Chapter Text
Cimmerian couldn’t help but freeze there for a few long seconds, his mind lagging behind as he tried to process the series of events that had just unfolded.
He had been doing fine . The door was closed. He had his handgun. Even when he had heard the shouting and pounding on his door, he had known that it would be smartest to simply leave the poor soul caught out in the hallway.
But he had opened it.
The young foolish researcher hadn’t even taken a moment to consider that the uncannily silent ‘researcher’ that they had found in the hall was possibly not even human .
Then again, Cimmerian supposed that he hadn’t taken that moment either; if the hole in his knee and the fact he was sitting on the very same pristine floor of the hallway that the researcher and SCP had been standing only moments ago was any indication.
He drew a long breath, trying to steady himself, trying to stave off the fact that it had been his finger squeezing the trigger to the gun that had shot the man sitting dead just beyond that door. He hadn’t been quick enough.
He’d tried to help and he still hadn’t been quick enough.
Slowly, he tried to shift himself closer to the wall, aiming to try and use it to help drag himself up. He needed to get a move on.
He didn’t know how many more instances of this particular SCP there were—but he knew for a fact that he had distinctly heard of numerous mentions of some 939’s in the hallway over the radio before he'd been thrown out and left for dead.
He turned his head in the direction of the opposite end of the hallway, trying to calculate what his next move would be as he shifted closer to the wall, using his uninjured leg to push himself closer.
Finally, when he felt his shoulder brush the wall, he braced himself as he grabbed hold of it tightly with one hand while using the other to push against the ground.
If not for his desperation to stay silent to avoid tipping off his location to any stray SCP’s, he was certain that he would have cried out as he forced himself to put pressure on the injured leg.
He sharply brought his hand to his knee, the yellow fabric quickly staining bright red between his fingers, the movement only causing his state to worsen.
“Fuck,” He mumbled somewhat shakily, trying to collect himself.
He knew better than to panic.
Hell, he’d seen plenty of doctors, guards, and even a few SCP’s lose themselves to panicking in the past. They’d always try to brute force their way through situations when they needed to take a step back to assess what was really occurring, or they would try and run when it was clear that they needed to fight their way out of a situation, or they would freeze in shock when they knew they needed to get the hell out of there.
Cimmerian supposed that in this instance, he was falling for the latter-most of the three.
“Hello? Is anyone there?” A voice called out softly from down the hall. Curious. Inquisitive. Oddly and uncannily fake .
Dr. Cimmerian began to pale as his breath caught in his throat.
An instance of SCP-939 was close.
He tried to force himself forwards, making a split-second decision to go down the opposite hallway, even if he knew it would only lead him to a dead end.
It would be a useless attempt to escape, but he’d be damned if he didn’t at least try .
As soon as he stepped onto that leg, however, he felt it start to crumble beneath him, barely catching himself on the wall yet again as he tensed, struggling to collect his pained breaths.
This was going to be hell but he needed to keep moving.
With a little more care this time, he forced himself to step forward again, trying to stave off the pain and warmblood beginning to dampen his glove still clutched tight over the injury. Instead, he tried to focus on the adrenaline; pushing himself forwards yet again despite the agony each step caused.
He’d been through worse.
He’d felt worse.
But if he didn’t get a move on, then it was unlikely that he’d ever have a chance to feel even worse than that— a thought that was both oddly comforting while similarly terrifying.
He kept moving, picking up his pace as the adrenaline began to build, propelling him forwards with each step.
“Hello?” A ‘human’ voice chimed softly from down the opposite end of the hallway, slowly growing closer.
Cimmerian felt his shoulders tensed but kept moving, beginning to pass another door, only hesitating briefly as he heard the speaker flicker to life and a familiar voice quietly speak from over it.
“Jerry?” He heard the voice softly ask after a second or two. “What’s going on? Why are you out of your office? I thought-”
“Gerald, stay where you are. Don’t open the doors for anyone, I’d suggest barricading them as well,” Cimmerian said through grit teeth as he tried to take a moment to gather himself beside the speaker.
Gerald paused. “Are you alright? You look hurt?”
Cimmerian’s eyes briefly flicked to the small dot of a camera on the door. He tried his best to give a reassuring smile, unable to help but appreciate the sincerity of the question before he slowly began to force himself to take another step. “Don’t open the door for anyone!” Cimmerian snapped again, trying to stress his words as he pushed himself forwards, determined to make it down the hall now .
He couldn’t help but be somewhat thankful for the fact that he had tried to help the researcher and the researcher-in-disguise from the hallway. He knew that Gerald would have caved the moment the banging was at his own door.
It was perhaps one of the most sincere aspects of the man as well as one of his greatest pitfalls.
Forcing himself to keep going, he eventually stopped bothering to try and clutch at the gaping wound as he kept moving, blood beginning to seep down his pant leg and disgustingly starting to even collect in his shoes as he kept forcing himself forwards. Each step felt like its own brand of hell and yet every time he moved forwards it felt… Easier. Like he was actually making some leeway in escaping, even despite how futile he knew it all was.
Maybe it was just the fact that it felt like he couldn’t get a solid breath in through the stress of it all, or perhaps it was because of the way that he could feel his entire body sharply tense with each step, or even the slight clamminess that he could feel in his hands and feet as he kept pushing for what felt like hours .
He knew it had only been a few minutes before he finally reached the corner of the hallway, barely able to keep himself from stumbling down as he grabbed the edge and tried to collect his breath for only a single moment before pushing himself to keep going down the only turn.
The dead-end turn.
It was disheartening to see the wall at the other end of the hall. Bland pristine white, just like the rest of the walls, ceilings, and floors; disheartening for the sole fact that there wasn’t more .
He couldn’t keep running once he reached it.
Unfortunately, despite the gentle way that he noticed his left shoe had started squeaking with an unsettling slickness that was telltale of the severity of his injury, he knew that he couldn’t stop until he reached it.
Hell, the little waiting-area-esque couch and tiny coffee table at the end of the hall almost looked inviting. He knew that once one of the SCPs rounded the corner, he’d practically be laying there like a steak on a platter, but there was little else to be done.
“Is anyone there?” A gentle voice cooed from down the hallway, clearly having already caught his scent and was slowly tracing it, the creature seeming to be enjoying itself a little with the hunt.
At least he could take a second to try and collect himself before getting torn limb from limb and devoured.
He doubted it would be enough to make himself ‘okay’ with the fact, but he supposed it was better than nothing.
That was until he had stumbled about halfway down the hall and his eyes started to drift up to the ceiling as he noticed something, his eyebrows beginning to furrow.
A small discreet-looking vent sitting just above the couch.
It was barely larger than a few feet in length and width but it was perhaps the most promising escape available to him. If he reached it and could successfully drag himself into it, he knew that he would be too high up for the creatures to reach. Not to mention, he knew that he would have a chance to fish his phone out and try to call someone for help.
He knew it was far-fetched, but with so little time and options, it seemed like the only even vaguely successful choice for him to take.
“Can you help me? I think-” A voice asked in an almost frantic tone, chilling Cimmerian even more as he started to stumble forwards as quickly as possible, his leg screaming with each step. “I think I’m hurt,” The voice continued.
Cimmerian could have sworn the damned thing was mocking him.
“Please help me!” The voice cried, deceptively human even with Cimmerian’s prior knowledge as the creature grew even closer. “Oh god, please help me!” The creature cried sharply as he heard the soft clicking of nails against the ground just a few tens of feet behind him come to a sharp stop.
It had found him.
He broke out in a run, frantic to get to the other end as he abandoned his hugging-the-wall strategy, his knee nearing giving out but giving no time to focus on it as he finally reached the couch, hearing the creature continue to sob just behind him. He scrambled onto the top of the couch and reached towards the vent, struggling to grasp it before clawing his fingers into the edges and pulling, ignoring the way it ripped at the ends of his fingers when the metal finally opened. He leaped up, ignoring the awful way his knee seized from the action as he grasped the cold inside of the vent with slick fingers.
“Please, it hurts!” The creature sobbed behind him with an almost perfectly choked up voice, clearly simply repeating the last words of some poor soul that had been too unlucky to escape it.
“Fuck off!” Cimmerian couldn’t help but shout frantically, voice nearly cracking as he tried to drag himself up to the vent, the creature lunging for him just as he tried to hoist himself up. He’d curse himself for the little moment of patheticness later—assuming he survived.
He could see the creature snap at him as he yanked himself upwards towards the small opening; a blur of dark red flesh, muscle, and teeth just beneath him.
The creature continued to snap and try to lunge upwards towards him as he pushed his elbows upwards, clinging to the cold metal of the inside of the vent as he dragged himself inside, narrowly escaping the creature. He could still hear its sharp sobs mimicking its prior victims, Cimmerian having only barely escaped joining the noises.
Cimmerian crawled fully inside the vent, breathing sharply as he tried to collect himself while staring down at the creature below him. It lunged only a few more times, even trying to brace itself against the couch—sharp talons digging into the fabric as it stared up at him like a dog that had just chased a rabbit into a tight burrow. Disappointed.
He stared down with wide eyes for a few moments, watching the creature just stare back at him. Finally, it flexed its talons softly, a gently ripping noise coming from the couch as it slowly dragged its nails down the cushion, shredding it pointedly while still staring at him closely.
Slowly, Cimmerian gave a shaky sigh, closing his eyes for a moment as he heard the creature start to slowly drag itself off the couch. He knew it had finally stopped trying when he heard its talons rip straight from their spots on the couch and land with a loud click on the tile below, even if he didn’t hear it leaving yet.
A few long seconds of silence passed.
“Fuck off!” The creature cried out in imitation, its voice sharply cracking in the middle of its words and causing Cimmerian’s eyes to immediately snap open in a narrow glare at the creature, his nose wrinkling a little.
“I did not sound like that ,” He responded sharply.
“I did not sound like that,” The creature whined mockingly again as it slowly began to turn around, its face raising slightly as it stared down the hall, seeming to be trying to listen for new prey to chase after. “Fuck off!”
Cimmerian pursed his lips, watching the creature slowly began to pace away while the doctor continued to try and collect his breath steadily.
Slowly, he exhaled shakily, closing his eyes again and letting the frown slip away as he heard the creature finally grow distant, clearly having lost interest.
Everything was okay.
He was okay.
He had escaped.
Everything was fine.
It felt like his lungs were burning, unable to collect enough air.
He started to shift in the vent, trying to back himself a little further away from the opening and further out of sight into the vent but the moment he moved he knew that it had been a mistake.
His knee brushed the cold metal and his body immediately tensed sharply , a full-body flinch just before his leg gave out beneath him, barely catching himself on his elbow as he strangled his yelp into silence, desperately trying to avoid attracting any other SCPs.
He twitched a couple of times, remaining solidly in place with his hand clamped tightly around his own mouth and his knee painfully raised off the surface of the vent with only the tip of his shoe to support him as if this were some sort of fucked up yoga-position.
Slowly and with a shaking inhale, he pulled his trembling hand away from his mouth, gently trying to drag his leg upwards to try and lessen the pain on his knee.
All the movement served to do was to remind him of how mangled it had become from his desperate attempt to run to the vent. Even if it had saved his life thus far, he knew that he had been nowhere close to ‘easy’ on the limb.
Cimmerian tried to gently calm his breathing down, finding it increasingly difficult to stay collected.
He felt exhausted.
Cold.
Pain.
He drew another shaky breath, batting his eyes as he forced himself to focus.
He wasn’t a fool. He knew that his leg was bad and that it was only going to get worse the longer this breach continued. Unfortunately, even if the breach were to end, he knew that he was a bit tucked out of the way. Sure, some doctor would eventually notice the shredded couch and lack of a vent cover, but it would likely take a bit longer than he had.
Slowly, he shifted his weight to his side, shakily reaching back to his knee.
It was utterly soaked, seemingly with no sign of stopping. He couldn’t tell if the bullet had punctured something, but it clearly hadn’t been a clean shot.
With the angle the bullet had hit him though…
Frankly, he was surprised he was able to walk at all.
He sighed softly, closing his eyes for a couple of blissful moments before forcing himself to open them again despite his exhaustion begging him to keep them closed. To relax. To let it happen.
He knew better.
He needed to put pressure on it. Somehow.
Even with so little room in the vent, he knew that being able to put pressure on it would be the difference between life and death for him. He was bleeding too much—too fast.
It took a few more seconds to try and collect himself as he looked around the dim vent, trying to piece together some sort of way to help himself.
It was hardly big enough for him to even sit up on his hands and knees. He couldn’t knot his tie around it, he could barely even focus enough to keep his eyes open.
Perhaps… The size of the vent could actually be used to his advantage though?...
It would be painful.
There was no doubt about it.
But with the size of the vent being so small, he knew that if he could just force his knees to his chest with his back to the top portion of the vent and his knees partially against the vent bottom, then perhaps he could wedge himself in there tightly enough to staunch the bleeding?
It would make it more difficult for him to be rescued but… It was worth a try.
Slowly, he started to shift, slowly placing his injured knee against the bottom of the vent and hesitating. He took a deep and shaky breath before putting his weight on the limb, sharply trying to drag his knees beneath him as he forced his back against the top of the vent, painfully folding over himself and hearing a gentle noise from the metal above him as he kept straining before he was tightly fixed in place.
The entire time, his entire vision was practically white-hot with pain, blinding him as he grit his teeth and tried desperately to cling to silence.
After a few long seconds that felt as if they had dragged on for minutes, he was done.
His back was wedged against the top of the vent, his knees so tightly pressed between his chest and the bottom of the vent that he could have sworn that he was beginning to lose feeling in them.
He took a few moments to breathe, feeling the exhaustion beginning to quickly get to him. He was so tired.
He felt like he was going to give out at any moment now.
He breathed, batting his eyes for a few moments before gently craning his head, pressing his forehead against the cool metallic walls. They felt… Nice.
He was so tired.
…
No, fuck. No!
He needed to focus!
He batted his eyes open, dragging his head away from the pleasant material as he forced himself to stare down at the light glow of the hall emanating from the vent opening.
He needed to… Tell someone. Make sure that someone came looking for him… Or at least let someone know where they could collect his body from later. Fuck, was he going to die? He couldn’t tell if he really was in such a bad condition or if it was just the blood loss getting to him? He didn’t feel that bad anymore. He was… Tired.
He knew that being tired was a bad sign.
He squinted, staring at the dim glow for a few seconds before it occurred to him.
His phone.
He had put it back in his pocket before he’d been thrown out from his office.
He blinked, slowly dragging his hand to his coat and fishing for the pocket for a few moments, forced to awkwardly shove his hand around dimly for a few moments before he felt it brush the small device.
He pulled it out slowly, trying to steady his breaths. They felt like they were quick. He could swear his pulse felt a bit quicker too? That didn’t bode well for him.
Everything felt so suffocating.
He tried to push the button to unlock it, his brow furrowing when it denied him before giving a small huff as he realized that he had only smudged the button with his bloodied glove. Not his brightest moment but he was willing to blame it on the delirium.
He brought his glove to his mouth, yanking it off with his teeth despite the awful metallic taste, bringing his thumb back to the button and swiping the small bit of blood away before pressing his thumb shakily against it.
He was so tired.
He could barely focus.
Everything was starting to feel so distant.
It was familiar.
Unwelcomingly familiar.
He couldn’t even make out which screen he had opened to, knowing it to be a message screen but his mind growing too slow to pick apart particularly who he had been talking to.
Had he been talking to them before the breach?
Or after it had started?
Was it important?
His head began to gently lul back against the cool metal of the vent as his hand scrambled to try and click the right buttons. He didn’t know what to do.
He hadn’t had a phone last time.
He hadn’t had a chance to do anything last time.
That had just been luck .
He didn’t have luck on his side this time. All he had was a dark vent to cower inside and a phone gently glowing within it.
In a last-ditch effort as his vision began to swim with darkness, he simply hit the call button just as his neck finally grew slack, his face smacking against the inside of the vent as he gave into unconsciousness.