous media that could be faked with special effects, true. But we categorize them anyway. We keep them aside until research conclusively determines the facts. And we have some facts. Anthony Guiterrez and Paul Sockwin were real, at any rate, and they are missing. And the station is still half in a hot-spring in East Africa. Those are empirical, and they are connected. So, yes, we're keeping SCP-6223 in the database until we can absolutely nail down some details about that station. If CBS decides to play ball on SCP-3373, regarding what they know about DJ Slimy, we might have an -EX. Right now, no.

(A sigh, exhausted.)

Dr. Pangborn: And, at any rate, I might as well come clean. I'm recommending we upgrade SCP-6223 to Euclid, effective immediately. I had a couple of boys come down from the Department of Memetics, and, um, well, we're getting some strange results. It's dangerous to do tests with, so cavalierly. There's too many unanswered questions, too much unknown. I'm gonna appoint Dr. Greyeyes to Acting Director, effective immediately. I can't do this job properly anymore. If you keep studying that file, just, be careful. I've been…

(A pause.)

Dr. Pangborn: …I don't how to put it professionally. That moment in the diner, with the waitress? I can't, I can't listen anymore. The implications—

(A pause.)

Dr. Pangborn: … She's starting to sound like me.

Footnotes

1. This audio appears to be missing from the file. A memetic hazard is suspected.

2. This audio appears to be missing from the file. A memetic hazard is suspected.

3. This audio appears to be missing from the file. A memetic hazard is suspected.

4. This audio appears to be missing from the file. A memetic hazard is suspected.

5. This audio appears to be missing from the file. A memetic hazard is suspected.

6. This audio appears to be missing from the file. A memetic hazard is suspected.

7. This audio appears to be missing from the file. A memetic hazard is suspected.

8. This audio appears to be missing from the file. A memetic hazard is suspected.

9. This audio appears to be missing from the file. A memetic hazard is suspected.

10. This audio appears to be missing from the file. A memetic hazard is suspected.

11. This audio appears to be missing from the file. A memetic hazard is suspected.

12. This audio appears to be missing from the file. A memetic hazard is suspected.

13. This audio appears to be missing from the file. A memetic hazard is suspected.

14. This audio appears to be missing from the file. A memetic hazard is suspected.