Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Dark clouds blanketed the sky, spewing bolts of lightning at the ocean below on a stormy night. A helicopter hurried through the ominous skies, tossed by gusts of wind. Tensions were high among the passengers. Four soldiers gripped their weapons, bracing against the helicopter's sways.

Among them sat a woman in a lab coat, seemingly the calmest of all. Her hair curled in large sophisticated swoops of light pink, with an electric blue streak on the front bang, stopping just above her shoulders. Her skin was a smooth, darkened bronze with a red undertone. The blue light from her holo-screen clipboard reflected on her rectangular glasses, illuminating the cabin.

The pilot called out to the back. “Sorry for the bumpy ride, Dr. Leeuwen. I know we’re bringing ya’ in on short notice, but the top brass seem to think you’re the only one who can help this situation.”

She glanced up briefly, then back to her clipboard. Her subtle Dutch accent cut through the cabin. “It’s no trouble at all. I’m looking forward to getting started, however ahead of schedule it may be.”

“ That’s good to hear. O5-Head’s gonna be contacting you soon for the briefing on your assignment. Meanwhile I’ll try to get us in as close as possible, but as you can see,…it’s a wreck down there.”

She glanced out of the nearby window to see the SCP foundation headquarters off in the distance. It appeared to be in total chaos. Tall stacks of flame and smoke rose from several points on the building. The ocean surrounding it was tumultuous and violent, glowing a bright yellow from the flames spewing out of the building above. The accompanying soldiers looked down at the havoc ridden facility, questioning the likelihood that they would survive this endeavor. One of them turned to another and whispered. “ Do you think we’re gonna make it? I mean,..,I know she’s supposed to be the best in the field, or so they say, but what is she really going to do against a raging SCP?”

The other soldier turned to him. “Shhhhh you idiot, she’s right there. If you got a question, you can ask her yourself.”

“I’d rather not. All things considered, she’s kinda intimidatin’ don’t you think?” She hasn’t flinched this entire flight despite the turbulence.”

“Would you pull it together already? We’ve got one job. That’s to keep her safe while she does her’s. The rest doesn’t really matter.”

The nervous soldier went back to staring out of the window. Immediately they heard a loud explosion come from the building. The helicopter was instantly caught up in the residual gusts of wind as debris flew in their direction.

“Everybody hold on!” The pilot called out. “ Things are definitely getting worse down there.”

He tugged on the throttle, struggling to keep the vehicle upright as he maneuvered to dodge the incoming debris. They were getting closer to the facility, with the helipad finally becoming visible through the smoke. Suddenly the woman’s clipboard began beeping. It seemed she had an incoming call of some kind. She reached to the back of the clipboard and pulled out a small earpiece that was docked in it’s charger port. She then stuck it in her ear as she pulled up the call on her screen. She answered it. “ It’s a pleasure to finally speak with you again, Overseer. Although I wish it were under better conditions.”

The person on the other end responded. “ Dr. Amalia Van Leeuwen. It is a bit earlier than expected, but we’re glad to finally have you on board. It is indeed unfortunate the current circumstances, but with the SCP 0-76-2 on the loose, we had no choice but to move forward with the operation. Break-outs like this are only going to become more frequent in the days to come, which is precisely why we’re bringing you in on such short notice.”

“I see.” She responded while looking over the info-log for SCP 0-76-2, code name “Abel”.

“Your first assignment is thus: Enter the SCP Headquarters facility and subdue the rogue SCP 0-76-2. In addition, you are to place him back under restraint and safely within the confines of SCP 0-76-1.”

As she continued the call, the helicopter was making its landing on the roof of the headquarters. SCP soldiers stood on the roof as well, waving them in as the chopper made its descent. They appeared to be exhausted from battle. Among them were the bodies of fellow soldiers fallen prey to the attack. Once securely on the helipad, they could hear the commotion inside the facility. The voices of the soldiers inside could be heard as soon as they stepped foot out of the helicopter. Orders were being screamed in the midst of loud explosions and gunfire. The soldiers quickly began exiting the craft as the team leader shouted. “Alright team you have your orders! Surround and protect Dr. Leeuwen at all costs until her objective is complete! Now move into your positions!”

“Sir yes sir!” They all yelled back in response as they hustled to line up just outside of the chopper.

Dr. Leeuwen stood up and stepped slowly off of the helicopter, now surrounded by men in tactical gear and armed with special high-grade SCP weaponry. The air was thick with the smell of smoke and burned flesh, mixed in with the salt from the ocean. The dark clouds above were lit up from the fires burning around the facility.

The voice on the call continued. “It should be understood that should you fail in this task, or prove unable to control the situation, the facility and all current occupants Including yourself will be quarantined off and terminated effective immediately. Any record of you and your involvement with the SCP foundation will be terminated as well. Are you in compliance with these terms?”

“I understand the terms of my assignment, and I adhere to the conditions.” She continued past the soldiers, making her way to the entrance of the facility. “Now if you don’t mind, Overseer,…I’d like to begin my work.”

“Understood. You have a platoon of SCP armed forces at your disposal. Best of luck to you all. We await good news.”

The call ended as a soldier ran up to them from inside. He was out of breath and struggling to talk over the sound of the helicopter blades. “Right this way ma’am!” He stuck his arm out in the direction of the door leading inside. She and the four armed soldiers followed his direction as he guided them through the doors. The captain walked them down a long corridor that had suffered a great deal of damage in the calamity. Lights flickered in malfunction, casting fleeting light on the corpses and destruction. Loose wires dangled from holes made in the ceiling and the walls, occasionally shooting sparks from the severed ends. The building was already falling apart, and the SCP hadn’t even made it this far up yet. Deep rumblings from the battle being waged hundreds of feet below sea level could be felt in their feet as they walked.

“What is the current situation down there?” She asked, walking and scrolling on her clipboard. Completely unbothered by the destruction around her.

The guiding soldier responded; “The SCP 0-76-2 escaped out of SCP 0-76-1 at approximately 03:00 hours earlier today. It’s completely wrecked containment area 25, used to contain it and SCP 0-76-1, and is currently making its way through the tunnel connecting to the main building. We’ve set up barricades at sectors A-1 through A-4 of the tunnel. So far it’s managed to break through sectors A-4 and A-3. We’re holding it in A-2, but at this rate it’ll make it to the main facility in no time. We have strict orders to destroy the entire tunnel system, along with containment area 25 should we fail to halt it’s progress.”

“And how many men do we have still on their feet?”

“I’m not gonna lie, Doc.” He responded reluctantly. “ We’ve suffered heavy casualties and the number’s only growing. To our knowledge there was only one agent in the SCP organization that knew how to deal with this thing.”

“I’m aware. SCP special agent Thomas Shields. Killed in action some time ago during an unrelated SCP operation gone wrong.”

“That’s our guy. As valiant as he was, no one survives a kill order from the higher-ups. And without his expertise, I’m not sure what we’re supposed to do to contain it. Any ideas ma’am?”

Amalia stopped short of an elevator that lead down into the tunnel. The squad of soldiers abruptly halted their march as well. She turned to the agent with a stern yet earnest look about her face. “You leave that part to me, Captain. Once I’m inside I’ll need you to ensure no one interferes while I’m dealing with the rogue SCP. Are we clear?”

The captain stepped in front of her. “But ma’am, our orders are to protect you during this endeavor. You’re way too valuable to the foundation to just let you waltz in there unguarded.”

“With all due respect, captain. There is little you or anyone else can do against SCP 0-76-2 at this point. If you want your men to come out of this alive, I’ll need nothing less than your full compliance. Understood?”

The captain was hesitant to respond. He knew full well the risks that awaited them below, but he was unable to combat the doctor’s logic. He was losing men and resources by the second, with no real solution in sight. He took a deep breath, and then stepped to the side to let her and her team onto the elevator. As she stepped onto it, she could feel the captain’s concern. She looked back at him as a blue glass wall, cracked from the quaking below, closed her and her squad inside. She smirked at him. “Don’t worry captain. I did not fly all the way from Europe to die on my first assignment. I will see this mission through to it’s completion.”

The captain waved as the elevator began taking them down into the depths of the tunnel. “I sure hope you’re right about that miss. God help us if you’re wrong.”

The ride down into the tunnel was turbulent. The lower they went, the more clearly the sound of battle rang out. Random quakes caused the lights on the elevator to flicker. This was slowly unnerving the soldiers. The doctor however stayed poised and calm, still going over the files on her clipboard screen. Once the elevator stopped, the glass opened up to the first sector of the tunnel. It was still intact as the SCP had yet to make it this far. The large tunnel was filled with SCP agents and soldiers, all behind their weapons, waiting for the moment to defend against the murderous SCP. They all stood in a tense silence, listening to the chaos on the other side of the far wall. Gunshots and death screams were heard vividly now, along with the battle cries of the SCP. You could almost hear the soldiers’ rattling knees as they shook in fear of the onslaught. They were all so lost in anticipation that they hardly noticed the doctor and her team approaching the blast wall connecting to the second sector. One soldier called out. “Wait ma’am! That area’s extremely dangerous!”

She paid him no mind. Her stride was unbreakable, driven by curiosity and intrigue. The small troop of soldiers followed behind her nervously, guns at the ready. As they approached the large metal wall, they could hear the final gunshots of the last remaining agent. Shortly after were sounds of a vicious attack, then came the death cry. Everything fell dreadfully silent for a short moment. Everyone currently occupying sector A-1 was frozen in anticipation, gripped in fear and uncertainty, but Amalia had only inquisition on the brain. She slowly and carefully approached the reinforced wall, leaning in to glean anything she could. This made the soldiers in her company uneasy. One whispered in urgency. “Ma’am! I highly advise against…”

“Shhh!” She cut back at him.

She leaned in further, placing her head against the wall in an attempt assess the situation. She could hear a heavy demonic breathing echoing off of the walls inside. The vibrations were deep and ominous, rattling through the bones of everyone present. Suddenly, the breathing grew into a savage roar. It was immediately followed by the tip of a large blackened greatsword, piercing the wall right next to where Amalia had planted her face. Her eyes grew wide from what seemed more surprise than fear. This threw all of the soldiers into panic. They all manned their battle stations in preparation for the incoming attack. A blood thirsty voice rang out. “WHERE,…IS HE?!!”

The sword instantly disappeared from the hole it had just made in the 10 inch reinforced blast gate. One of the agents quickly scurried to a console on a nearby wall. He nervously began opening it and punching numbers into the now revealed keypad. Amalia began peaking through the newly made hole, ignoring the survival instincts that any normal person would’ve displayed in such a situation.

That’s when she saw it, or him rather. Standing in the center of an ankle-high blood pool with dismembered corpses scattered about. Sectors A-2 through 4 looked like his own personal hellscape. A battlefield bathed in the life force of his enemies. SCP 0-76-2 had the form of a young (seemingly) Sumerian male. As we know, SCP’s come in innumerable variations of shape/size/state of being, and so forth. This particular SCP took the shape of a warrior. His skin was the color of fresh soil, riddled with strange red markings, and pulsating with a demonic aura. His long brown locks floating behind him as if lifted by the aura to defy gravity.

She watched as his rage swelled once more, this time driving him to stab his recalled blade into a corpse on the ground. He screamed as the red glow in his eyes intensified. “Where is the warrior you call Thomas Shields?!” He proceeded to stab the body repeatedly in a fit of rage, each time creating massive splashes of blood. “None of you weaklings are worthy of my strength! Bring me Shields now damn you!”

It was clear that he was lost in his rage, hating any and everything that couldn’t satisfy his bloodlust. Amalia turned away from wall, her arms semi folded, gripping her chin in contemplation. She muttered under her breath, barely audible to the soldiers right behind her. “It seems his goal was never to make it out of the facility. He’s only been pushing this way because that’s where the fight is.”

A soldier stepped forward curiously. “Ma’am? What’s happening in there?” He whispered.

Before she could answer him, a metal clang rang out in the back of the room. The keys belonging the nervous agent had fallen onto the metal floor. They all tensed up at the audibility of the noise. Amalia looked back through the hole having heard Abel react to the sound. “THERE YOU ARE!!!” He shouted while winding back his blade. It seemed to be accumulating power. Amalia began moving away from the wall quickly. “Everyone get back!!” She yelled. A soldier grabbed her as she ran in his direction, bracing them both for impact. The SCP let out a viscous roar as he released a dark energy slash in their direction. The attack tore through the wall separating them, cleaving it in two in a diagonal angle. The force of the attack fierce, blowing some of the soldiers back on impact. The agent by the wall began punching the key vigorously after seeing the SCP’s strength. A large button on the console began to glow red. He went to push it, but was halted by Amalia’s voice. “Wait!” She yelled.

The agent turned to her with fear in his eyes. “ But ma’am,…I have to detonate this entire area should the SCP reach the last sector.”

“Do you want to die agent?” She asked, removing herself from the cover of the soldier guarding her.

“N-no ma’am.” He responded anxiously.

“Then I suggest you hold off and let me do my job.”

She turned toward the wall and began walking toward the gaping slit in it. They could hear the SCP getting closer. “SHIELDS!!” He screamed. “Why do you hide from me? It is unlike you!”

“He’s not coming I’m afraid!” Came a voice from the wall.

The SCP turned to see Amalia walking through the hole toward him. He grinned for a moment, then began to frown. “You lie.” He responded as he stabbed his blade into the blood-soaked floor. “He is duty bound to face me. He would not dare leave me unchallenged.”

“I’m sure you are right about that, if he were not dead.”

This angered him. “More lies!” He yelled as the aura became more intense. “He was a warrior of great strength. He is not so easily killed.”

“Sorry to disappoint, but the man you seek was killed in a bomb strike called by the higher-Ups. They were unable to contain the situation, so decisions were made.”

The SCP was immediately stricken with shock and disappointment. All of the rage and animosity dispersed from him instantly, as if her words had stripped him of all motivation. He squatted down next to his blade that was still jutting out of the floor.

“Killed in a,…bomb strike?” He pondered to himself, unsure of what the words meant.

“Correct. You know, a bomb,…boom.” She pantomimed. “I’m afraid you won’t be getting the fight you so desperately long for.”

“Silence woman!” He responded irritably. “You know nothing about what I long for. It’s a pitiful end for a man such as he. Killed by men who wouldn’t dream of stepping foot on a battlefield. He deserved better,…he deserved death by a worthy opponent.”

“Does this sadden you?” She asked, stepping toward him cautiously.

“Sadden? No no,…it disgusts me more like. He was one of your best. Yet you discarded him when the convenience arrived.” He dispersed his blade into nothingness as he stood up. “I’m no longer interested in this rampage of mine. I wish to return to my coffin.”

“I understand, but might I interest you in a proposition Perhaps?”

He cut his head in her direction. “If you are not a warrior of great skill, then I am uninterested.”

She stepped closer. “That is precisely the matter I wish to discuss. My job here is to recruit you for a special assignment. An assignment involving the recapture of very powerful and dangerous SCP’s, much like yourself.”

He grunted in frustration. He was a simple warrior. The doctors words were much too fancy for his liking. He cracked his neck while waiting for her to simplify her request. She sensed his disinterest. “Simply put, you will be fighting against very strong enemies. In doing so,…you may yet find the worthy opponent your looking for.”

“And what’s stopping me from refusing and murdering all of you cowards?”

“If you do not agree, the foundation will simply make the same call that inevitably killed your friend Thomas. Everyone here dies, and you go back to your coffin for a long nap. And needless to say, no worthy opponents for you.”

The idea of resting peacefully tinged at his soul. He hated the idea of remaining docile for any amount of time. He could possibly end up sleeping for months, years, centuries even. He scratched his head for a moment in contemplation.

“And what are the terms of this,…recruitment of yours?”

“Simple. You will refrain from attacking SCP headquarters and its staff. Additionally you will have to wear this.” She held out what looked like some sort of collar. “This will ensure that your rage is kept in check. Should you become unmanageable it will detonate, killing you, although only momentarily.”

“You drive a hard bargain woman. Is that all?” He asked, displaying a bit of excitement.

“One last thing. You will be working alongside another SCP of my choosing.”

“I do not need a partner. They’d only get in my way.”

She calmly walks up to him and places the collar around his neck. She then looks up and smiles at the warrior. “Don’t worry my dear. You’re going to absolutely love him I’m sure.”

Chapter End-

Chapter Text

News of Dr. Van Leeuwen's success with SCP 0-76-2 had finally reached the higher-ups of the foundation. Five figures sat in a dark lofty room around a crescent-shaped long table, the flashing blue lining around it a feint source of light. They all sat with low-light holo-screens in front of them, projecting a few inches off the table itself. It appeared to be a meeting of some sort, and an important one at that. Their faces were all drowned out by the darkness of the room. Their voices passed across the table to one another in a soft but busy frequency until a sound interrupted it. Beeping began emitting from a strange looking box sitting in the center of the table. A name popped up in lights, hovering above the box in the form of a screen suspended in the air. It was Amalia, calling to make her report no doubt. The five figures now sat in anticipation of hearing in detail the results of her first assignment.

The man sitting in the center reached out to the box and pressed a button to answer the call. Suddenly a translucent bust of Amalia appeared above the box. She appeared to be walking by the sway of her shoulders. The man then cleared his throat before speaking. " Dr. Van Leeuwen! We finally get to speak again, and on good tidings, I hear. You're proving to be more exceptional by the hour."

"I only did my job, Overseer, but I appreciate the commendation nonetheless."

A woman's voice chimed in. "Most of our surveillance footage was damaged in the attack. As a result, we were blind most of the operation. If you don't mind, could you fill in the blanks for us?"

"With pleasure, Madam." Amalia replied.

She appeared to be preoccupied with something, although fully attentive to the conversation. "I confronted the SCP in the second sector of the tunnel connecting to Area 25. Casualties were high, unfortunately."

A mans voice cut in from the far left of the table. "Yes yes, we've seen the numbers. What we really want to know,…is what did you do to stop it. How'd you get it to agree to work with us?"

Amalia had now come to a stop it appeared, unfazed by the man's rudeness. She looks into the camera at them for the first time since the call began.

"Ah, the Admiral, I presume. It is quite the honor to be speaking with so many members of the O5-Head. Are all of you present right now?" She smirked knowing that she was repaying his rashness by making him wait. The man sat back in his chair, with the light from a cigar being the only sign a person sat there at all. The Overseer responded. "We are indeed. But I, as well, am very interested in how you managed to control the situation. Specifically, what methods were employed."

She paused for a moment, appearing to be sitting something down. "Simply put, I merely told him the truth."

The room went quiet for a moment as they all sat in slight confusion. A different male voice spoke out. "Come again? You're saying you merely talked to it? This was a murderous, rampaging SCP, was it not?"

"Given the circumstances, the truth was all that was needed. The SCP was not attempting to escape. It was hunting."

The man leaned in closer, his interest now piqued. "Hunting you say? For what exactly?"

"It seemed the SCP hoped to draw out the agent known as Thomas Shields, who as you know, was K.I.A. Some time ago. I informed him that his hunt was fruitless. He seemed to lose all interest upon hearing this."

The Overseer became reminiscent, "Ah, agent Shields. Now that was a loss felt by the entire foundation. But such is the way of our work. Needless to say, it is the unfortunate reality that similar calls may yet come to pass in the future."

"Unfortunate yes,…but necessary. The same fate we all might have met had he not complied."

"Let me get this straight. You're saying the SCP agreed to help so that we would spare your lives, after murdering half of Area 25's staff? Ridiculous!" The admiral grunted, releasing smoke from his nose like an angry bull. Amalia was realizing the density of their skepticism. She did not care one way or the other if they believe her. It mattered little compared to what she actually accomplished, but having to convince them was bothersome and time consuming in her eyes. She fixed her glasses and once more glanced into the camera, her projection now looking directly at all of them.

"Yes that would be quite ridiculous indeed, Admiral. The SCP agreed to help because he is an immortal with nothing better to do. It was work with me or continue to be put back in his cage. Considering his tenacious nature, the choice was obvious."

The Overseer rubbed his chin in contemplation, a faint grin appearing from the shadows. "I see. It is my understanding that you'll be recruiting one more. SCP 073, I believe."

"That is correct. I am currently in route to meet with the SCP as we speak. So if it is all the same to you, Overseer, I'd like to begin my work."

"Very well. We won't take up anymore of your time doctor. Best of luck." The Overseer reached out to hit the end call button. At the same time Amalia was tapping her earphones to do the same. She had come to a large door at the end of a long, white corridor. It was bright with lights running through the spaces between tile and panel. Screens scrolled information pertaining to whatever door they were beside. Feint announcements could be heard echoing through the halls of Site-17; the building which housed SCP 073, codename Cain. She took a moment to remove her glasses and rub between her eyes. A voice came from behind her.

"Do you enjoy being scrutinized by rodents? They reference me as if I were never human. They view you as a pawn to use and discard. I don't understand your motives."

It was Abel, minimally restrained and walking a few paces behind. Behind him were two SCP agents, heavily armed and unwilling to take an eye off of him. She turned and looked him in the eyes. "Does their perception of what you are bother you?

He grit his teeth at the question while looking away. "Your attempts to pry into my heart are wasted. You will find only scorched earth. Of that, I can assure you."

"You struggle to understand me, no? The urge to understand someone is natural. It is the reason I pry. I understand that you were once human." She turns back toward the large door, reaching up to her eye to widen her eyelids as she began typing a code into the wall panel. A beam shot out from the panel, going directly into her iris. It scanned her for a moment, then a small light on the panel turned green. A voice emitted from the wall above the door.

"Welcome Dr. Van Leeuwen."

The lining around the door turned green as well while they slowly reseeded into the frame around them. Amalia continued on, followed by Abel and the two agents. The energy on the other side was a tranquil bustling. Agents and scientists alike went about their jobs with a lighter air than most facilities in the foundation.

"This other SCP. Who,…or what is it?" Abel asked, glancing around the room in disgust.

"It's better you see for yourself, I'm afraid." She replied stopping at a glass door that looked like the entrance to a large garden. Two agents stood outside the door, although they did not seem very diligent in their duties. One of them stepped forward. "Dr. Van Leeuwen. We weren't expecting you to arrive so soon."

"Is there a problem, agent?" She responded.

"N-no ma'am. It's just,…well SCP-073 is not here at the moment. I believe his last known location was the cafeteria."

"You mean you do not keep him contained?"

"I know its standard protocol to keep all SCP's within their confinement areas, if they can be confined at all, but an exception was made for 073 on account of his well behaved nature. It may seem strange, but he's actually a pleasure to be around. Even helps out with work around the facility. Guy's got a talent for advanced tech, and botany if you can believe it."

"That would explain the botanical wonderland that is his containment area." She replied going through the notes on her holo-pad. "I've read all of his files. They said nothing about being able to roam freely."

The agent leaned in closer with his hand close to his mouth. "Higher-ups aren't really privy to it, but the staff love's having him around. So let's keep it our little secret, hm?"

Amalia was unsure what to think of this new information. She was immediately flooded by all the risks for allowing something like this, but as she looked around, she noticed that things were moving as they should. Nothing was on fire or exploding, and no one had even a hint of anxiety on their faces. It was quite the opposing situation to Abel getting loose. The agent stepped to the side. "If you want, you're welcome to wait inside for'm. He loves visitors. I imagine he'll be back shortly. He can't leave his plants unattended for too long."

"Is that so?" She responded, slowly stepping into the seemingly vast containment cell. It was full of all manner of flora, accompanied with a very complex irrigation system that seemed to work autonomously. It had small rivers running in different directions, separating certain plant life from others. Stone walkways guided them into the center of it all, where there was a stone table with benches around it. The air was fresh, sweeping a different scent under her nose with each passing breath. She turned to the two agents in her company who were just about to follow her inside. "Sorry gentlemen. I'll be going this alone. Things might get a bit messy. You understand."

"But ma'am,…" an agent replied. He was nudged by the other agent who then shook his head, telling him to let it go. The agent took a breath, and stepped away from the door. "As you wish, doctor." The glass doors closed, and she turned to walk further in, with Abel just ahead of her. He hated all of the thriving foliage around him. Some even looked alive enough to actually lash out and attack him, or so he imagined. He found himself stopped dead in his tracks before long. Amalia continued inward a bit before noticing Abel had fallen behind. She turned and lowered her glasses. "Are you not coming? Don't tell me you're afraid of a few plants?"

"I'm afraid of nothing…" He folds his arms, seemingly insulted. "Lets just say I don't want to be provoked into killing one of these things."

"I'm sorry…I fail to see the difference."

"If I use force of any kind on anyTHING,…this necklace of yours will explode and kill me, am I correct?"

She turned with a satisfied shrug in her shoulder. "I'm glad to see you remember how it works. Suit yourself I suppose. I won't be long."

She continues down the path that seemed to stretch on for miles. Her heels meeting every stone with a brisk clicking. Her stride always commanded the attention before she arrives and after she leaves. It was becoming an annoying familiarity for him. The smug air about her that says "she knows she'll get whatever she wants". He had to wonder if she planned for him to hang back all along.

After a few minutes of walking, Amalia found herself at the centerpiece of 073's labyrinth. The stone table sat under a large irrigation lamp. Still shaded by the tall and leafy plant life surrounding it, resembled a nice picnic area on a breezy day. On it sat a silver tray with all makings for a tea party, assembled to what seemed like more obsession than perfection. She took a seat on one of the benches, and had a look at her surroundings. Things seemed all too serene as she took in the scenery. That's when she heard a voice softly slip through the bushes. "Are you enjoying my garden?"

She turned to see a man in similar stature to Abel. It was Cain, making his way through the brush. His skin was lighter than his brother's but not without the same type of markings. Only his were blue in contrast to Abel's red ones. He had short and wavy hair, stopping at his jawline. It was of a sandy mustard color, falling in front of his blue eyes as he leaned down to pass under a large hanging leaf. His arms and legs appeared to be mechanical in design. She had already read about their purpose in his files. They apparently help to mitigate the corrosive nature of his actual limbs. Despite this fact, it appeared he yet retained one hell of a green thumb.

"Yes it is quite,…remarkable indeed."

He chuckled a bit before sitting down on the bench opposite of her's. "You looked so peaceful sitting there. I almost didn't want to disturb you."

"I appreciate the consideration, but I am here on business you know."

"Yes I am privy. I was informed by the guards outside right before I slipped back into my quarters."

"Slipped back in?" She asked, slightly puzzled.

He smirked at her confusion while pouring them both some tea. "There is,…a back door to my containment cell. To my knowledge, O5 knows nothing about it. And the staff here apparently intend to keep it that way. It's how I slip back in unnoticed.

"I see,…" She responded, glancing around the room for anymore infractions she might not have noticed.

He placed a cup down in front of her on the table. He stirred his with a small spoon in silence, waiting for Amalia to give him something other than cold formalities. Her scan soon came to an end, and finally she focused her attention to the conversation. She took a short breath, then proceeded. "Do you,…know who I am?"

He paused. This was an odd question coming from an SCP operative. They normally only want to talk about you, the SCP. He took a sip of his tea while looking at her, then down into the cup with a bit of amusement. "I've heard whispers,…of an agent that apparently walked right up to my murder frenzied brother and yelled SIT BOY,…all to remain intact afterwards."

"I see the staff also likes to divulge classified information to you as well."

"Don't blame them, doctor." He said placing his elbows on the table. "I'm constantly probing them for info. I like to collect data you see."

Amalia takes a sip of the tea, pausing in surprise at the taste. It was gentle, vibrant, and sweet, unlike most teas she's had over her lifetime. She sat the cup down and began to gather her words. "I wouldn't put it quite so bluntly, but yes. I'm here today to,…"

He cut her off before she could finish. "Look I think I got an idea of what you're here to ask of me. And I can't help you."

This caught Amalia off guard. She knew there might be some push back, but so abruptly was a surprise. "May I ask why?"

"You want me to team up with Abel. Not sure for what,…but whatever it is, its not a good idea. You see our pasts are,…complicated."

"I know all about the bloody nature of your past. I was not aware it still had such a hold till this day. What are your feelings toward your brother?"

He sat his cup down and buried his face into his clinched hands while looking away. "I bare no ill will toward my brother. Not anymore, but,…he will most certainly harbor it for me. It's understandable really. What I did was unforgivable."

She pondered for a moment, taking in all the factors. She wanted to be delicate in this instance. Abel simply needed a rabbit to chase, but Cain would require something more in the way of convincing. "Would you reconsider if he were willing to play nice?"

He smirked. "I highly doubt th-."

He was cut off by the sound of someone approaching. A voice called out. "Doctor woman,…How long is this going to take? Are they coming with us or not?"

Cain's face immediately filled with dread. "You brought him here? You shouldn't have done that!"

Before she could respond, they both saw Abel approaching the table. His eyes widened at the sight of his brother sitting with the doctor. At first he could not even form words. His teeth clinched tightly together. Veins in his neck began to bulge. "YOU!"

Amalia immediately stood up to try and talk to him. "Abel you have to calm down!"

It was too late. Rage had already began to take hold. The red aura engulfed his pupils, leaving fiery pits in their place. Soon it covered his entire body. His breathing was becoming erratic, almost like it was feeding the dark energy. He slowly held out his arm, never taking his eyes off of Cain. "I've been waiting a long time for this."

Suddenly tiny black grains began to appear, circling around his arm. They began to flow down to his fingertips into the form of his large blade. Then a loud beeping sound began emitting from his collar, followed by a robotic voice. {WARNING: UNAUTHORIZED USE OF ABILITIES…WARNING}

"Abel you have to calm yourself NOW!"

He was no longer in control. The rage had fully taken him by storm. The beeping grew more intense. Cain immediately jumped in front of Amalia and threw his arms up. A bright light then began shooting out of the collar as Abel drew back his blade. Before he could lunge at Cain the collar exploded, sending blood and sinew in every direction. It covered everything near them, the plants, stone tiles, even Cain himself. Amalia had fallen from the explosion, but she was unharmed. She took a moment to look around. Everything was covered in blood, with body parts strewn into the plants. She began to stand up, removing pieces of Abel from her clothing as she did so. That's when she heard laughter. It was Cain, covered in his brother's remains. He stood up straight while removing a piece of intestine from his hair. He began chuckling a bit more as he threw it to the ground.

"Is something funny, 073?"

He took his time to answer. The look on his face seemed almost reminiscent. "You see doctor, this is all too familiar for me. Standing here,…covered in my brother's blood like this. Reminds me of the day I betrayed him."

Amalia grabbed her clipboard off of the ground, using her lab coat to wipe the blood away. "Does that day haunt you?"

He turned to look at her. "Haunt isn't the word. That day has lived with me for millennia now it seems. I let darkness into my heart,…and it drove me to take my brother's life. My own brother,…and for what?"

He clinched his fist in anger while falling to his knees in the pool of blood. He had dealt with the torment of taking his brother's life all this time. Knowing that he was the reason that Abel's spirit had become so vengeful was weighing heavily on him it seemed. Amalia stepped in front of Cain while fixing her glasses. She took a deep breath and looked him in the eye. "I know that the dark things we do in the past never really leave us. I understand how you must feel about what's become of Abel. But if I had to blame anyone,…Its the god that chose to play favorites."

Cain's eyes widened at the remark. He wiped the blood away from his face as he looked up at her. "You,…don't think me a monster for what I did?"

"You were played against your brother in a game where no matter who won, you would both still lose. What kind of god plays his children against each other for his favor? Were both contributions not in his name? What good does it do to reject one or the other?

Cain thought about her words. It's the first time anyone had ever said such a thing to him, especially about god. Strangely enough, it seemed to have lifted a bit of the weight from his shoulders.

"I hear you doctor. Your words are kind, but I don't think my brother will see things the way you do."

"You let me worry about Abel. He'll come around to the idea. I just need you ready for action. Put all this guilt behind you for now. You two aren't serving selfish gods anymore. We're going to do something that will help others instead. In fact, I've already got our first mission lined up. So get yourself together."

Without giving him a chance to respond, she began walking toward the exit of the containment cell. Cain watched her walk away slightly confused. He hadn't agreed to anything, yet it felt like he would soon have work to do. "Doctor, where are you going?"

"To make another collar for your brother before he wakes up." She stopped and turned back to look at him. "Oh and Cain,…have you ever been to an IKEA?"

He looked up curiously. "You're referring to the SCP correct? Im sure you know that I'm not allowed to go much of anywhere. All I have is data on it. I've never been, I'm afraid."

She smiled as she continued walking. "Oh don't worry love. You're going to absolutely love it I'm sure."

Chapter End -

Chapter Text

The aisles of the IKEA store were empty and silent. Row upon row of appliances and furniture sat neatly arranged, but for whom? No one had been in or out for years. Despite this, everything seemed properly maintained. Most of the store was dimly lit, with only a few aisles fully illuminated. The footsteps of four teens echoed through the empty space as they moved cautiously, not wanting to disturb the eerie stillness. The air was stale, carrying the kind of emptiness found in places untouched by living things—a dulling, suffocating silence.

A young girl with blonde hair tucked into a skull cap and hoodie crept forward, wielding a flashlight. She was followed by three other teens around the same age. One of them whispered to her urgently, “Amber… Amber!”

“What?” she snapped, turning sharply to look at the anxious boy behind her.

“What exactly are we looking for? And how long do you think it’ll take to find it?” The boy was a stack of cards ready to crumble, his flashlight beam jittering as he scanned the surroundings.

Amber huffed at the question, peeking around the corner. “Look, if you’re scared, then go back and sit with the adults. They’ve all given up anyway. I’m gonna find a way out of here. I’m done listening to that prick, Ash.”

“He’s only trying to keep us safe, you know.”

She scoffed. “More like keep us trapped here. If we keep taking orders from him, we’ll never get out. Besides, he used to work for those SCP folks, didn’t he? For all we know, he’s been ordered to make sure we never leave.”

Another teen stepped ahead to catch up with Amber. “She’s right. All the adults are too scared to actually try anymore. If we don’t do something soon, we’ll all die in here.”

“But—” the boy began, but he was cut off by the teen at the back.

“Guys?” she called, her flashlight beam fixed on the aisle behind them.

Amber turned around, frustrated. “What is it now?”

The boy shone his light down the aisle behind them. Nothing seemed out of place, yet a sense of dread crept over them all. The other girl approached cautiously, shining her flashlight in the same direction. “We just came from the electronics section, right?”

Amber paused, sweeping her light around the area in disbelief. She pulled a crumpled piece of paper from her pocket—a makeshift map. Examining it with urgency, she glanced up occasionally, her brow furrowing. “This can’t be right.”

“What do you mean? You said you’d been out this far before.”

“I have!” she snapped, throwing her hands out in frustration. “I just… I just need a minute.”

With each glance at the map and their surroundings, her frustration grew. It seemed the store had changed. The section they had left moments ago was now filled with lighting fixtures. The other girl hesitated before speaking again. “We aren’t… lost, are we?”

The boy panicked, throwing his hands over his head. “I knew we shouldn’t have come out here! We don’t even know how to get back.”

“Would you calm down? We’ve still got time to get back, but this’ll be for nothing if we don’t find something that can get us out.”

Suddenly, there was a loud chum.

They froze, watching as a distant light flickered off. Then another. The boy turned to Amber, his face pale with dread. “This is bad… They’re closing the store! We shouldn’t be here!”

The lights continued to shut off one by one, darkness creeping closer with each extinguished aisle. The echo of each chum grew more rapid, and they all glanced upward as the lights directly above them went out, plunging them into pitch blackness.

Silence enveloped them, each teen trembling as they clutched their flashlights. The anxious boy crouched, his hands over his head. “We’re gonna die here. It’s only a matter of time until they find us.”

Amber kneeled in front of him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, we can figure this out. We just gotta go back the way we came. They can change the aisles all they want, but I know which direction to go. If we move now, we should be fine.”

“Then we need to move… now,” said one of the other teens.

Amber stood up, adjusting her satchel. “Right…” She extended her hand to the frightened boy. “C’mon. We’ve gotta get moving.”

He took her hand and stood, composing himself as best he could. Though still frightened, Amber’s words seemed to have steadied him. They slowly made their way to the end of the aisle, when they heard a noise from a few rows over—sluggish, heavy footsteps. The boy at the front immediately turned off his flashlight and crouched low to the floor. “It’s one of them!” he whispered urgently.

They all switched off their lights and huddled together. The boy was about to scream when another footstep sounded. Amber clamped her hand over his mouth, her own fear rising. A creature resembling a human in an IKEA uniform shuffled slowly past the end of the aisle. It had no face, and its arms were unnaturally long, with large hands that almost dragged along the floor. The uniform seemed fused to its skin. It didn’t appear to notice them, muttering in a twisted, unnatural voice, “The store is now closed. Please exit the building.”

The boy’s breathing quickened beneath Amber’s tightening grip. One of the teens suddenly lost their nerve, standing up with panic in their eyes. “Screw this, I’m out of here,” he blurted, turning to run in the opposite direction—only to realize someone was behind them.

His flashlight clattered to the ground, illuminating a towering figure—a featureless face loomed over him. The creature tilted its head slightly. Then came the loud, distorted voice, “THE STORE IS NOW CLOSED! PLEASE EXIT THE BUILDING!”

It grabbed the boy with its large hands, lifting him off the ground as the others watched in horror. An unseen slit opened across the creature’s face, revealing bristle-like teeth. The boy struggled, reaching out desperately. “I can’t get loose… It won’t let go! Help—”

His plea was cut short as the monster opened its mouth wider, biting his head off. Blood poured over the remaining teens as the boy’s body went limp. The other boy screamed, scrambling to his feet and slipping in the blood as he ran. Amber stood frozen, covered in blood, her mind unable to process what she had just seen.

Another scream echoed. The boy who had run fell to the ground in an attempt to stop. At the end of the aisle, another faceless creature peered around the corner. “The store is now closed. Please exit the building.”

The boy tried to crawl away, but the creature’s hand reached out, grabbing his foot. “Billy, NO!” the other girl shouted, lunging to help.

But it was too late. The monster dragged him around the corner. His cries for help echoed down the aisle, abruptly silenced by a sickening crunch and splatter. His severed body parts were thrown carelessly to the floor.

Amber and the remaining girl sat back-to-back, trembling as two more monsters closed in. One creature’s arm morphed into a spear, the other’s into an axe.

“Billy… Max… they’re both…” the girl whimpered, her voice breaking.

The creatures drew nearer. Amber was paralyzed, but something snapped her back to reality. She grabbed the girl’s arm and yanked her to her feet just as the first creature struck, missing them by inches.

“We have to go, Liz!” she shouted, pulling her friend away.

They stumbled through the aisles, desperately trying to find the shelter. All around them, it was just more furniture, more appliances… and more monsters lurking at every turn.

“This is bullshit! It’s like they just appear out of nowhere!” Amber cried as they ran.

Suddenly, something yanked them to a halt. Amber’s hand slipped from Liz’s grasp as she fell to the floor. “Liz, come on! We can’t—”

Her voice died as she looked up to see Liz standing motionless, a flesh-colored spike jutting from her chest. Blood gushed from her mouth as she was hoisted into the air, tears streaming down her cheeks as the life drained from her eyes.

“Liz!” Amber reached out, but the monster flung her friend’s body aside and turned its attention to her. She was surrounded. There was nowhere left to run. She closed her eyes and screamed as one of the creatures reached for her.

“You should keep your hands to yourself!”

A voice rang out, followed by the sound of metal slicing through flesh. Amber opened her eyes to see a figure with a tattered red sash and long brown hair standing in front of her, wielding a large weapon. He had cut down the monster before it could reach her.

A woman’s voice echoed from the distance. “Eradicate them all!”

A devilish grin spread across the man’s face as his body glowed with a red aura that pulsed down to his weapon. “With pleasure,” he replied, lunging at the incoming creatures.
…
She watched in confusion and shock. She should have been dead by now—how had they found her? Amidst the chaos, she spotted the woman giving orders, accompanied by a man with mechanical arms. He walked toward her, calm and composed, while the other man continued to wreak havoc. Kneeling in front of her, he extended a hand.

“Are you alright, miss? You’re not hurt, are you?”

She couldn’t respond. Tears welled in her eyes, and her face was smeared with her friend’s blood. She stared at him, speechless. The woman spoke again, her voice authoritative. “Cain, make sure no harm comes to her while we clean up this mess. Abel should be able to handle this on his own.”

And handle it, he did. The monsters charged at him one by one, their limbs twisted into makeshift weapons. As one approached from behind, swinging axe-like blades, it managed to land a cut on his back. The wound only seemed to enrage him. He turned slowly to face the creature, his eyes now glowing like pits of burning red. With a vicious swing of his sword, he cleaved the monster in two.

More of the creatures closed in, some even climbing the shelves to get a better angle. It didn’t matter. He cut through them with powerful slashes, reducing each one to lifeless remains. In moments, he stood alone in a field of their corpses.

Amber could hardly believe her eyes. She had thought the IKEA monsters terrifying—until the real monster showed up and annihilated them all. Abel made the creatures seem as fragile as mannequins. As the immediate danger passed, the reality of her friends’ deaths came crashing back into her mind. Every gruesome detail flooded her memory, and she broke down into uncontrollable sobs and screams.

Amalia placed a hand on Amber’s shoulder, crouching down to meet her eyes. She gave Amber a moment to catch her breath. “I know this is overwhelming, but I need you to focus, okay? We’re not out of the woods yet.”

Amber tried to steady her breathing, but the weight of grief made it hard to speak. “I—I watched them all die… right in front of me,” she said, clutching her satchel so tightly her knuckles turned white.

Cain stepped closer, urgency in his voice. “We should hurry. I doubt that was the last of them.”

“Let them come,” Abel cut in, his eyes burning with lingering fury from the fight. “I’m just getting warmed up!”

Amalia shot him a sharp, irritated look before turning her attention back to Amber. The girl was fragile, on the edge of breaking. Amalia leaned closer, speaking gently but firmly. “You need to calm down, sweetheart. I have questions, and we don’t have much time.”

Amber took a shaky breath, gradually slowing her breathing until her trembling lips stilled. Her grip on the satchel relaxed, and soon she was able to speak without choking on her words. “O-okay. What do you need to know?”

“First, are there others here with you? And if so… where can we find them?”

Amber hesitated, locking eyes with Amalia. She could sense that Amalia was from the Foundation, but oddly, distrust never crossed her mind. Realizing she had paused too long, Amber shook herself back to the moment. “There’s a shelter—a place those monsters never go. That’s where the others are hiding.”

“I see,” Amalia said. “Can you show us where this shelter is?”

Amber shook her head. “I drew a map to help us find our way back. But it’s not reliable. The store—it changes.”

She handed Amalia the map. Amalia and Cain studied it while Amber slowly got to her feet, still shaken by the trauma. Amalia frowned, confusion clouding her expression. “This map—it’s nonsense.”

“That’s what I mean,” Amber explained. “They change the layout to keep us lost. No one’s ever escaped. No one.”

“What kind of shelter is it?” Cain asked, eyes still on the paper.

“It’s an old janitor’s closet. They never go there. It’s been our refuge since Ash found us.”

Amalia’s curiosity piqued. She turned to Amber, rubbing her chin thoughtfully. “This Ash—who is he?”

Amber looked surprised. “You don’t know him? Isn’t he one of yours? A Foundation member?”

Amalia quickly scanned her clipboard, flipping through files until she found what she was looking for. Her eyes landed on a record of a Class-D operative sent into the IKEA months ago. “Asher Cruz,” she muttered, enlarging his photo. “Ex-mercenary. Sentenced to death for grand terrorism, but recruited by the Foundation just before his execution.”

Cain’s expression darkened. “The Foundation uses condemned criminals as expendable resources—test subjects and labor.”

Amalia turned back to Amber. “So, Ash has been keeping you all safe?”

Amber shrugged. “If you can call it that. But I don’t know how to get back now. And I’m not sure I even want to, after what happened to my friends. They’ll blame me… for leading them out here.”

Amalia’s gaze softened as she placed a comforting hand on Amber’s shoulder. “You acted on what you thought was best. Your friends believed in you; that’s why they followed.”

Her words seemed to bring Amber some small comfort though she still seemed shaken up. Amalia took the map from Cain and handed it back to her. “Can you use this still? It’s imperative that we find the others.”

“I can try.” Amber replied—looking around for a place to start. “It’s this way.”

She slowly began walking as the others followed behind her. Abel was reluctant to leave and possibly miss out on a round two with the IKEA monsters, but none had showed up yet. After an hour of walking they found themselves at what seemed like the back of the store. It looked like a fortress of shelves and furniture had been gathered in front of a door. Amber stopped for some reason, but Cain and Abel continued forward. She then yelled out to them in a whisper. “Wait!”

It was too late. Cain’s foot tripped a wire causing the shelf to their right to come falling down in their direction. He quickly braced himself as the shelf fell—spilling appliances all around him. Another shelf was rigged with a wire that was tied to a large couch. It snapped causing the couch to come flying at Abel. He quickly summoned his blade and cut the couch in two before it could make contact with them. Suddenly beams of light began shining down on all of them. There was a silhouette of a man atop one of the shelves—holding what looked like a makeshift bow with a flashlight attached.

“Not another step!” The man yelled out.

Amber steps forward waving her arms. “Wait!!!” She yelled. “There with me, Ash!”

The man lowers his weapon—squinting his eyes at the group until he saw the girl. Once the light was no longer facing them, they could make out the figure. It was man with almond colored skin—covered in what looked like battle scars. He had dark and messy hair that stopped at his neck, with bangs that fell just below the eyes. His brow began furrow once he notice who she was.

“Amber, is that you?” He asked. “I’m surprised you made it back alive—sneaking off like that. Where are the other kids? It was four of you missing.”

Her head immediately dropped—her eyes now beaming at the floor. Her fists tightened as she braced herself. She knew he would be furious once he heard her answer. “They—they didn’t make it. We were attacked by those…things. I wouldn’t have made it back if these people didn’t show up.”

His eyes widened with rage. “Are you fucking kidding me, Amber?! I warned you about this, and now people are dead! What are you going to tell their parents? Did you even think about that?”

“I…” She shuddered. “I thought that…”

The man saw the terror in her eyes as she struggled to explain herself. He realized in that moment that whatever happened out there—whatever she saw, must have been truly horrifying. He took a deep breath to calm himself. He was suddenly overcome with pity for the girl. Despite her constant disobedience and rebellious attitude, she was still a child—a child who just been through a living nightmare. Amalia stepped forward to speak. “And you must be Mr. Cruz, I presume.”

“Yeah that’s me,” he responded while taking out a cigarette and lighting it. “And you are?”

“My name is Amalia Van Leewen. I’m with the foundation.”

“Is that so?” He pondered. “You three must be on the foundations shit list if they sent you in here. Sorry to say…but there’s no getting out of here now.”
He then looked out at Cain and Abel who were surveying the immediate area. He noticed the collars around their necks—the same ones placed around him and the other Class-D operatives sent into the SCP months ago, but something was different about them. They did not bare the look of death row prisoners, nor that of anyone from this time period for that matter. “And those two,” He said pointing in their direction. “Who are they supposed to be?”

“They’re with me. For now let’s consider them fellow operatives.” She answered—slightly annoyed at all the questions. “I’m sure you know the risks of us standing right outside your hold. Could we maybe continue this inside?”

He took a moment to think it over. He didn’t like the circumstances, nor was he enthused about more mouths to feed, but this had the makings of new opportunities and possibilities. That alone was too much to ignore given their current lack of options.

“Fine,” He said—releasing smoke from his nostrils. “But I’m only doing this because you saved our Amber here. I should let you know,…no one here, including myself trusts or wants anything to do with the foundation.”

Amalia smirked slightly, knowing this was the most likely disposition to have in his predicament. “I completely understand darling, but I’m sure we’ll all get along just fine.”

Chapter end—

Chapter Text

The air inside the sanctuary was stifling. Despite the sheer size of SCP-3008, the survivors’ camp felt claustrophobic, a cluster of makeshift walls and cobbled-together shelters crammed into a single corner of the endless store. Asher Cruz led the newcomers through a narrow gap in the barricade, his expression a careful mask of neutrality, though his sharp eyes never left them for long.

“Welcome to paradise,” Asher muttered bitterly, waving a hand at the grim scene before them.

The survivors glanced up from their huddled positions. Most of them were seated on scraps of furniture or pallets, their faces pale and hollow, their clothes stained and tattered. A few of the younger ones flinched at the sight of Abel, their gazes darting nervously between him and the barricade, as though expecting him to turn on them at any moment.

Amalia adjusted her glasses and surveyed the camp with a clinical detachment, but Cain’s face fell into a mask of quiet sympathy. Abel, by contrast, stood at the back of the group, his arms crossed, radiating indifference.

“This is what’s left of us,” Asher said, his voice hard. “We started with over fifty people. We’re down to twenty-three… Scratch that—twenty.” He said this with a bitter glance toward Amber.

Amber, undeterred, rushed toward a group near the far wall. Her friends—other teens—embraced her tightly, tears streaming down their faces. The momentary relief on their faces only made the rest of the camp’s despair more palpable.

A gasp cut through the murmurs of the survivors. A middle-aged couple hurried forward, their faces etched with equal parts hope and desperation.

“Amber?” the woman called, her voice trembling. “Amber, where are the others? Where’s Max? Where’s my son?”

Amber froze mid-embrace, her body stiffening as the weight of their questions hit her like a blow. Slowly, she turned to face the couple, her friends retreating as guilt overtook her features.

“I… I led—”

“She left on her own to find them.” Asher’s voice cut through hers, sharp and resolute. He stepped forward, his expression grim as he shot Amber a quick, frustrated glance before turning to the parents. “I’m sorry, but no luck. She only made it back alive because of these three.” He nodded toward Amalia, Cain, and Abel.

The woman’s face crumpled, her husband pulling her close as she let out a muffled sob. “Max… no…” she whispered.

Amber looked down at her feet, her hands trembling. One of her friends put a comforting arm around her, but it didn’t stop the tears welling in her eyes.

Amalia’s voice broke the moment. “We’ll find out what happened to your son—and anyone else still out there.” Her tone was firm, resolute. “But we need to take this one step at a time.”

The parents didn’t respond, their grief too raw, but Asher shot Amalia a sharp look, as if to silently tell her to back off. Then, his gaze softened ever so slightly as he turned back to the couple. “I promise, we’ll do what we can. For now, take some time. You’ll need your strength.”

They nodded weakly, letting themselves be guided back to the camp by another survivor.

Amber stayed rooted to the spot, her head bowed. Asher stepped closer to her, his tone low enough that only she could hear. “Don’t do that again. They don’t need the truth—they need hope. You get me?”

Amber nodded shakily, her voice barely audible. “I’m sorry… I just thought—”

“Doesn’t matter what you thought,” Asher interrupted, his voice still firm but lacking the bite from earlier. “You made it back alive. That’s all that counts. Now don’t waste it.”

Amber swallowed hard, nodded again, and walked back to her friends, her shoulders hunched as if under the weight of the entire camp’s expectations.

Cain, who had been watching silently from the sidelines, finally spoke up, his voice quiet but pointed. “That was kind of you.”

Asher scoffed, not looking at him. “Kindness doesn’t get you far in here. Survival does.”

Amalia adjusted her glasses, drawing attention back to the group. “Most of us haven’t eaten properly in weeks,” Asher continued, as though shaking off the moment. He gestured toward a makeshift cooking station, where an older woman stirred a thin, watery stew over a flickering electric hot plate. “The supply runs are dangerous, and we lose more people every time we try. Medicine’s even worse—Mira does what she can, but we’re running out of bandages, let alone antibiotics.”

Mira, seated on a faded armchair, scoffed as she wrapped a young man’s bandaged leg with shaking hands. “Don’t sugarcoat it, Cruz. We’re not running out—we’re out. Whatever that stew is, it’s the last of what we have.”

The tension in the camp was palpable, an unspoken weight pressing down on everyone. A wiry man near the barricade spoke up, his voice sharp with frustration. “We’re not gonna last another week at this rate. We have to do something!”

“And what do you suggest, Garret?” Mira shot back. “Charge out there and get yourself killed? That worked great for the others.”

Amalia held up a hand to quiet them, stepping into the center of the camp. Her tone was calm but commanding. “Let me be clear: I’m not here to take over your camp or make promises I can’t keep. But I can help you. We can help you.” She gestured toward Cain and Abel.

The survivors murmured, their voices rising in a mixture of hope and skepticism. Garret glared at Abel. “What about him? Looks more like one of those freaks out there than anyone I’d trust.”

Cain stepped forward, his smile disarming. “I can assure you, we’re very much on your side.” His tone was light, but the sincerity in his voice cut through the tension.

Asher folded his arms. “You say that now, but I’ve got twenty mouths to feed, and no guarantee you’re not going to make things worse.”

Amalia met his gaze, her voice steady. “Then let me assess the situation and see what we’re dealing with. The Foundation didn’t send us in here blind. We have resources and information that can make a difference.”

Asher’s jaw tightened, but he nodded reluctantly. “Fine. You want to see the situation? Take a good look, Doc. This is what survival looks like in hell.”

Amalia found Asher seated near the barricade, his spear propped against the wall beside him. The rest of the camp had quieted down, their murmurs replaced by the ambient hum of the fluorescent lights. She stepped closer, her boots scuffing against the worn laminate flooring.

“You always look this broody, or is it just me?” she asked, settling down on a nearby crate.

Asher glanced at her, his expression unreadable. “Not in the mood for small talk, Doc.”

“Good,” Amalia replied, folding her hands in her lap. “Because I’m not here for that.”

Silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken words. Amalia broke it first.

“You don’t trust us.” It wasn’t a question.

“Should I?” Asher shot back, his voice low. “You show up out of nowhere, dragging that thing”—he nodded in Abel’s direction—“and expect me to roll out the red carpet?”

Amalia let the jab slide, leaning forward slightly. “I understand your hesitation. You’ve survived here longer than anyone else I’ve seen. But I also know you’re running out of time. Your supplies are gone, your people are desperate, and every time you go out there, you lose more.”

Asher’s jaw tightened. “We’ve managed so far. We’ll keep managing.”

“Until when?” Amalia’s tone was sharp now, cutting through his defensive wall. “Another week? Two? You’re on borrowed time, Cruz, and you know it. That’s why you let us in.”

He didn’t answer immediately, his gaze fixed on the dim horizon of endless shelves. “You think I don’t know how bad it is?” he muttered. “I watch these people die one by one, Doc. I bury them. And every day, I wonder if I should’ve just left them behind and tried to find the exit on my own.”

Amalia’s expression softened, but her voice remained firm. “But you didn’t. You stayed. That means you care, even if you pretend not to.”

Asher gave a bitter laugh. “Caring doesn’t mean squat in this place.”

“No,” Amalia admitted, “but a plan does.”

At that, Asher turned to her, skepticism etched into his face. “You’ve got a plan? Let’s hear it.”

“We don’t know enough yet,” she admitted, “but I have a theory. This isn’t just a store, Asher—it’s an SCP. An anomaly pretending to be a place. And anomalies always have rules. If we find the right rule, we find a way out. Or at least a way to fight back.”

Asher shook his head, a grim smile tugging at his lips. “That’s a nice story, but it doesn’t help me feed these people or keep them alive long enough to find your ‘rule.’”

“That’s where you come in,” Amalia said. “You know this place better than anyone. You’ve mapped it, haven’t you?”

He hesitated, then nodded. “What little I could. The layout changes, but there are patterns—sometimes.”

“Good.” Amalia leaned back, her tone lighter now. “Then we work together. You help me figure out the rules, and I’ll help you keep these people alive.”

Asher studied her for a long moment, his dark eyes searching hers. “And what about them?” He jerked his chin toward Cain and Abel, seated near the camp’s edge.

“They’re part of the solution,” Amalia said simply. “Even Abel, whether he likes it or not.”

Asher snorted. “We’ll see about that.”

Amalia stood, brushing off her pants. “We don’t have to like each other, Cruz. We just have to survive.”

She turned to leave, but his voice stopped her. “Doc.”

She glanced back.

“If you get any of my people killed… I’ll make sure you don’t leave here either.”

Amalia nodded, her face unreadable. “Noted.”

The buzz around the camp was all about the three new visitors. Can we trust them? Are they just more mouths to feed? Unease was settling in amongst the survivors. They’re all darting to Cain and Abel whenever it was inconspicuous enough.

Cain found Amber sitting alone on the edge of the camp, just outside the glow of the flickering electric lights. She was perched on an overturned crate, knees pulled up to her chest, arms wrapped tightly around them. Her face was buried in her arms, but the quiet, shuddering breaths gave away her tears.

He approached softly, the hum of the fluorescent lights overhead masking his footsteps. “Mind some company?” he asked gently, crouching down a few feet away.

Amber looked up, startled, her reddened eyes locking onto his. “What do you want?” she muttered, her voice raw.

“To talk,” Cain said simply. He leaned back on his heels, resting his arms on his knees. “You’ve had a rough day.”

She scoffed bitterly, wiping at her face with her sleeve. “Yeah, no shit.”

They sat in silence for a moment before Cain spoke again, his tone calm but curious. “Why did you do it? Why go out there on your own?”

Amber hesitated, chewing on her bottom lip. “Because… someone had to,” she said quietly. “No one else would, and I thought… I thought I could find it—a way out.”

Cain tilted his head. “How did you even know where to look? From what I’ve seen, this place doesn’t exactly have a reliable layout.”

Amber gave a small, sad smile. “It doesn’t, but it’s not completely random. The store… it’s like it has a schedule. Like the aisles get reset every day at the same time, and if you pay attention, you can figure out where things will show up. I had an idea on where the exit might be. Never actually saw it though.”

“That’s impressive,” Cain said, genuine interest flickering in his voice. “You figured that out on your own?”

Amber nodded, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. “That’s why I started making a map. It’s not perfect, but it helps me figure out when it’s safe to go out and where the supplies might show up. I wanted to tell Asher about it…but I’m not exactly his favorite person.”

Cain gave her an incredulous grin. “Why would you think that?” He asked.

“Have you seen the way he scowls?” She said, raising her brow to show conviction. “That’s him all the time, honestly, but with me it’s way worse.”

Cain leaned in closer to whisper. “The same guy that just lied to save your ass?”

“He’s just trying to keep the peace. Trust me when I say he hates me.” She said, burying her face between her knees.

Cain chuckled. “I don’t think that’s the case. I think he cares a great deal about you—about all of you. But going out there alone was reckless. I imagine kids in danger is the last thing he needs right now.”

I thought…” Her voice broke slightly, and she looked away. “I thought I could use it this find us a way out.”

Cain’s gaze softened. “Can I see it again?”

Amber hesitated, then reached into her jacket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. She handed it to him wordlessly. Cain unfolded it carefully, revealing a rough but detailed map of the store’s aisles and landmarks, with notes scribbled in the margins about times and item rotations.

“This is incredible,” Cain said, studying the map closely. “You’re smarter than you give yourself credit for.”

Amber didn’t reply, her gaze fixed on the ground.

Cain stood, folding the map neatly in his hands. “Thanks, Amber. This might be more useful than you think.”

“Why?” she asked, glancing up at him.

Cain gave her a small, reassuring smile. “Let’s just say you might’ve figured out something the rest of us missed.”

He left her with that and made his way back toward the camp’s center, where Amalia was still talking with Asher. As he approached, their conversation paused, both of them turning to look at him.

“Cain?” Amalia asked, raising an eyebrow. “What is it?”

“I think we have a clue,” Cain said, holding up the map. “Amber made this.”

He spread it out on the crate between them, pointing to the annotations. “She’s been tracking the layout shifts. Says the store resets at regular intervals, like a schedule.”

Amalia leaned in, studying the map with keen interest. “A schedule… of course. This isn’t just a random anomaly—it’s a store. That means it should have—”

“A manager,” Asher interrupted, realization dawning in his voice.

Amalia straightened, her expression sharp. “Exactly. If this place is running on some kind of operational system, then there’s someone—or something—running it. And if we find them, we might find the way out.”

Asher frowned, his arms crossed. “Or we might find something worse.”

Amalia gave him a grim look. “Either way, we don’t have much of a choice. It’s our best lead yet.”

Cain folded his arms, glancing between them. “Then let’s figure out where this ‘manager’ is hiding.”

Chapter End—

Chapter Text

The survivors’ camp had gone eerily quiet. Around a rickety table in the center of the room, a map lay spread out, its creased edges weighed down by mismatched mugs and scraps of metal. Amalia, Cain, Abel, and Asher stood over it, their faces grim as they concluded the discussion.

“That’s the plan,” Amalia said, leaning back with her arms crossed. “We have one shot at this. No second chances.”

Asher’s jaw tightened, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the edge of the table. “It’s risky. You’re asking me to put every life I’ve worked to protect on the line.”

“I know,” Amalia said, meeting his gaze without flinching. “But if we stay here, those lives are gone anyway. You know that.”

Asher said nothing, the tension in his shoulders making it clear he agreed—reluctantly.

Cain studied the map, his expression unusually serious. “We get the people to the exit while holding off the monsters. The tricky part is dealing with the Manager. That thing’s not going to let us stroll out the front door.”

Abel smirked, his arms crossed. “Then we kill it. Problem solved.”

Asher gave him a sharp look. “If it were that simple, you wouldn’t be here. That thing’s not just strong—it’s smart. It’s kept this place running for God knows how long. Taking it down will take more than swinging a sword around.”

“We shall see about that,” Abel shot back, his grin widening.

Amalia’s sharp tone cut through their bickering. “Enough. This isn’t about glory—it’s about survival. We all do our part, or none of us are getting out of here alive.”

Amber watched from a distance, her arms wrapped around herself as the reality of the situation sank in. Nearby, Asher and a few others gathered weapons and supplies, their faces grim. Asher’s movements were quick and efficient, but his expression betrayed his doubt. He didn’t like this plan—not one bit.

Amalia approached Amber, her voice softer than before. “Amber, I need to ask you something.”

Amber looked up, startled. “What is it?”

“Have you ever seen… something bigger out there? Something that might be the leader?”

Amber frowned, hesitating. “I’ve never seen it, but I’ve… heard it. Sometimes, late at night, when everything else is quiet, there’s this sound. Like… a roar, but deeper. I always stayed far away from it.”

Amalia nodded, her expression thoughtful. “If you heard it again, could you recognize it?”

Amber hesitated, shifting uncomfortably. “Maybe. Why?”

“Because,” Amalia said, her gaze steady, “if we can’t find it, we can’t get out.”

Amber swallowed hard, but after a moment, she nodded. “Okay. I’ll try.”

Asher stood before the gathered survivors, his voice carrying over their murmurs of fear. “Listen up. This is it. We’ve got one chance to get out of here, I’m not going to lie to you—I really don’t like this. But if we stay here, we die anyway.”

The crowd shifted uneasily. Some looked ready to bolt, but others—pale and exhausted—nodded in grim agreement.

“You know what’s waiting for us out there,” Asher continued. “You know what we’re up against. But we’re not doing this alone. Ms.—Dr. Amalia here, thinks she can get us out.” He gestured toward Cain, Abel, and Amalia. “They’re here to give us a shot, and the reality is…we can’t afford to waste it.”

A man in the crowd raised his hand. “What if we don’t—or can’t go? Surely we can find another time.”

“There won’t be one,” Amalia said, stepping forward. “This store doesn’t care how long you wait. It’s designed to keep you here until you’re nothing but a memory. We have to take this chance—now.”

The crowd fell silent, the weight of her words settling over them. No one felt good about the odds. It was written on everyones face, stitched into their posture. Still slowly, reluctantly, they began to prepare.

Once they were all outside of the camp, the store’s silence seemed to creep into their minds. The group moved through the endless aisles, their footsteps eerily muffled by the laminated floors. Asher, Cain, Abel, and Amalia took point, with Amber sticking close to Cain. She’d glance at him nervously, but his calm demeanor helped steady her nerves.

Suddenly, the lights overhead flickered, then shut off completely. A wave of panic rippled through the survivors.

“Stay calm!” Asher barked. “This is part of the plan!”

Amber clutched Cain’s pants leg, her voice shaking. “Are you sure about this?”

Cain smirked down at her. “Relax. We’ve got this.”

Amalia turned to Cain and Abel, her lips curling into a sharp grin. “Here they come. Time to make some noise, boys.”

The groans and growls of the store monsters echoed through the darkened aisles, growing louder by the second. The first creature appeared—a humanoid figure with elongated limbs and an unsettlingly blank face. Then another. And another.

“Everyone get close to me!” Cain shouted. He slammed his glowing fist into the floor, green lines spreading outward like veins. The floor groaned as a dome of solid laminate rose around the survivors, encasing them in a protective barrier.

Abel laughed as he launched himself at the nearest monster, his blade cutting through it with ease. “I sure hope you’ve improved since the last time!”

Asher, armed with a bow, fired arrow after arrow with practiced precision. Amalia glanced at him, impressed despite herself. “Didn’t peg you for an archer,” she muttered.

“You’ve read my files right,” Asher shot back, loosing another arrow and hitting a monster in its mouth. “Highly dangerous—all that stuff?”

She smirked, acknowledging his subtle moment of bravado as he continued onward.

The battle raged on, but then a deafening roar split the air. Everyone froze, hands clamping over their ears.

Amber’s face went pale. “That’s… that’s the sound. It’s here.”

The monsters suddenly stopped their attack, parting to make way for a massive figure. The Manager.

It wore a tattered IKEA uniform, its towering frame twice the size of any other monster. Every came to a halt. It came forward, tilting its large head. It let out a low growl, speaking words that vibrated the walls themselves. “We are now closed,” Its face split into five jagged segments like a grotesque flower, each piece lined with jagged teeth. A long, writhing tongue lashed out from the center. Around its neck hung a keycard, glistening like raw flesh. “Please exit the store IMMEDIATELY!”

It’s cry caused a reaction in the other monsters, all of them screeched along as the manager roared.

Amalia’s heart raced as she spotted the door behind it—the exit. She struggled to yell over the howling of the creatures. “It’s moving the door,” she barked. “It’s controlling it.”

She turned to Abel. “This is it! You’re free to engage!”

Abel grinned wickedly. “With pleasure.”

The Manager roared louder, the sound reverberating through the store like a thunderclap. Abel lunged at the Manager, gripping his blade tighter while winding it back. “Finally, something worth killing,” he yelled, dripping with devilish while being consumed in dark energy.

Their clash was explosive. The force of Abel’s first strike sent a shockwave through the air, rattling the shelves around them. The Manager swung one massively clawed arm at him, but Abel ducked and countered, slashing a deep gash into its side. Black ichor sprayed from the wound, sizzling as it hit the ground.

“You’re tougher than the others,” Abel taunted, his voice filled with bloodlust. “Good. But you’ll break just like the rest.”

Asher and Cain stayed close to the survivors, fending off the smaller monsters that continued to attack. Cain slammed his glowing fists into the ground, sending green pulses of energy through the floor that knocked back the nearest creatures. Asher fired arrow after arrow, his movements precise and methodical, every shot finding its mark.

“Keep them back!” Asher shouted over the chaos.

“I’m doing my best,” Cain snapped, shoving a lanky creature away from Amber.

Meanwhile, Abel’s duel with the Manager intensified. The massive creature roared in frustration, swiping at him with one arm while its other lashed out with its tongue. Abel sidestepped the attacks with ease, his laughter echoing through the aisle. He could feel himself getting stronger with every strike, his movements faster and more fluid as the adrenaline surged through him.

“You can change the layout of the room all you want, it won’t change a thing,” he growled, delivering a brutal strike to the Manager’s chest that sent it staggering backward.

But the creature wasn’t done. With a deafening roar, it slammed both arms into the ground, sending shockwaves that knocked Abel off balance. Taking advantage of the moment, it lunged forward, its claws slamming into him and sending him crashing into a stack of furniture. Shelves toppled, and the building itself began ti rain down as Abel hit the ground hard.

The Manager loomed over him, its jagged, flower-like face peeling open to reveal rows of razor-sharp teeth. Its tongue writhed, dripping black saliva as it prepared to finish him off.

Asher, mid-draw with his bow, caught sight of something that made his blood run cold. “Amber?” he shouted, his voice cutting through the noise.

Amber was gone from the group. She was sprinting straight toward the Manager, ducking under fallen shelves and debris.

“No, no, no—” Asher muttered, nocking an arrow and firing at a smaller monster to clear her path.

Amber’s heart pounded as she darted under the Manager’s massive frame. She could see the keycard dangling from its neck, glistening like raw flesh. Her hands shook as she reached for it.

The Manager noticed her too late. She grabbed the card and yanked, feeling a sickening resistance as it tore away from the creature’s neck. A spurt of thick, black blood splattered around her as the Manager howled in pain and rage, the sound so loud it made her ears ring.

Amber stumbled backward, clutching the keycard in her trembling hands. The room around her began to warp violently, shelves twisting and contorting, the air itself seeming to pulse with the Manager’s fury.

“Amber, get back here!” Asher shouted, loosing another arrow into an advancing monster.

Amalia’s voice cut through the chaos. “Abel! She has the key! Get her out of there!”

Abel groaned, shoving debris off his body. He glared at Amalia. “I don’t care about the kid. I want to finish this.”

Amalia’s eyes narrowed. “If she dies, I’ll have you locked back in your coffin before you can blink.”

Abel cursed under his breath, grabbing his blade as he got to his feet. “Fine. But this isn’t over.”

Cain reached Amber first, his legs glowing as he sprinted to her side. “You okay?” he asked, pulling her to her feet.

“I… I think so,” Amber stammered, still clutching the keycard.

“Good,” Cain said, glancing back at the advancing monsters. “You’re coming with me. Hold on tight.”

Cain improvised, grabbing a battered shopping cart from the wreckage. He slammed his glowing hand onto the wheels, sending green lines of energy coursing through the metal. “Get on,” he barked at Amber.

Amber hesitated, but Cain lifted her onto the cart. “We’re outta here.”

The Manager let out another roar, its cries driving the smaller monsters into a frenzy. They all turned their attention to Amber and Cain, surging toward them like a tidal wave.

“Abel!” Cain shouted. “I’m about to make a dash for it. Cover me!”

Abel grinned, his blade flashing as he leapt back into the fight. “Have it your way.”

Cain’s legs glowed brighter, the green energy crackling through the grooves in his cybernetics. With a burst of speed, he pushed the cart forward, zigzagging through the chaos as Amber clung to the metal frame.

Monsters lunged at them from all sides, but Cain dodged with precision, narrowly avoiding clawed hands and snapping jaws. Dashing around them, Abel moved like a whirlwind, cutting down anything that got too close to the cart. His movements blurred as he seamlessly appeared before every attack.

The Manager, enraged, leapt into their path, its massive frame blocking the way forward. Cain skidded to a halt, his breath coming in short gasps. At the same time, it seemed to be warping the room to make Cain’s dash longer—preventing him from reaching the others.

“Abel…?” Cain called out, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

Abel, locked in combat with another monster, saw the Manager in their way. He cursed, knowing he wouldn’t reach them in time. In desperation, he hurled his blade toward the Manager.

The spinning weapon sliced through the air, its purple and red aura illuminating Amber’s terrified face as it passed, spinning just inches from her. Time seemed to slow as Abel extended his hand, the same aura surrounding it.

The pull was instinctive. One moment, he was on the ground; the next, he was in the air, directly in front of the Manager, his blade back in his hand. Abel grinned, exhilarated by the new power. “Didn’t know I could do that, did you? Me either!” he taunted, slamming his blade into the creature with all his strength.

The impact shattered the ground beneath them with a deafening crash, sending up a cloud of dust and debris.

Cain used the moment to push Amber past the Manager. As they reached the group, he grabbed her from the cart and slid into a nearby wall, shielding her with his body.

With a glowing hand, Cain slammed the ground, raising another wall to block the monsters from advancing. “Amber! The door!”

Amber sprinted to the exit, slapping the keycard onto the scanner. The door opened with a mechanical hiss.

“Everyone through!” Asher shouted, ushering the survivors into the light beyond.

“Abel!” Amalia called. “Come on!”

Through the dust, Abel’s blade whizzed through the air, embedding itself in the wall beside the exit. A moment later, he appeared, gripping the hilt, a satisfied grin on his face. Abel snatches the sword from the wall, looking back at the crater he left the Manager lying in. It wasn’t dead, and he was ok with that. He might get to fight it again someday, or so he fantasized.

He and Amalia stepped through the door just as it slammed shut behind them.

The survivors stood outside the store, battered and weary, their faces marked by exhaustion and disbelief. Asher moved quickly through the crowd, his eyes scanning the faces. His lips moved as he counted under his breath. “Seventeen… eighteen… nineteen…” His heart sank. “No… We’re short one.”

He pushed urgently through the group, brushing past survivors until he spotted Amber, sitting alone on the sidewalk with her arms around her knees. Relief hit him like a wave, stronger than he’d expected. He approached her slowly, her hunched posture making it clear she still bore the weight of her guilt.

“You scared me out there, kid,” he said, his tone softer than usual.

Amber didn’t look up, her voice muffled against her arms. “I know… I keep getting into trouble. I should’ve—”

“Nope,” Asher interrupted firmly. “We’re not doin’ that this time.”

Amber lifted her head, startled, as he pulled her to her feet. He grabbed her around the knees and hoisted her into the air. “Asher—what are you—?”

“Listen up!” Asher bellowed to the crowd, grinning as he spun Amber around like a trophy. “This kid here? She’s the reason we made it out! She saved every last one of us!”

The other survivors turned, a ripple of cheers and applause spreading through the group. Amber’s face flushed, her wide eyes darting between Asher and the crowd. She’d never seen him like this—actually pleased with her. It was strange, but surprisingly… pleasant.

Amalia stood nearby, her eyes narrowing as she addressed Abel in a low, measured voice. “If you ever question my orders in the field again, I’ll make sure you only come out of that coffin when I decide you’re useful. Are we clear?”

Abel’s eyes glowed red, his anger flaring. “You forget…you’re speaking to an ancient spirit.”

“And you forget,” Amalia said, stepping closer, her tone razor-sharp, “there’s nothing in you I need to fear. And more importantly, you know that too.”

Her eyes cut through the flames dancing inside of his for just a moment. She continued on past him, leaving him simmering with frustration. His hands clenched at his sides, and the glow in his eyes flickered uncertainly.

The low rumble of engines broke through the tension as SCP Foundation troops arrived on the scene. Black-armored trucks lined up, and agents stepped out, securing the survivors and assessing the area.

Asher approached Amalia, his expression unreadable. For a moment, they stood in silence. Finally, he said, “Thanks. For keeping your word. Lookin’ back on it, threatening you might’ve been…a bit much.”

Amalia smirked faintly. “No need for thanks, Mr. Cruz. It’s what the Foundation pays me the big bucks for. It’s what I do. And it’s fine…watching you eat your skepticism was worth it.”

Her words were matter-of-fact, but Asher caught the faint note of satisfaction beneath them. He nodded, tipping an invisible hat before stepping into a truck with Amber.

Amalia watched them go before turning to the remaining troops. “Let’s clean this up,” she said. Behind her, Abel leaned against a truck, still seething in silence. Cain helped the agents prepare the building for destruction. He’d noticed the tension between Abel and Amalia. He felt responsible for Abel’s disposition, and though they work well together in the field, the rift between them was still centuries wide.

Chapter End—

Chapter Text

The Foundation’s temporary relocation camp sat in a stretch of land far from any city, surrounded by nothing but dense forest and barbed-wire fences. The floodlights hummed overhead, casting stark white beams over the rows of tents and hastily assembled buildings.

Asher moved along the perimeter, his steps slow but deliberate, his fingers twitching near the knife he kept hidden at his side. He didn’t trust the Foundation, not after what he’d seen in SCP-3008. Too many of their agents moved with rigid purpose, too many of their glances carried a weight of quiet calculation.

The survivors had been promised treatment, financial support, and new identities—an arrangement Amalia had apparently fought for. He wanted to believe that meant something, but he’d seen too much. The Foundation is only ever out to cover its own ass. He knew that.

And what about him? He wasn’t one of the rescued, not really. He was just a complication they hadn’t decided how to deal with yet.

He turned a corner between two tents and stopped.

Amber sat on the edge of a wooden supply crate, arms curled around her knees, staring out at the floodlights. She was alone, her expression unreadable in the artificial glow.
Asher hesitated. He hadn’t spoken much to her since they got out, but he’d kept track of her in a quiet, unspoken way—watching from a distance, making sure nothing messed with her. But now, seeing her like this, he realized how wrong it felt. She was just a kid, and she had no one.

Still, he wasn’t sure what to say.

“Camp’s got cots,” he said finally. “You should be sleeping.”

Amber didn’t look at him. “Should be,” she muttered. “Don’t really feel like it.”

A beat of silence. Asher leaned against the crate next to her but kept his arms crossed.
“You know where they’re sending you?” he asked.
She gave a half-shrug. “Some foster system, I guess.” Her voice was flat. “Not like I got anywhere else to go.”

He didn’t have an answer for that.

After a long pause, she turned to him, her eyes dark and sharp. “What about you? You got somewhere to go?”

The question hit harder than he expected. He exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of his neck. “Not really,” he admitted. “I’m still a criminal technically. Can’t just go Waltzin’ back into society like nothing’s happened.”

Amber frowned. “Criminal? I mean… yeah, you’re kind of an asshole, but I don’t see felon written all over you.”

Asher huffed a small, humorless laugh. “That’s ‘cause you don’t know the right people. The government? They see me as a genocidal terrorist.”

Amber blinked. “Okay, what?”

He rolled his shoulders, staring off toward the floodlights lining the camp’s perimeter. “It was a job. Me and my crew took a contract. One of those ‘high-risk, high-reward, don’t-ask-questions’ gigs.”

Amber stayed quiet, waiting.

“We were supposed to take out a bioweapon facility. Real under-the-table shit. Not supposed to exist, not supposed to leave witnesses. Some suits needed it gone, and we were stupid enough to sign up.”

A pause.

Amber’s arms tightened around her knees. “And?”

Asher let out a slow breath.

“And it went sideways. Really sideways.” He shook his head, jaw tightening. “It wasn’t just a lab. It was an entire research city—hundreds of people, most of ‘em civilians. We triggered something we weren’t supposed to, and boom. Gas leak. Contamination. Before we knew it, the whole place was a graveyard.”

Amber’s eyes widened slightly, but Asher kept talking.

“We tried to fix it. Hell, we tried to get people out. Didn’t matter. Government saw an easy cover-up and ran with it. Blamed us for the whole thing. I survived, so guess who got to be the face of the tragedy?”

Amber swallowed. “So they just—what? Made you a terrorist?”

“Slapped my mug on a most-wanted list, fabricated some ‘domestic threat’ bullshit, and threw my ass in the darkest hole they could find.” He exhaled, shaking his head. “And that’s how I became a Class-D.”

Amber was quiet for a long moment. She stared at him like she was seeing something different—something she hadn’t figured out before.

“They used you,” she said finally.

“Bingo,” he muttered.

She rubbed her arms, her expression thoughtful. “And the Foundation? They just… bought you?”

“Pretty much.” He chuckled dryly. “I guess they figured, hey, why execute the poor bastard when we can make him fight nightmares for a living?”

Another long silence. Amber’s eyes drifted down to the dirt, thinking.

“…So what happens now?” she asked quietly. “Now that you’re out?”

Asher snorted. “You’re assuming there is a now. ‘Cause if you’re askin’ what I’m gonna do with my new lease on life?” He shrugged. “Got no goddamn clue.”

Amber nodded like that confirmed something she already suspected. “Yeah,” she said. “Figured.”
He looked at her with smirk, slightly offended at her surety. After all, they’re both currently lost as it stands. She smiled back at him, and they sat quietly watching orange sky turn dark.

The next morning, Asher found himself sitting across from Amalia in one of the camp’s makeshift offices.

It was a temporary structure—wooden floors, bare metal walls, the kind of room built for efficiency, not comfort. The only illumination came from a small desk lamp, casting a golden glow between them.

“You want me to what?” Asher asked, his voice flat.

Amalia smiled, patient as ever. “Work for me.”

He scoffed. “You’re kidding.”

“I don’t joke about these things, Asher,” she said smoothly. “You already have the skills. You know how to survive. You know how to fight. And—more importantly—you know what’s out there.”

Asher exhaled sharply, leaning back in his chair. “That wasn’t by choice.”

“Neither is the situation you’re in now,” she countered. “You don’t trust the Foundation, and I don’t blame you. In fact…it’s one of your few redeeming qualities. But you wouldn’t be working for them—you’d be working for me. There’s a difference.”

He studied her carefully, ignoring the light jab. “You saying you don’t follow orders?”

“I follow orders that make sense,” she said. “And when they don’t, I do what needs to be done.”

He was quiet for a moment, tapping his fingers against his knee. “Still sounds like a death sentence. Been through that already once.”

Amalia smiled. “You spent last night patrolling the camp, did you not?”

He frowned.

“You’re not built for normal life, Asher,” she continued, voice even. “That’s not an insult—it’s just the truth. You can either walk out of here with nothing, or you can have a purpose. A real one.”

Asher let out a slow breath. He didn’t answer.

Amalia didn’t press further either. She simply leaned forward, resting her hands on the desk.

“Think about it.”

She left him with that. You could almost see the weight of his thoughts in his shoulders. It was a lot to process. He needed time. Retreating to his tent to mull it over seemed the best course of action for now.

That night, Asher didn’t sleep.

He lay awake in the dim light of his tent, staring at the ceiling, thoughts turning over themselves in slow, restless circles.

He didn’t want to be tied to the Foundation. He didn’t want to fight anymore.

But with all the time he’s spent surviving and protecting, what else was he actually good for?

And what about Amber?

If he left, she’d be gone, out of his hands. He wouldn’t know where she ended up—foster care, some state system, maybe shuffled between homes until she disappeared into the cracks of the world.

Maybe she’d survive.

Maybe she wouldn’t.

He slowly realized theses were things he was unwilling to leave to chance.

By dawn, he had his answer.

Amalia was already waiting when he walked into the office the next morning. She raised an eyebrow as he entered, arms folded.
“You look like hell,” she observed.

“Yeah, well, didn’t sleep,” he muttered. He exhaled sharply. “I’ll do it. The job I mean.”

A small, pleased smile touched her lips. “Smart choice.”

“But there’s a condition,” he said, jaw tightening. “Amber. You make sure she’s taken care of. No Foundation bullshit, no tracking her like some kind of asset. She gets a normal life.”

Amalia studied him for a moment, her pen lightly tapping on the desk.

“You care about her,” she said finally.

Asher shifted. “She’s just a kid.”

Something about his tone must have convinced her, because Amalia nodded. “Done.”

He exhaled, relieved.

The door creaked open behind him.

“What, so you’re just gonna dump me somewhere?”

Amber’s voice was sharp, suspicious. Asher turned to see her standing in the doorway, arms crossed tight over her chest.

“It’s not like that—”

“Sure it is,” she said, eyes narrowing. “You get your new badass job, I get tossed into some ‘safe place’ where you never have to think about me again.”

“Amber, that’s not—”

“If you really want to make sure she’s safe,” Amalia interrupted, her voice light but deliberate, “then what safer place than right next to you?”

Asher stiffened.

Amber blinked, turning to him expectantly.

“You serious right now?” he asked Amalia.

She smirked. “I’m always serious.”

A long, weighted silence stretched between them. Asher rubbed his face, muttering something under his breath.

Amber finally spoke. “So what—you’re adopting me now?”

The idea felt absurd. He wasn’t a parent. Hell, he wasn’t even good with people. But Amber wasn’t looking at him with disdain or anger.

She was waiting.

Asher sighed. “Guess I am.”

Amber huffed. “Well… you’re probably gonna suck at it.”

“Yeah,” he muttered. “I probably am, but neither of us has to be alone now.”

Amber smiled lightly, struggling to hide the full extent of her joy. She knew Asher wasn’t the mushy type and would more than likely reject it, but she could have hugged him for days.

The room had finally settled. Decisions had been made, and for better or worse, Asher was in.

Amalia, clearly pleased, leaned back in her chair and let out a slow breath, like she’d just finished some minor paperwork.

“Well,” she said, stretching slightly. “I’m glad that’s out of the way.”

Then she slid a vanilla folder across the table.

Asher eyed it like it contained a tax audit.

“We have our next job,” she said smoothly.

Asher pinched the bridge of his nose before even looking at it. “Jesus, woman. You don’t waste a single second, do you?”

Amalia just smirked, saying nothing.

Amber, curious, leaned in behind Asher as he reluctantly flipped open the folder.

SCP-106. (The Old Man)
Uncontained.
Casualties confirmed.
High-priority retrieval mission authorized.

Asher blinked. Then blinked again. His mouth tightened into a thin, unimpressed line.

Finally, he looked up at Amalia. “You want me… to hunt that thing?”

“Not just you,” she corrected with a small, amused smile. “Abel and Cain will be assisting.”

“Oh well, that’s a relief,” he deadpanned, shutting the folder like it was cursed. “For a second there, I thought this was gonna be dangerous.”

Amalia chuckled, clearly enjoying this.

Amber, however, wasn’t laughing. She stared between them, realization setting in.

“Wait,” she said slowly. “You don’t have to take this job, do you? We can just… leave. Together. Right?”

Asher drummed his fingers on the table, then sighed.

“Fine,” he muttered.

Amber’s eyes widened. “Wait—seriously? We can just leave? That’s an option?”

But Asher wasn’t looking at her. He was looking at Amalia.

“I’ll do it,” he said, tapping the file. “But first, I need to know something.”

Amalia raised an eyebrow, waiting.

“In an attempt to trust you a little more,” he continued, “who are you, really? What makes you qualified for this job? Why do they pay you the big bucks? And—most importantly—what exactly are you doing all of this for?”

Amalia considered him for a long moment, then exhaled through her nose, almost like a laugh.

“You really don’t hold back, do you?”

“Nope,” Asher said flatly.

Amber crossed her arms. “Yeah, he’s really annoying like that.”

Amalia smirked. “Good. I like that.”

She could tell that this wasn’t just a throwaway inquiry. This was his test. If she wanted Asher to truly be part of this team, if she wanted him to stop eyeing her like a loaded gun, then this was her moment to earn something close to his loyalty.

She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. “The Foundation needs someone like me. Someone who understands SCPs better than any scientist or psychologist.”

Asher tilted his head. “But technically, you are a psychologist, right?”

“Correct. More specifically, I study the human mind and how it responds to trauma. Through my work, I’ve learned something about SCPs—something that, without fail, has been universal among them.”

“And what might that be, doc?” Asher asked, throwing in just a little mockery.

Amalia met his gaze. “That every single SCP exists because of one universal cause—human fear.”

Silence.

Amber stiffened slightly, shifting on her feet. Even Asher, who normally had a sarcastic remark for everything, took an extra second to absorb that.

Amalia continued, voice even. “SCPs take many forms. They can be monsters, objects, things that warp reality itself. But all of them exist because someone, somewhere, was afraid of something.” She gestured toward the file. “Even SCP-106. The Old Man. He didn’t just happen. He exists because someone was afraid of him first.”

Asher exhaled, scratching the back of his neck. “That’s a hell of a theory.”

Amalia gave a small smile. “It’s not a theory.”

Amber frowned. “Wait—so you’re saying SCPs are just… what? Walking, breathing panic attacks?”

“That’s one way to put it,” Amalia admitted.

Asher gave a dry laugh. “Great. So we’re working a job where everything we hunt is just a giant flesh-monster manifestation of human anxiety. Sounds super promising.”

“Would you rather it be random?” Amalia countered. “At least this way, you know what you’re up against.”

“Oh yeah, because knowing doesn’t make it worse or anything.”

Amalia chuckled again. Then Asher squinted at her.

“You still haven’t answered my last question,” he pointed out. “Why do you do this? What’s in it for you?”

Amalia’s expression shifted, just slightly. Softer. Less clinical.

“You,” she said simply.

Asher blinked.

For half a second, he was certain she was hitting on him, and his brain lagged trying to process it.

Amalia saw his face and immediately laughed. “Not like that.”

“Oh, thank God,” Asher muttered.

Amber made a face. “Gross.”

Amalia smirked. “I get to save people—from their fears. Physically. Mentally. You, Asher, are an example of that.”

Asher exhaled, unconvinced. “Right. That’s definitely what you meant.”

They actually laughed at that one.

Then Asher’s face sobered, his expression turning unreadable. “Alright,” he said slowly. “That’s an answer. Not sure if it’s a good answer, but it’ll do for now.” He narrowed his eyes. “But you’re still a mystery to me, woman. And I don’t like it.”

Amalia’s smile was maddeningly smug. “All will be revealed in due time, dear.” She stood, brushing imaginary dust off her coat. “For now, get settled into your new living arrangements.”

Asher’s brow furrowed. “And what exactly does that mean?”

“Oh, you’re going to love them,” she said, heading for the door. “I’m sure.”

She left without another word.

Asher watched her go, already preemptively exhausted by whatever fresh hell was coming next.

“…I hate her,” he muttered under his breath.

Amber smirked. “No, you don’t.”

Asher groaned. “Don’t psychoanalyze me, kid. That’s her job.”

Amber just laughed as she followed him out.

Chapter End—

Chapter Text

[The Day After the Breach]

The halls of Site-17 felt wrong. The overhead lights flickered erratically, humming with dying energy, casting jagged shadows that seemed to lurch with every step. The air was thick—not just with the stench of rusted metal and rotting flesh, but something worse. Something old, wet, and unnatural. It clung to their skin, sank into their lungs, made the back of their throats burn like they had inhaled decay itself.

Acid sizzled in black, bubbling pools along the floors, corroding steel plates and leaving behind gaping wounds in the foundation of the building itself. The walls—formerly sterile and pristine—were now blackened with rot, the metal rusted and peeling, as if the entire facility had aged a hundred years overnight.

Cain, Abel, and Asher moved silently through the carnage.

Their boots crunched over dried flakes of human skin and warped shell casings from rifles that had done nothing to stop SCP-106.

Over the comms, Amalia's voice crackled in their ears. "Security systems are still down. No heat signatures. We have no idea how many are left."

Amber's voice followed quickly after. "Or if anyone's left."

She wasn't supposed to be on comms, but Amalia had let her stay connected under one condition—she stayed in her quarters.

Amber had agreed. But that didn't mean she wasn't worried.

"Still no sign of him?" Cain asked, his voice calm but low.

"No," Amalia said. "But that doesn't mean anything. SCP-106 doesn't just leave. He lingers."

A soft drip. Somewhere up ahead.

Asher's grip tightened on the custom-made bow slung across his back. A rifle also hung, strapped around his torso. He had been outfitted with a high-tech mesh bodysuit reinforced with SCP-engineered durability—an upgrade courtesy of the Foundation's research division, with Cain himself overseeing the project. Holsters lined his waist, knives and pistols within reach, but for now, he kept his hands loose.

Cain glanced over, noticing the way Asher adjusted the gear.

"How's it feel?" he asked, his voice casual.

Asher shrugged. "A bit much for a half-dead old man, don't you think?"

Cain smirked. "Yeah? Say that when he's pulling you through the floor."

"I'd love to see him try." Abel scoffed from behind them. He wasn't even looking at the bodies. Instead, he dragged his fingers along the rusted walls, idly watching the flakes of decay crumble away.

"Waste of time," he muttered. "The bastard's not here. He's probably already moved on to another hunting ground…I would have."

No one responded to that.

They reached the containment wing.

The door to SCP-106's chamber had been peeled open. Not broken down—peeled, like something had reached inside the metal itself and pulled it apart slowly. The thick steel was warped and curving inward, as if the room had been screaming while it was being torn open.

Inside, the remains of guards and researchers littered the space. Some had been ripped apart, their torsos twisted and folded in unnatural ways, limbs bent backwards. Others were withered husks, their flesh dry and cracked like ancient leather. Their faces were frozen in silent horror, as if their last moments had been stripped away and stretched into eternity.

Amber's voice came through the comms again. Soft. Nervous.

"…Are you guys okay?"

Asher didn't answer immediately.

His gaze caught on a body near the wall. Unlike the others, this one was still moving.

"…Shit. We got a live one."

He moved fast, crossing the floor and kneeling beside the barely breathing scientist. The man's chest rose and fell in shallow, ragged gasps, his eyes dull and unfocused. Blood trickled from his nose, his lips, his ears. His lab coat was half-melted where the Old Man had touched him, his skin underneath blackened and flaking.

Asher tapped his comm. "Amalia, I need med—"

The scientist's hand snapped up, weak fingers clutching at Asher's vest.

"D-Don't," the man gasped, blood bubbling in his throat. "Don't bother. I—" Cough. Gasp. Groan.

Cain stepped into the room beside them, frowning.

Asher's jaw clenched. He leaned closer. "SCP 106–where is he?"

The scientist's watery eyes rolled toward him.

"Who—he says," he whispered. "He….is still here."

Cain tensed. Abel stopped moving.

Asher swallowed hard. "Where?"

The scientist's fingers tightened on his vest.

A weak, trembling smile split his lips, revealing blackened, rotted teeth.

"…Right where he wants to be."

Asher's blood ran cold.

The scientist wheezed, voice breaking. "He's collecting them. Not just to kill. No—for the pleasure of it." His body trembled. "He likes the fear. He plays with them until they—"

His body jerked violently.

Amber's voice crackled in Asher's ear, tighter now.

"…Asher?"

He glanced downward. "He's torturing them."

The scientist coughed harder, spewing blood over his own lap. Asher grabbed his shoulder. "Why not you?" he asked, his voice sharper now. "Why didn't he take you?"

The man's breath hitched.

"…I wasn't afraid enough."

The room was too silent.

Abel, standing in the doorway, smirked. "So that's all it takes?"

The scientist turned his head slowly toward Abel, glassy eyes wide with something worse than pain.

"You don't get it," he whispered.

Abel tilted his head.

The scientist's lips trembled. "I'm not afraid now," he rasped. "But I was before."

Cain's stomach dropped.

Asher's hands tightened into fists.

The scientist's face contorted, like something invisible had just grabbed his spine. His body convulsed. He let out a single, choked scream—

And then he was gone.

A sickening slurp echoed through the room—like flesh being pulled into a thick, wet hole.

A dark stain spread where he had been. The smell of rotting meat filled the air.

Amber's gasped over the comms. "Oh my God."

The rust on the walls deepened. The lights flickered more violently.

Asher's mouth went dry.

Cain muttered the words they were all thinking.

"…He's here."

They all grew quiet, waiting for something happen.

Nothing.

Asher stood up and stepped away from the dead scientist.

"We should look around."

He steps into the hallway, exhaling slowly. The silence here is unnatural—no flickering lights, no hum of machinery, just an oppressive stillness that stretches down both ends of the corridor.

Then, movement.

At the exact moment Asher takes a step forward, something shifts at the far end of the hallway, stepping into view as if mirroring him. The figure is barely visible at first, its form emerging from nothing, shadows peeling back to reveal its presence like a film reel playing in reverse.

Asher stops. The figure stops.

At first, he doesn't register the movement. Then, he turns his head slightly, glancing toward the left side of the corridor.

The figure does the same.

A trick of the mind? A reflection?

No.

Asher swings his head to the right—and the figure does not follow.

It keeps its gaze locked on him. That's when he notices the decaying figure just a few feet away from him. Eyes like a dead shark and mouth just as big.

A smile blooms, slow and deliberate, stretching too wide for any human mouth. It's not a smirk or a grin—it's a rift in its face, peeling open like a wound filled with far too many teeth.

Asher's breath catches.

The figure shifts—no, glides—forward, but instead of approaching him, it turns its attention toward Cain and Abel.

"Wait—"

It grins wider, if that's even possible, and before Asher can react or call out, the world folds.

A void opens behind Cain and Abel—deep, fathomless, a blackness that shouldn't exist in a place where any light exists. Long, gnarled fingers extend from the darkness, grabbing hold of them, yanking them in before either of them can resist. Cain barely has time to register surprise before he vanishes. Abel snarls, reaching for his blade, but the old man's laughter is already swallowing him whole.

Then—silence.

The hallway is empty again.

Asher stumbles back, staring at the vacant space where they stood. His fingers twitch toward his comms, but static crackles in his earpiece, swallowing any words he might have spoken.

He was alone.

Or so he thought.

He moves forward, pulse hammering against his ribs, searching. The corridors were marked by devastation, walls cracked and crumbling, debris scattered across the floor like remnants of a forgotten battle. Damaged walls were all stained with a yellow ooze that hissed at everything it touched. It was the only thing he could hear besides his own heartbeat. That and footsteps that were not his own.

Something is following him.

Something that doesn't belong in this world.

"Asher..."

His name drips from the air, but it doesn't come from the comms. It comes from right behind him.

He spins—nothing.

But the old man is still here. Watching. Stalking.

And then, he pries.

Not physically. Not yet.

Asher moves steadily. Cautiously. The beam of light from his rifle cuts through the thick, suffocating darkness. His nerves feel like a thin layer of ice ready to crack. A voice rumbles through the halls, dark and void of anything human.

His foot taps something hard on the ground. He trips in a nervous reaction.

"Ahh...dammit!"

He looks down. Another shriveled corpse.

Amalia's voice cuts through the static of his comms. "Asher, report. Is everything alright?" There's a brief pause before her tone shifts, more urgent. "Wait... I don't have a reading on Cain or Abel. Their vitals are gone. Asher, what happened to them?"

Another voice chimes in. Amber.

"What happened? Did you find him?"

Before he can answer, the rumbling voice returns.

"There it is..."

Asher freezes—his eyes darting in every direction, searching. Then, something slinks from the ceiling, a black figure oozing with an amber-colored acid. He looks up in horror.

A wet, rotting stench fills the air, thick and cloying, like something long dead left to fester in the heat. A low, guttural clicking noise vibrates through the stillness. Then, a face looms inches from his own. The same twisted smile from before—closer now, too close. Its lips barely move, but through the decay, through the gaping maw of too many teeth, it utters a single word.

"Amber."

"Asher?"

The old man could here her. Amber's voice crackles through the earpiece, filled with concern as Asher struggles to move away from the old man. But it's too late.

The old man grins wider, then retreats, melting back into the ceiling, disappearing from sight completely.

He has learned what Asher fears most.

Now the fun begins.

Amber frowns at her comms. "Amalia, what's happening? What's going on with Asher?"

A pause. Then Amalia's voice comes through, controlled and careful. "It's complicated. We have it under control."

Amber scoffs. "Right. Sure you do."

Suspicious, she pushes herself up and strides toward Asher's room. If they weren't going to tell her, she'd find out for herself.

Inside, she flips open his laptop and starts searching for anything useful—logs, facility maps, anything that might tell her what's actually happening. Her fingers move quickly over the keys, determination tightening her jaw.

Then, she shivers.

She pauses, rubbing her arms. The air feels wrong, like something unseen is breathing against her skin. Slowly, she exhales—and watches her breath mist in the cold air. She ignores it—seeing something of interest in the files.

"Amber," Amalia warns through the comms. "I sure hope you aren't doing anything that might get you into trouble."

"Relax, I'm just—"

Drip.

Amber jumps as something sizzles onto the keyboard. A second drop follows. Then another. The plastic hisses, curling from the heat as smoke rises from the keys.

She yelps, shoving the laptop onto the floor. The screen flickers, then cuts to black. For half a second, in the dark reflection of the dead screen, she sees something.

A grin.

Watching her from above.

She freezes. Then, heart pounding, she slowly tilts her head upward.

The old man is there, clinging to the ceiling like a grotesque predator, his hollow eyes locked onto hers. His grin stretches impossibly wide, a long string of amber-colored ooze dripping from his lips, sizzling as it hits the floor.

Then, in a voice warped and inhuman, he chuckles.

"...fun..."

Amber swallows hard, staring up at him. "Seriously... I didn't even do anything yet."

He drops from the ceiling like a puppet with its strings cut, slowly raising himself from the floor in an unnatural motion. Amber slowly backs away as he stands upright.

Then—the old man lunges.

Amber scrambled backward, her breath ragged as she threw herself over the couch, barely dodging the old man's grasping hands. He moved with eerie patience, his lanky frame unfazed by her frantic attempts to keep him at bay. The dim apartment lighting cast long shadows over his gaunt face, his milky-white eyes reflecting nothing.

Amalia's voice crackled through Amber's earpiece, sharp with urgency. "Amber, talk to me!"

A grunt of effort was Amber's only response as she snatched up a lamp and hurled it at the old man's head. The ceramic base shattered against his skull. He didn't flinch. Didn't recoil. Just… tilted his head slightly, as if puzzled by the gesture.

Amalia, having heard enough, switched channels. "Asher, he's in the apartment. Get there. Now."

"I'm almost there," Asher responded, already sprinting up the stairwell.

Amber, now cornered against the glass patio doors, could only watch in horror as the old man advanced. The air around him felt wrong—thick and humid, like a fevered breath against her skin. His fingers flexed, joints clicking unnaturally as he reached for her throat.

Then—

"Amber, get down!"

Amber didn't hesitate. She dropped just as a burst of gunfire shattered the glass behind her. Bullets slammed into the old man's chest. The force sent him staggering a step back, but that was all. Slowly, his empty gaze lifted toward the shooter.

A deep, animalistic growl rumbled from his throat before it erupted into a screeching, inhuman roar.

"…Oh fuck."

Asher barely had time to register his mistake before the old man moved.

He jerked unnaturally, then he was in the air, diving straight at Asher.

Asher's world blurred as a clawed hand snatched him by the throat mid-leap. His lungs locked up. The hallway walls whirled past before he was slammed into the ceiling so hard that cracks spiderwebbed across the plaster. Then, with terrifying ease, the old man whipped him down the corridor and sent him crashing into the far wall.

The impact rattled his brain, leaving him dazed. He expected broken bones. A crushed ribcage. Something. Instead, his body just ached.

"How the hell am I alive?" he coughed.

"Suit's got reinforced skeletal augments," Amalia said coolly. "Absorbs impact—if you stop tensing up like a brick."

Asher blinked, sitting up. He flexed his fingers, rolling his shoulders, still in one piece. "…Huh. Cain, you beautiful bastard."

"Glad you like your new toy," Amalia quipped. "Now, do you plan on fighting back at all?"

A shriek cut through the hall.

Asher glanced up to see the old man hunched down at the other end of the corridor, watching him. His mouth stretched open wide, revealing the decay and rot inside his body. His fingers twitched.

And then, his skin began melting.

Thick, yellow acid oozed from his palms, sizzling against the floor. The liquid warped and solidified into blades—jagged, crystalline, and pulsing with heat.

Asher exhaled. "Yeah, yeah—I'm comin'."

With a smirk, he dropped his rifle and reached for the knives strapped to his leg holsters. The blades glinted as he twirled them in his grip.

Then he charged.

The hallway was chaos.

Asher moved fast, keeping his stance low, knives flashing in the dim light as he clashed blades with SCP-106. Every impact sent up a sharp hiss of acid burning against his SCP-Grade steel. The reinforced knives held—for now—but the edges sizzled where the corrosion ate away at them.

He couldn't let the fight drag on.

Asher ducked beneath a swipe, feeling the air crackle as one of those jagged acid blades sliced through the space where his head had just been. He pivoted, slamming his boot into 106's chest, forcing the creature back. The old man barely reacted—tilting his head unnaturally, almost amused.

Then he lunged again.

Asher had no choice but to meet him head-on, blades flashing. Their knives scraped against each other in rapid succession, short brutal strikes meant to maim, not parry. The floor beneath them sizzled with drops of melting steel and acid splatter.

From inside the apartment, Amber hesitated, pressing her back against the couch. She peeked into the hallway—just in time to see Asher's body come flying through the window.

CRASH.

Amber shrieked and hit the floor as glass rained around her.

Asher landed hard, rolling over the apartment floor, groaning as he scrambled back to his feet. He barely had time to register Amber's presence before—

The Old Man followed.

It didn't leap through the window like a man—it slithered through like liquid shadow, limbs snapping into place mid-air as it landed on all fours. It turned its head toward Asher, mouth splitting open in a grotesque, shark-like grin.

Amber crawled backward, hands slipping on shattered glass. "Oh hell no," she gasped.

Asher barely had time to react before 106 lunged at him again. The two tumbled across the apartment, slamming into furniture, breaking tables, knocking over shelves. The walls groaned under the force of their struggle.

Amber, breathless, scrambled toward the door. She stumbled into the hallway—eyes locking onto Asher's rifle.

She grabbed it, fumbling to get a grip. The rifle was heavier than she expected, her hands shaking as she tried to steady it.

Inside the apartment, the fight raged on. Blades clashed. Sparks flew. Every time Asher blocked an acid strike, his knives burned a little more. He couldn't keep this up forever.

Amber grit her teeth, raising the rifle, stepping in front of the window.

"Asher! GET DOWN!"

Asher reacted instantly. He dropped, rolling aside as a series of unsteady shots rang out.

Amber stumbled back from the recoil.

The shot tore through the old man's torso. His body shuddered, twisting unnaturally. A wet, distorted screech rattled through the room.

Asher didn't waste the opening.

He charged forward, tackling 106 head-on.

The momentum sent them both crashing through the window.

They hit the ground outside in a heap, rolling apart.

For the first time, 106 looked frustrated. The Old Man lurched back onto its feet, chest heaving, face twisted in something between rage and boredom. Its acidic wounds bubbled, sizzling against its decayed flesh.

Then, it made its choice.

With a guttural snarl, 106 threw its head back and let out a deafening roar. The air warped around it, the walls darkening.

Then—beneath its feet—the floor began to melt.

A pool of black, bubbling acid spread beneath it, the concrete sagging into a chasm of decay.

Amber, still clutching the rifle, watched in stunned silence as the Old Man began sinking.

It didn't scream. It didn't rage. It simply gave one last, lingering grin.

Then—

It was gone.

Silence.

Amber let out a nervous, breathless laugh before falling to her knees. She clutched the rifle to her chest, letting out a shaky breath.

"I did a thing…" she murmured.

Asher, still on the ground, gave her a long, tired look. He reached out, snatching the rifle out of her hands.

"Give me that."

Amalia's voice came through again. "Agent Cruz…report."

He took a moment to catch his breath before responding. Once he got on his feet, he tapped his earpiece. "106 is gone—probably back to his pocket dimension. Seemed uninterested in us all of a sudden."

"So it got away. That's unfortunate." She paused for a moment, in deep thought. "And Amber—is she safe?"

"For now. I'm fine too. Thanks for asking."

"I'm aware," she replied smugly. "I have a constant view of your vitals you know."

Asher chuckled. "Right…well What's next, All seeing Oracle?"

Amalia took a frustrated breath. "Nothing it seems. Now that 106 has withdrawn to his dimension…I'm afraid it's up to Cain and Able."

Asher and Amber sat against the wall, chests heaving, staring at the aftermath. They'd survived for now…but the hunt was far from over.

Chapter End—

Chapter Text

The walls of the Council Chamber at Site-01 were pitch black and seamless, devoid of doors, windows, or any recognizable features. A low hum from the air system buzzed faintly overhead, echoing through the otherwise dead silence. In the middle of the room stood a massive circular table, illuminated by a sterile white ring of light from above. Eleven high-backed chairs formed a ring around the table, each one occupied by a figure shrouded in darkness.

Dr. Amalia Van Leeuwen stood in the center of that ring, lit from above like a specimen under examination. Ash and soot still clung to her coat from the fallout at Site-17. Her hair was tied back, her face calm, but tension lingered in her shoulders and the faint narrowing of her eyes.

A voice played over a hidden speaker in the wall—a recording of her own words.

“Asher. Get Amber and any remaining survivors out. Now.”

A beat of silence followed. Then the crackle of a reply.

“Copy that,” Asher’s voice responded. The sounds of ruin and chaos from the living area leaked into the audio just before it cut off.

The loop ended.

The voice of O5-1 broke the silence, smooth and clipped. “This Asher Cruz—an impressive specimen. Adaptable, agile, and, from what we’ve seen, deadly when cornered. An excellent recruitment on your part.”

He paused.

“Pity you’ve just lost control of the hunt.”

Amalia raised her chin. “Cain and Abel were taken by SCP-106. The breach escalated past projected thresholds. We are adapting.”

“Adapting,” O5-4 repeated with a dry chuckle. “A quaint way to describe flailing in the dark.”

Fingers drummed on the table. A breath exhaled—sharp, impatient.

“You’ve been effective until now,” said O5-7. “But this might finally be beyond your reach. SCP-076-2 is no longer within your control. How will you fare now that your most dangerous asset is out of sight?”

Amalia’s tone cooled to steel. “He may be out of sight. But he is not off his leash.”

O5-2 leaned forward, voice laced with gravity. “Doctor Van Leeuwen, we now have a situation where SCP-076-2 is trapped in a pocket dimension we cannot access. With SCP-106. A being that—”

“—must not be destroyed,” O5-1 finished coldly. “That was clear from the start. Or have you forgotten?”

“Can you guarantee he won’t try?” asked O5-5.

Amalia met the question with honesty—and edge. “At this moment?

No. But Abel is still operating under my orders. He’s volatile, not mindless.”

A pause. Stillness.

Then O5-3 spoke, almost incredulously. “We’re to trust in your faith that two anomalies—one thirsts for blood, the other allergic to it—will remember their orders while inside this unknown dimension?”

Amalia took a deliberate step forward. “You assigned me monsters and told me to make them tools. I did you one better. I turned them into soldiers. And soldiers don’t forget their mission.”

She let the words settle.

“Statistically speaking…Abel is likely to lose control, yes. But he knows what killing 106 would cost. The mission parameters were clear.”

O5-1’s voice dropped an octave. “You’re gambling, doctor.”

“Not quite,” Amalia replied sharply. “I’m merely placing a bet I’ve already rigged.”

That earned silence. Calculated. Measured.

“So hope is your strategy now?” O5-1 asked.

Amalia offered a thin smile. “To put it simply,” she said, adjusting her glasses with a calm push of her fingers. “We’re already in the fire.
Statistically, the next move is either checkmate or a miracle. I’m betting on the miracle. A little faith, gentlemen—preferably before the smoke clears.”

She let her gaze sweep the circle. “I appreciate your skepticism. Truly. But unless any of you intend to revoke my clearance, Chairman and all—”

She turned slightly, eyes back on the flickering screens behind her. “—I’d like to get back to my work.”

The light above her dimmed. The table faded into darkness. The Council remained silent.

And Amalia stood, alone, her face now lit up by the screens as she began brooding over them.

MEANWHILE—

Inside the pitch black void, Abel floated helplessly, utterly exposed. His power—legendary, unstoppable—was meaningless here. The darkness swallowed everything, even the promise of resistance.

It stretched endlessly in every direction, silent and deafening at once. There was no floor beneath him, no sky above—only a thick, oppressive nothingness. In its center, Abel hung suspended as if crucified, arms spread wide, his body limp but rigid with unseen strain.

His head bowed low, strands of his black hair adrift in the void like sluggish tendrils of smoke. His eyes remained closed, his jaw locked tight in grim defiance. Something—or someone—gnawed at the edges of his mind, peeling back memories like pages of a burning book.

A flicker.

Sunlight.

Laughter.

A grassy field stretched before him, vibrant and lush, swaying under a gentle breeze. Two boys circled each other barefoot on the grass, sparring sticks in hand. One dark-haired, wild-eyed and confident. The other calm, golden-haired, carrying the weight of reluctance behind his movements.

Cain and Abel.

They were no older than sixteen, muscles lean and raw with youth. Their sticks clacked and clattered in a dance too fluid to be learned, too natural to be taught. Cain lunged. Abel parried. Back and forth, push and pull, a duel of brothers.

Abel struck first—an elegant sweep against Cain's legs, followed by a shoulder check that sent him sprawling onto the ground. A sharp grunt escaped Cain’s lips as he hit the earth, dust puffing up around him.

Abel dropped his stick and knelt beside him. "Sorry! Are you alright?"
Cain didn’t respond immediately. His hand shot up to cover the right side of his face, blood seeping between his fingers, pattering softly onto the grass. Way too much for a simple injury.

"Cain—let me see. Please."

Cain chuckled—a light, almost musical sound. Abel gently pulled Cain’s hand away.

What he revealed turned the dream rancid.

Cain’s right cheek had rotted grotesquely. Flesh sloughed away from bone, his jaw gnarled and exposed, one eye sagging in its socket, weeping something black and foul. And yet Cain smiled—brightly, almost lovingly.

"It’s alright, brother," he said, voice unnervingly warm. "I know you didn’t mean it."

Abel recoiled, horrified.

Cain leaned in closer, his foul breath thick with rot.

"But I mean it when I say that I… hate you."

A flash of silver.

Pain blossomed white-hot as Cain drove a blade deep into Abel’s gut, twisting cruelly. Blood fountained over Cain's grinning face.

Then—

REALITY.

A far deeper, more agonizing pain roared through Abel’s abdomen. He gasped, his body lurching against invisible bonds.

A blade—no, fingers. Clawed, corroded, dripping amber acid—ripped through his torso with slow, sadistic precision.

Abel’s eyes remained sealed against the darkness. His body convulsed. Entrails slipped from the wound, drifting through the void like spectral ribbons.

Standing inches away, savoring the moment, was the Old Man.
SCP-106.

His body was a grotesque ruin, fused with rot and rust, his skin hanging in tattered sheets from exposed bone. His fingers—long, cracked, and coated in sizzling acid—twitched with glee as they worked deeper into Abel’s abdomen.

A smile, wide and predatory, split the Old Man’s ruined face nearly ear to ear.

"Such a beautiful mess," he whispered, his voice slick with mock affection. "Do you think if I dig deep enough, I’ll find what else you’re so desperate to bury?"Abel’s eyelids quivered, but did not open. His fists clenched tight enough to draw blood from his own palms. He did not scream. Not even a whimper escaped him—only the silent shudder of unbearable suffering.

The Old Man’s fingers flexed again, sinking deeper, savoring every inch.

Abel’s silence was his only act of rebellion. He was under strict orders not to engage 106 until the victims could be rescued. For now, all he could do was endure. But even monsters had their limits. And the Old Man intended to find his.

MEANWHILE—

Inside the suffocating void, Cain drifted alone, his body slack, suspended by forces unseen. The darkness here was not passive—it pressed against him, squeezing like a great invisible hand, seeping into his pores, whispering doubts he dared not name. His breath came shallow, cold sweat slicking his skin, as unseen tendrils gnawed at the edges of his consciousness.

A flicker.

Then, light.

A grassy field unfurled before him, golden in the sun, warm wind rustling through wildflowers. In the middle of it, two boys crouched, breathless and laughing, sticks in hand. Cain and Abel.

Cain’s stick shook in his sweaty grip. He lunged, slow and sloppy. Abel dodged easily, countered with a flick of his wrist, and sent Cain sprawling onto the dirt. Dust and laughter exploded into the air.

Cain gritted his teeth, pushing up from the ground. But Abel was already there, standing over him, a smirk carved into his face.

"You're pathetic," Abel said, tapping Cain’s forehead with his stick.
Cain froze.

"Forever runner up, it seems," Abel added, voice dripping with condescension. "No matter how hard you try."

Laughter, cruel and echoing.

Cain's heart pounded. He staggered to his feet, chest heaving, but Abel just turned his back.

Then another flicker.

Another Abel. Older now. In armor, sneering.

"Still chasing my shadow, little brother? Still falling short?"

The scene blurred, then shifted to another moment. They both now stood before God. The figure was unknowable, his presence shaped only by a gleaming light.

They knelt, placing their offerings before him. When Abel’s received favor over his, it felt all too familiar. But this was different. Abel turned him, face betraying his sense of superiority. He tilted his head mockingly.

“Surely you didn’t think…you would be chosen.”

The Abel before him oozed demonic aura. The light that represented God had warped into something dark and malicious. It lurched out, smothering Abel who stood unflinching, never taking his glare off of Cain.

Suddenly, he multiplied. More Abels. Hundreds. Surrounding Cain in a tightening circle, all laughing, all pointing, all mocking in a rising, unbearable chorus.

Cain clutched his head, nails digging into his scalp. The noise grew—mocking, jeering, screaming his failures back at him. His vision blurred. His breath came in ragged gasps.

Then he saw it.

A dagger.

It lay in the grass at his feet, gleaming silver, beckoning for him to free himself.

He dropped to his knees, hands over his ears, but the voices crashed against him like a tidal wave. Abel’s face twisted, melting, splitting, revealing a gnarled, decaying mockery of itself, sneering and grotesque.

"Pick it up," the voices hissed. "End the noise."

Cain reached for the dagger, hand trembling.

Abel’s monstrous face leaned close, whispering in his ear, "Or have you finally accepted…that you’ll always be less?"

Cain’s scream tore free—raw, broken—as he clutched the knife in both hands, the metal biting into his palms. He staggered to his feet, steps heavy, dragging himself toward the twisted specter of his brother.

Closer. Closer.

But somewhere, buried deep, a memory surfaced.

Abel’s real face. Smiling warmly. Extending a hand to him, not to hurt—but to help.

Abel had never belittled him.

*This isn’t what happened. This is what I fooled myself into believing.*

Cain stumbled, dropping the dagger with a clatter that echoed unnaturally across the field.

"NO!" he roared, voice shaking the fabricated world.

The field trembled, warped, cracked like shattered glass.

Cain’s eyes snapped open. Sweat drenched him, his body convulsing with the effort of resistance. He hung in the void, heart hammering against his ribs.

Ahead of him, the Old Man lingered in the darkness, watching.
SCP-106 tilted his head in grotesque curiosity, as if surprised that Cain had broken free. His body twitched, dissolving at the edges, then retreating into the mist.

But his voice remained, slithering through the air.

"You can't resist me forever... not in this place."

Then came laughter—wet, rotten, twisted—before vanishing into the ether.

Cain panted, dragging air into his lungs, each breath a battle. He forced himself upright, feet landing with a muted thud on an invisible surface beneath him.

The mist parted just slightly.

And he saw them.

Bodies.

Hundreds, maybe thousands, hanging limply in the void. Some lifeless, others twitching weakly, their suffering a silent scream across the darkness. Some victims stared at him with hollow eyes. Others wept soundlessly. None spoke. They couldn’t.

Cain’s fists clenched. His vision sharpened.

He had found the victims.

Now he had to find a way to save them.

The void was faltering.

The darkness no longer pressed against his skin with the same suffocating intent. The voices had thinned, like radio static slipping out of range. Whatever engine powered this place—this pocket dimension—was failing.

He stood among the hanging bodies, eyes darting between each one. Some groaned softly. Others twitched, caught in a looping rhythm of pain. Most were silent--the kind of silence only the dead could achieve.

Cain stepped forward and reached up toward a man suspended by black threads that writhed like veins. With a grunt, he grabbed the threads and pulled—hard. They resisted, squealing against the air, until Cain’s robotic arms flared. A pulse of heat and defiance surged from his hands, and the bindings snapped like brittle cords.

The man collapsed into Cain’s arms, unconscious but alive. Cain laid him gently onto the invisible floor.

He looked around. Dozens more. Maybe hundreds.
No time to be gentle.

He moved from one to the next, slicing, yanking, dragging. With each freed victim, the dimension shuddered—ripples of instability cracking through the blackness. In the distance, he could hear something groan. Not a voice. Not a structure. The dimension itself.

He was at it for hours, but it was working. He was undoing it.

Then he heard something behind him—a flicker in the void.
“Asher?”

A rift opened like torn film, and Asher stepped through. His body flickered like bad signal, his eyes darting quickly to Cain.
"Damn," he muttered. "Thought I was here to save you guys. Looks like you had it handled."

Cain blinked. "How the hell—"

"Don’t ask. Won’t happen twice." He raised a small, palm-sized device pulsing faint blue light. "This is temporary. Whatever you've been doin' in here is weakening this place. Amalia was able to get a feint trace of your location, but we have to leave sooner than later."
Cain glanced back at the victims. “We’re not leaving them.”

Asher smirked, already pulling someone down. “Didn’t say we were.”
Together, they worked. Two shadows in the dark, undoing the Old Man’s kingdom one thread at a time.

Eventually, the last of the surviving victims had been cut down. Some were able to stand, others barely conscious, their bodies ruined by time and torment. Cain dragged them into a loose cluster, forming a protective ring while Asher crouched beside his comms device.

"Command, this is Cruz," he said, voice sharp. "We've got survivors. They're weak, some can't walk. We're near the tear. I need med teams and containment staff ready to pull them out—now."

A beat of static.

Then a reply: "Copy that. Teams inbound. Tear is stable for extraction."

Cain exhaled, chest heaving. Asher stood and gave a curt nod.
"Help’s coming. We just need to hold the gap open."

The void trembled, walls cracking, distant shapes dissolving into mist. The fear was dying.

In another part of the void—

The sound of flesh being split echoed. The Old Man was desperately tearing into Abel's body, trying to grow the fear.

Nothing.

Then came a tiny sound, sharp and artificial, echoing through the black. Abel’s collar was beeping, the light on it now green. An artificial voice spoke.

"Safety parameters met. Power usage Authorized."

Abel's eyes snapped open.

His lip curled.

"Finally."

Rage ignited inside him—not just at the pain, or the humiliation—but at himself. For waiting. For obeying. For letting that crawling little bastard think he’d won. It was more painful than anything the Old Man had done to him.

He looked up at the figure looming over him. SCP-106, claws already poised for another cut.

The Old Man hesitated.

Too late.

A burst of energy exploded from Abel’s body, launching the Old Man backward through the void. The acidic claws clattered to the invisible floor.

Abel rose.

Eyes blazing. Power bleeding from every pore.

“Disgusting little roach. You think this makes you powerful—attacking your enemies cloaked in their fears.”

106 growled back in response. Confusion and frustration riddled the SCP's face.  His victims should be weakened in this place. After all the torture, the gutting, the trauma--how was he still moving?

Abel stepped closer. The old man nervously crawls back, looking around at the fading walls of his dimension.

“I think I know the secret now…to your little trick.” Abel smiles, standing ominously still. “Want me to demonstrate?”

The old man grew more fearful and desperate. He tried to slink back into the darkness, clambering at an invisible wall hoping for an opening.

Abel spoke again, and this time his voice warped into something unnatural—low, thunderous, omnipresent. It didn’t come from his throat, but from the very walls of the dimension itself. It echoed from the air, the floor, the crumbling corners of the void—as though reality itself were speaking through him.

“Pocket Dimension….Shadowed Valley of Death.”

—TO BE CONTINUED—

Chapter Text

The Council Room at Site-01 was dimmer than usual. The O5 Head stood alone at the circular table, backlit by a flickering projection of Abel's newly formed pocket dimension. It pulsed with blood-red mist and floating blades, a nauseating visual even for those used to anomalous phenomena.

Dr. Amalia Van Leeuwen stood a few paces behind him, arms crossed tightly, face pale.

"What exactly are we looking at?" the O5 Head asked, his voice calm, but tight.

"Abel has created a pocket dimension," Amalia said quietly. "It mirrors SCP-106's... but it appears to be made entirely from his own willpower and rage."

The O5 Head turned. "You're saying he's mimicked 106’s ability?"

"Not just mimicked--corrupted it. That arena—it shouldn’t exist. And worse, it’s severed all comms just like 106's dimension."

She tapped her earpiece again. Static. Abel wasn’t responding. Her voice rose slightly. "Abel. Respond. That’s an order."

Still nothing. The O5 Head raised a brow. "I thought the collar gave you control."

Amalia didn’t answer. She was under the same impression, but Abel was proving to be more of a monster by the second. O5 Head propped himself against the table. His posture was relaxed, but his face told a different story.

"You know what's at stake here, doctor. This is your last chance to get things under control...or we nuke the place. And the funding for your little 'project' goes into other interests."

A bead of sweat ran down her cheek as she stared at her holoscreen. She couldn't mess this up. Everything that she's worked for was being defined by this moment. She tapped another button on the desk, opening up the comms to Cain and Asher.

"Cain? What's the situation out there?"

Cain and Asher both were standing in front of a red wall that seemed impenetrable. Several SCP agents stood with them, all surveying the outer walls of the dimension for a weakness. Some even tried opening fire on it.

Nothing.

Cain tapped his ear. "Currently, we're just as lost as you, doc. Abel's unreachable in there. No one can break through--not even with SCP weaponry."

"Dammit," Amalia hissed, slamming a fist on the edge of the desk. "We have to get in there before he takes this too far."

Inside the Pocket Dimension—

The world Abel created was a battlefield frozen in time. A field of swords jutted from the ground in every direction, their blades half-buried in the soil—or what passed for soil. The surface was a shallow pool of blood, dark and syrupy, rippling faintly with each unnatural breath the realm seemed to take. Here and there, bones jutted up from the mire—skeletal remains still clutching broken weapons or locked in twisted death poses. The skeletons looked like fallen warriors from eras long gone, dragged into this purgatory by Abel’s warped hunger for conflict.

Overhead, a crimson sky loomed heavy and oppressive, swirling with smoke-like clouds. A massive, cracked moon hung high above—its black and purplish surface radiating an eerie pallor across the blood-soaked ground. The light it cast made the blades shimmer with a dull, ominous glint.

Among the wreckage stood Abel, at the heart of it all. Crimson aura spiraled from his body in violent waves.

A dozen swords floated in the air like angry wasps, glowing faintly in the haze. At the far end, SCP-106 stood in silence, his form twitching unnaturally. For a brief moment, he looked uncertain—almost afraid—as if the corrupted dimension had stolen something from him. His hollow eyes locked on Abel and the blood-soaked landscape, and for the first time in a long while, the Old Man hesitated.

Then came the a deafening pulse from within him. He was being changed somehow. The dimension was turning him into something different. Something—stronger.

With a sickening series of cracks and wet snaps, his limbs began to stretch grotesquely. His arms lengthened far beyond human proportions, bones splintering and reforming as his fingers morphed into hooked claws. His feet enlarged into twisted talons that tore through the bloody ground with each step. Each nail an acidic spike that hissed at the earth beneath it. His mouth, once a thin slit of rotted flesh, widened to a monstrous gape—revealing jagged, needle-like teeth that continued to grow until they jutted from his jaws like rusted spears. Viscous acid drooled from the corners of his mouth, sizzling where it touched the ground, filling the air with the stench of chemical rot.

His blackened skin pulsed as if barely containing the warped space inside him, glistening with oozing dimensional scars.

He hissed confidently, voice now a chorus of wet whispers.

"I'm going to drink your terror... strip it from your bones..."

The words came out wet, bubbling with acid and something far older than language. Each syllable oozed out of the Old Man’s grotesquely distended mouth like a curse. His breath reeked of sulfur and corrosion, and every word seemed to slither across the blood-soaked ground like leeches made of sound. As he spoke, his maw continued to widen, teeth twitching and dripping with sizzling green saliva that hissed when it hit the skeletal remains below.

"...and wear your screaming face like a crown."

"There you are," Abel grinned. "My domain isn't designed to weaken you. Oh no. Now...you're a proper threat."

The Old Man crouched low as if preparing to pounce. The two of them stared off for a brief moment. Then, the Old Man lunged. Abel vanished in a blink, reappearing on the handle of a floating blade, then flinging it like a missile. The Old Man batted it away, but Abel was already gone, teleporting to the next sword. He danced from blade to blade, each movement precise and surgical. The Old Man struck back with claws that tore through blood and steel alike.

Abel laughed in ecstasy, warping from position to position, blades clashing like war drums.

In the Real World, Seconds Later.

The wall of the dimension pulsed faintly as SCP agents scrambled around it. Amalia stood near the control terminal, her voice sharp as she directed Asher and the others.
"Have we tried synchronized sonic pulses? What about a corrosive destabilizer?"

"Negative," Asher called back. "Nothing's getting through. It's like the wall knows we're trying to force it. This isn't just containment—it's rejection."

Amalia gritted her teeth. The O5 Head remained behind her, arms folded, saying nothing—but his presence loomed like a guillotine.

Cain, standing off to the side, had been quiet all this time. But now, something pulled at him. A strange tug at the edge of his awareness.

He stepped forward without a word, approaching the wall. The frantic noise around him faded as he raised his hand and placed it flat against the surface.
A deep stillness followed.

He closed his eyes.

Abel. He could feel him.

It wasn’t just a sense of direction—it was instinctual. Like he was being called, welcomed. The barrier, once firm and impenetrable to the agents and their tools, felt… different to him.

Inviting.

Cain opened his eyes slowly, whispering to himself, “This is Abel’s domain. If there's anyone he doesn't want inside--its people he considers weak. But the strong?"

The surface began to shift under his hand, warping like hot wax under pressure. Green and crimson hues shimmered across it.

"Here's to hoping I still know my brother..."

Amalia noticed Cain on the screen. She called out, stunned. "Cain—what are you—?"

He didn’t answer. He took a breath, steeling himself, and pressed forward.

Slowly, the wall parted around him like liquid velvet. He didn't question it. He continued forward, one step at a time. The wall seemed to welcome him in, right before closing behind him with clash of red mist.

And then—he was gone.

Cain appeared inside, startled by the splash of his foot setting in the blood. It rippled beneath him. Abel and the Old Man clashed again in the distance. Cain’s sudden arrival sent out a ripple, like reality was acknowledging him.

He saw his brother, standing over a defeated Old Man. Despite his new found strength, Abel had proven himself unbeatable in this place.

Amalia’s voice suddenly crackled through the space, her signal being carried by the tracker placed on Cain's collar.

"Abel. Stand down now. You are not authorized to kill 106. Am I clear?"

Abel paused—just for a moment.

Then his face twisted. His chaotic glee was shattered by the sound of her voice. Rage took him.

His hand flew to the collar around his neck.

"SHUT...UP!" he roared, gripping the collar tightly. "YOU. FUCKING. WEAKLING!"

With a guttural snarl, he dug his fingers under the edge and began pulling. The device beeped frantically.

[WARNING. Tampering detected. Detonation imminent.]

He didn't care anymore. Nothing was going to get in his way—not even death. He tugged harder.

"I’m done taking orders...FROM ANYONE!"

Cain shouted, "Abel, don’t—!"

The collar ignited with a blinding flash—then erupted.

The detonation split the air like a thunderclap from hell. A shockwave burst outward, flattening nearby swords and sending a torrent of blood and bone flying across the pocket dimension. For an instant, everything went white.

Then—

Smoke. Silence. A crater of scorched ground hissed at the center of it all.

Abel emerged from the blast cloud.

His left shoulder was gone, neck a gaping crater. But he stood. Skin already knitting back together. The Foundation’s fail-safe had failed.

Cain’s heart dropped.

Amalia, watching from the control room through Cain's comm device, was frozen in disbelief.

The O5 Head simply said, “I’m afraid its undeniable now, doctor. You’ve lost control."

Amalia had no response. His words were true. Abel was out of control, and the Old Man was seconds away from being eliminated.

The Old Man tried to crawl away.

Abel walked slowly, picking up a sword. He menacingly dragged it through the blood.

"Looks like you hit your limits. There's only one thing left to do now."

He raised the blade, grinning as he stared down at the Old Man, silently deciding where to stab him. He went for the torso, jabbing the blade into it with malice.
"Let's see how well you burn."

As the Old Man grabbed at the blade attempting to get free,  a geyser of dark fire exploded around him, engulfing 106 in a black inferno. The creature flailed, screaming in layered, glitching tones.

Then:

"Abel!"

The flame vanished, his concentration completely broken.

That voice.

He turned in the direction of its origin, and there he was.

Cain.

"You’ve gone too far."

Abel's grin was manic. “What's this? Finally come for a real fight? All done with sneak attacks now?”

Cain’s face darkened. “That's fair. But I'm here for the mission. Nothing personal.”

Cain stood amidst the sea of blood and broken blades, watching the black fire slowly fade from Abel’s shoulders. His brother's silhouette stood at the center of it all—part man, part demon—grinning with savage joy.

Cain exhaled slowly. Deeply. He hated this.

He closed his eyes.

"I never wanted it to come to this…” he whispered to himself.

The memories came in fragments: Abel laughing under a sunset, fists bruised from training; the sound of metal clashing in mock battle, not war. The brother he knew was in there—buried under bloodlust and the thrill of carnage—but Cain could feel the gap widening. It had to end now.

Cain rolled his shoulders, breathing out one last time. Then, he reached for the hidden latches along his gauntlets.

Click.

A hiss of pressure escaped. The sleek black metal fell away in pieces, clattering into the shallow pool of blood below.

Underneath, his arms were bare—but not unmarked. Chains, engraved directly into his flesh like branding, coiled around his limbs from shoulder to wrist. Their green glow pulsed like molten veins, the heat causing the air to shimmer.

Smoke rose from his skin where the acidic aura touched the air, sizzling with corrosive power.

He opened his eyes—calm, a bit mournful, but resolved.

Abel’s eyes lit up. "About time you stopped hiding what you really are. Underneath all that tech you're still a destructive monster. Just like me."

Cain didn't answer. He balled his hands into fists as the corrosive power within them hissed. Abel turned to face him completely, his blade materializing in his hand.

Silence consumed everything as the two faced off.

Then...a single drop of blood fell from a blade above, landing in the blood pool below.

BLOOP.

They vanished.

Flashes of red and green exploded across the arena with thunderous force. Blades shattered. Cain blocked, weaved, twisted through the chaos. Both of their movements were almost untraceable. Every blade Abel hurled, Cain destroyed on contact.

Abel cackled. “YES! That’s it! Bring your all to bear!”

He leaped, materializing his blade once more before crashing into the ground where Cain once stood. Cain dodged, disappearing right before impact. Abel stood and pulled his blade from the ground, waiting for the dust to settle. Cain appears yards away, breathing heavily.

Amalia’s voice crackled in his ear: "Cain! You’re holding back!"

Cain winced. She was right. Every move he made was defensive—restrained. He was fending Abel off, but not ending him. And Abel wouldn't stop. If anything, his smile just grew wider.

Then something cracked.

In the middle of the chaos, Cain felt it—not guilt. Not grief. Something more familiar.

Annoyance.

For the first time in centuries, he didn't feel like the penitent brother. He was the older brother. And Abel was being a fucking pest.

Abel's persistence had forced him to zero in on one singular goal: To wipe that stupid grin off his face.

He gritted his teeth and planted his feet just as Abel charged him again.

“You're not the only one who’s leveled up, asshole.” Cain whispered.

Abel blinked. “What?”

Cain slammed a glowing fist into the ground. Lines of green light cracked outward like lightning. Then he thrust his arm skyward, forcing the blood-drenched earth to rise with it—warping into a spiked barrier.

Abel crashed into it with full force, merely cracking it with his blade.

Cain wound the other arm back, and let off a devastating punch to the back side of the barrier. The entire dimension shook and rumbled from the force. Then the barrier exploded. The force was massive, sending Abel flying back at unbelievable speed.

Cain dropped low like a sprinter at the blocks. The air around his legs hummed with rising power, sounding like turbines coming to life.

With a thunderous step, he blurred forward—a green bolt zigzagging like a thunderbolt through the blood-soaked field.

Time slowed just as he caught up to Abel.

Cain’s fist glowed, drawn back like a cannon.

In that moment, he almost felt sorry. But then his pupils sharpened into something more malicious. Deadly--like a predator with the killing blow in its sights.

He whispered, eyes wide and focused. "Desolate Arm...Obliterate."

The punch landed with earth shattering force.

BOOOOM!

The impact sent a ripple through the entire dimension. Blades snapped. The floor buckled. Abel’s body broke—head, arms, legs flying in different directions. Blood and limbs flung outward from the point of impact.

The blood-red sky cracked as the pieces of Abel dropped from the sky. They splashed into the shallow blood pool around them.

And the dimension collapsed in a burst of red mist and ghostly howls. Cain stood with his fist outstretched, chest heaving from overexertion, arms sizzling with the remnants of his corrosive power.

Soon he was once again inside the SCP facility, surrounded by confused agents who only saw him, a charred Old Man, and the remnants of Abel.

Cain knelt in the empty chamber, breathing hard. Abel’s broken body was scattered around him.

SCP recovery agents collected the broken SCP-106, and what remained of Abel.

Amalia didn’t speak. Her hands trembled.

The O5 Head turned to her.

"Your asset nearly killed an SCP, survived an explosion meant to atomize him, and turned on you in the process."

He let that hang in the air.

"But it seems...your mission was a success. Good work, doctor."

Then he left, his hard bottom shoes echoing with each step out of the room.

Amalia remained still, staring at the bloodstained floor of the facility through her holoscreen.

Cain finally stood.

He didn’t say a word.

No one did.

The agents moved around him, clearing out the mess while he stood there, lost in thought and regret. He'd done it again. He told himself he didn't have a choice.

But was that really true?

Chapter End--

Chapter Text

[The Hallway outside SCP-76-1 Containment Cell, Site-25. Two weeks after the SCP-106 mission.]

The sharp clack of Amalia's heels echoed through the bright and sterile corridor. The pacing of each step was deliberate. She moved quickly, her coat flaring slightly behind her with each stride. The hall lights illuminated her glasses as she passed, her eyes focused ahead.

She had been alerted of activity—stirring, to be exact—within SCP-76-1. After two weeks of silence, Abel was finally waking.

She wasn’t bringing guards. She wasn’t bringing Cain. Not this time.

It was time to address what happened.

The containment chamber was dim, lit only by faint blue panels embedded in the walls. The air was unnaturally still. On the far end, his coffin stood like an obsidian monolith. Silent. Immovable.

Amalia enter the room. It was just her and the coffin. She waited briefly, checking her pad for readings. If they were, correct, he'd be waking any moment now. Then, with a low pulse of red light, glaring from the crevices of the coffin. Slowly, Abel emerged—phasing slowly through the stone surface like smoke hardening into muscle and bone. His eyes stayed shut until his feet touched the floor. Only then did they open, sharp and amber, falling directly on the figure standing across the room.

Amalia. Alone. No safety net.

For a long moment, neither spoke.

Abel could almost feel the pierce of her gaze. He knew she might be livid, but the quiet was much more like her. It made it harder to read her next move. He broke the silence with a crooked smirk. “Where’s my new collar?” he asked dryly. “Surely you didn’t come here without one.”

Amalia didn't speak at first. She stepped forward, never taking her eyes off of his.

“I’m not here to collar you.” Her voice was alarming calm. Low, but clear. “I came to apologize—to you, Abel.”

That wiped the smirk off his face.

"You--apologize?"

She continued, hands calmly folded in front of her. “In the beginning, I dangled a carrot in your face to get your help. At first, it was enough. But I see now… the flaw in how I treated you.”

A breath.

“My method in recruiting you… was a manipulation. Not a proposition. And in doing so...I never gave you the chance to take this seriously. And I’m sorry.”

For once, Abel had no words. He stared, expression unreadable, muscles still tight from instinct—but his rage didn’t rise. His hands hovered slightly at his sides, unsure whether to clench or fall limp.

Just silence.

Amalia nodded slowly. “I want to make the offer again. But this time…” she exhaled. “I want to do it right. If you’ll hear it.”

Abel was stunned. His mouth parted slightly, unsure. His eyes narrowed—not in threat, but in disbelief. No traps. No tricks. No armored backup just beyond the door.

He wasn't the only one unsure where this was headed. After all, not much was stopping him from raging again. But he knew Amalia was aware of that. This wasn't protocol. It was something else. Why would she put herself in such a vulnerable position? Something about all this left him feeling...curious.

After a beat, he exhaled through his nose. “…Well. Out with it already.”

A small smile touched Amalia’s lips. She adjusted her glasses, stepping closer—not out of confidence. It felt more like trust.

“This mission isn’t about hunting monsters, you know. Not for me. It’s about protecting people—especially the ones the Foundation overlooks. People who aren’t useful enough to be saved. I know most of your interests lie with battle and war but...”

Her voice didn’t waver, but it was softer now. Honest. She let the silence hang. Abel looked down at his hands. Calloused. Trembling slightly. The battles had surely been adding up. Then he looked at her again. The quiet conviction in her eyes. The stupid, fragile hope.

Amalia tilted her head, her voice just above a whisper.

“The truth is—I am waging war. On fear itself. That’s what this is about for me. The world is already terrifying enough, Abel. And every single SCP is the proof of it.”

She swallowed.

“I want…need you to care about this. That’s the only way this works. But it’s your choice now. No collars. No threats. No guns waiting outside for safety’s sake. Just you, myself… and the offer.”

Abel’s eyes darkened, the amber glow flickering as he processed her words. His mouth opened, then shut again. He turned away slightly, jaw flexing. There was a weight behind his silence now—consideration, not hesitation.

At last, he exhaled slowly, almost like a sigh.

Abel remained quiet, his gaze drifting past her for a moment.

Then, without looking looking up: "Before I give my answer...I would know something of you."

"And that is?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"The Old Man. I wasn't authorized to kill it. Why? Why stop me from eliminating a clear threat?"

Amalia blinked, caught off guard. "That’s not the question I expected."

He turned his eyes back to her. "You claim to be doing this for the 'greater good'. But during our mission I watched you carry out your orders like a good subordinate."

Her brow furrowed. "What exactly are you getting at, Abel?"

He stepped forward, voice low and firm. "When the Foundation’s orders don’t align with this ‘cause’ of yours… say they order you to do something contrary. What then? Am I to follow those orders as well? What of my brother, or the merc? Are we all to fall in line?”

Amalia hesitated, processing his words.

"You’re asking me if I’d go against the Foundation to achieve my goals."

"It’s a simple question, Doctor. And I’d prefer you speak plainly." He moved closer, looking her square in the eyes. "What are my orders, then?"

She held his gaze, unflinching. "It’s true. My orders were not to eliminate 106. And yes, I did follow through. But 106 cannot be killed—not in the way we view death. You would only have forced him into an evolution by killing him. Much like how he played a hand in yours. I wasn’t saving 106 for the foundation. I was saving all of us—from you."

A beat.

"So if the Foundation orders you to do something that isn’t for the sake of the people…?"

Her voice dropped.

"Then the Foundation is our enemy."

That brought a genuine smile to Abel’s lips. He tilted his head, amused. "You would unleash me on even your superiors to get what you want?"

She nodded without hesitation, eyes firm. "Absolutely."

He studied her for a long moment. Her tone. Her conviction.

Then he turned to face his coffin.

"You’re a dangerous woman, Doctor. Your future enemies have much to fear."

She took a step forward. "Does that mean you’ll cooperate—with me, and your brother?"

"Fine," he said. "You’ve convinced me with your words. I’ll be looking forward to seeing the aligning actions."

He placed a hand on the coffin’s surface.

"Awake me when I am needed. I wish to continue resting for now. Oh and tell my brother...lucky fucking shot."

He then stepped backward into the black stone, phasing through it like mist.

Amalia stared at the coffin for a long moment, a small smile curving her lips.

This time, Abel was no longer just an attack dog. She'd made him a proper ally.

[Cain’s Containment Quarters, Site-17. A few days after Abel’s awakening.]

Amalia and Abel have both arrived at Site-17, though the news hasn't reached everyone yet. Asher and Amber had been stationed there. It was quiet, and safer than most foundation facilities. Asher knew that Cain had been a hermit since the last mission, and decided to pay him a visit.

His containment cell was clean, almost obsessively so. Sleek walls lined with holo-screens and old texts. In the corners and along the back wall, the faint scent of damp earth and a soft glow hinted at the quiet presence of Cain’s plant collection and the hidden irrigation system that nourished it. It gave the space an odd serenity, a living contrast to the cold precision of the tech. Not sterile—but studied. Everything had a place. Every item, a purpose.

Cain sat on the far side of the room, bent over an open console. Tools hummed quietly beside him. He didn’t look up when the door opened.

"You’re a hard man to pin down," Asher said, stepping in without waiting for permission. "Haven’t seen you around in days. Figured I'd have to bribe a Level 3 tech with coffee just to confirm you were still alive."

Cain didn’t look back. "Work stuff...you know how it is."

Asher closed the door behind him. "Been avoiding people, huh? You missed two briefings."

Cain tapped a key, bringing a schematic to life on the screen. "I’ve been busy."

"Yeah, heard you the first time. Whatever you're building down there must be serious—people are starting to ask questions."

Cain kept working. "It’s necessary."

Asher stepped closer, watching him in silence for a beat. "You’ve been down here since the Old Man incident. Wanna...talk about it."

Cain didn’t reply.

Asher sighed "He tricked you. I get it."

Nothing.

"Made you kill your brother...again."

Still nothing. Cain moved to another terminal.

Asher followed. "So what, you're just gonna bury yourself in upgrades and call that healing?"

Cain paused. His hands rested on the console, unmoving.

"He doesn’t blame me. Apparently."

"But you do."

Cain looked up at him finally. His voice was quiet, like the words hurt coming out.

"I know I’m beating myself up for nothing. I know Abel isn’t furious with me. I just…"

He hesitated. Then said it.

"How many times must I commit the same sin? It almost feels like I’ll never have a choice in the matter."

Asher blinked. "Okay… damn. That’s heavier than I was ready for. I mean, I still flinch when the microwave beeps too loud. But you're here having a moral crisis about fate and free will. Talk about difference in perspective."

Cain let out a low breath—half sigh, half chuckle.

Asher nodded toward the wall. "So what now? You gonna keep sulking or are we doing something about it?"

Cain walked to the wall panel and keyed in a command. The intercom crackled to life.

"This is Cain. Amalia, Abel, Amber... meet me on Sublevel 9. I have something to show you all."

He clicked it off.

Asher raised an eyebrow. "What exactly have you been hiding down there?"

Cain just stared at the screen, a smirk forming on his lips.

"In due time, my friend."

Moments later:

[Site-17 Rooftop.]

Amalia and Abel had just disembarked from a chopper that touched down on Site-17's rooftop pad—its engines still winding down as they entered the facility. She tapped the small receiver in her ear, just as Cain’s voice faded from the comms.

"Cain just called a meeting," she said calmly.

Beside her, Abel matched her pace, arms folded across his chest. "So he finally crawls out of his cave."

Amalia offered a faint smirk. "Apparently with something to show us. Come on."

They turned the corner, headed toward the nearest lift that would take them to Sublevel 9.

The lift doors opened with a quiet hiss. Amalia, Abel, Asher, and Amber stepped out onto the catwalk overlooking the training chamber—then stopped.

The facility below them was vast. Walls shimmered with embedded nodes, platforms shifted their elevation in smooth mechanical pulses, and dozens of drone units hovered silently in standby. It looked like a testing ground built for gods.

"You built this?" Amber asked, wide-eyed.

Cain stood at the console that controlled everything, turning knobs and pressing buttons. "Took a few long nights."

Asher let out a low whistle. "You weren’t kidding about being busy."

Amalia crossed her arms, studying the layout. "When did this get approved?"

Cain didn’t answer. He simply looked to Abel.

"Feel like breaking it in?"

Abel raised an eyebrow. "What, you want me to spar with ghosts?"

Cain tapped a control panel beside him. The arena shimmered—terrain shifting into a mountainous ridgeline.

"I figured you might want something with bite."

Abel scoffed, but there was a faint twitch at the corner of his mouth. "Fine."

He unslung his greatsword and stepped into the arena, the hum of the system reacting to his presence.

Amalia watched in silence, noting the shift in his posture—not just readiness, but a slight easing in his shoulders.

Cain didn’t say it, but this was his offering.

And Abel, without saying it either, accepted.

The new training facility was massive—underground, fortified, and humming with hidden machinery. Its walls shimmered faintly with projection nodes, and blocky pillars rose and fell at random intervals, reshaping the arena with every passing second. Cain had outdone himself. With new resources funneled in after their success with SCP-106, he’d constructed a simulation chamber capable of mimicking other SCPs, storing real-time combat data, and letting participants push themselves to the brink—without risking death. Even lethal blows could be delivered safely. The room would simply reset.

Abel stood alone in the center of the arena, arms folded, his blade dug lazily into the floor. His crimson eyes tracked the movements of the rising platforms with disinterest.

“I’m ready! Let’s get on with it!” he yelled up toward the tinted observation window above.

Behind it, Amalia, Amber, Cain, and Asher watched from a monitoring room filled with holographic readouts and surveillance feeds. Cain tapped at a glowing interface, adjusting parameters.

"Hold your horses. Gotta get all the settings locked in," Cain replied, his tone amused.

Moments later, holograms shimmered into existence—Thirty IKEA staff monsters and one twisted Manager formed on the arena floor. They glitched slightly as they stabilized.

"Alright," Cain said, pressing the intercom. "Starting training exercise... now."

The monsters stirred to life, then lunged.

Abel didn’t move at first. He pivoted, weaving between their strikes effortlessly, but made no attempt to counter.

Amalia clicked on the comm. “Abel? Is something wrong? Why aren’t you fighting back?”

He dodged a swinging claw and spoke with casual ease. “You haven’t given the order. Unauthorized use of powers and all that.

“There are no restrictions here. You’re free to use your abilities as you see fit,” she said evenly.

Abel’s eyebrows lifted. “Wait… You mean—?”

Cain leaned into the mic. “You heard the lady. The goal here is to test your limits. So go all out. I insist.”

Abel sighed. “This is hardly worth going all out for.” He swung his blade once—three holograms were cleaved in a blink.

It was clear that Abel had grown much stronger since the SCP-3008 rescue, and this wasn’t worth the effort. Cain glanced at Amalia, who gave a small nod. He turned back to the holoscreen, adjusting the settings of the exercise.

Suddenly, the holograms doubled in number. Two more Managers spawned at the edges of the field.

Abel grinned. "Now that's more like it."

A red aura erupted from his body, washing over the arena like a violent mist. The air thickened, the room dimmed, and shadows twisted unnaturally. The arena had become Abel’s pocket dimension—a corrupted skill he'd stolen from the Old Man.

“Dammit, the first thing he does is—” Amalia muttered.

Cain waved her off. “No worries, Doc. The system can handle anything—even reality warps.”

Inside the dimension, Abel blurred from one target to the next, teleporting through misty shadows. His blade spun through the bloody field like a guided missile, and he appeared wherever it landed, cleaving down enemies with precise, monstrous joy. He left dark afterimages with each attack. It almost seemed like there were four or five of him out there.

Spare blades littered the ground like offerings—accessories to the madness. As the closest Manager approached, Abel hurled his blade behind it, appearing where it landed while grabbing swords from the ground. He slung each one at a monster before teleporting to the next.

Cain’s screen display showed everything that was happening through a special motion detector built for tracking anomalous objects. Abel appeared like a demonic cloud, hunting its prey with savage hunger. It spawned erratically, shooting spikes in all directions while its target dissipated one by one. The Managers put up more resistance than the rest, but fell all the same. Soon, only Abel stood.

The dimension dispersed with burst of red mist. Soon, the training room was back its normal, sterile white and blue polish.

Amber's jaw dropped. "Whoa...he's the real deal, huh."

Numbers on Cain’s monitor ticked up rapidly.

Before they could finish calculating, Abel’s voice echoed up: “Is that all!?” He laughed, spinning his blade with theatrical flair. “I thought I’d get to go all out! This is child’s play!”

Amalia tapped her chin, then turned to Asher. “Suit up, Mr. Cruz. I have an idea.”

Asher blinked. “You want me...to go out there with him?”

Amalia just gave him that look.

“You’re kidding.”

Amber spun around in a nearby desk chair. “What’s the matter, Pops? Scared of a little ol’ immortal spirit?”

Asher shot her a glare. “Don’t—call me that.” He turned back to Amalia and Cain. “This is insane.”

“I think I see where this is going.” Cain cut in, pressing a button to open up a new area in the monitoring room. The wall gave way, revealing a smaller room behind it.

It housed a mesh exosuit. Much like the one Asher wore before, but this one was sleeker, way more advanced, but simplified.

Amalia steps toward the suit, glancing between it and her holo-pad.

“We recorded the data from your last fight. Made some improvements based on your fighting skill level. I think you’ll find this model much more to you liking.”

Asher narrowed his eyes. “Hello…I’m still just a regular person. Even with the suit, 106 nearly took my head off.”

“Just trust us,” Cain replied. “Besides… he can’t actually kill you in there.”

This didn’t bring Asher much comfort. Still, he suited up and made his way down.

---

Asher now stood inside the training chamber, clad in the new suit. Sleek plates hugged his limbs, reinforced along the chest and shins. A slim mask covered his nose and mouth, filtering air and displaying tactical readouts. Knives and a lightweight pistol sat holstered at his thighs. His new rifle was compact, efficient, and deadly.

Amalia’s voice came through his comms. “You and Abel are to eliminate each other while fending off hologram threats. The enemies will attack you both. Maneuver through them to find and strike down your target. Clear?”

Abel stood across the arena, leaning on his greatsword like a bored king.

"So it’s a game, then... fine."

The battlefield shifted again. Pillars rose, floated, receded. Then: "Begin."

Asher sprinted forward, weaving through rising blocks and enemies. He shot down one hologram, then ducked a swipe from another.

Cain’s voice buzzed in. “Suit works the same as before. Just a bit better.”

“Define better.” Asher said, backing away from his attackers.

“It’s simple. The fibers in the suit are reactive to muscle movement. You wanna hit harder, or run faster? All you gotta do is apply more effort. The suit will do the rest. But it only works if you stay fluid. No panicking. Got it?”

“Right. Let him swing that thing at your head and see who panics,” Asher muttered.

“Did that already, Remember?” Cain quipped. “Now focus.”

A spear-handed hologram lunged. Too close to shoot. He quickly blocked with his knife—green energy rippled through the suit and surged back, enhancing his strength. He shoved the enemy back, dodging an attack from another monster behind him. He followed up by cutting down the first. He rolled, then shot the other in the head. The light burst as the hologram vanished.

“Okay…that’s unreal,” he breathed.

“Kinetic Retort,” Cain said proudly. “Cool, right? Made an adjustment based on your last fight. You fight reflexively. No real plan or strategy at all.”

“Gee. Thanks.”

More enemies charged. Asher dropped low, momentum building in his legs. Cain spoke again.

“Not a bad thing.” He said calmly. “Just something I noticed. Now... let's try getting a little speed going.”

Asher crouched lower. A hologram lunged—too late. A faint glow came from his feet and lower legs. Right as a monster's attack was about to land from behind, he blasted off with a green pulse, streaking through the arena, leaving glowing afterimages of each footstep.

“Whoa!” he shouted.

“Told ya.” Cain chuckled. “Be careful though. The more force you build, the more strain you put on the suit’s regulators. Blow one, and it’ll seize up. Game over.”

He glanced around, reading the field in anticipation. As Asher danced through the remaining monsters, Cain and Amalia watched from the holo-screen. Then he chimed in on the mic once more.

“Okay. You’re getting close to Abel’s location on the field. He’s gonna come at you with everything he’s got. Lets see some acrobatics out there. Go crazy.”

Asher spotted Abel cutting down several monsters with godly ease. That's when Abel noticed the green blur.

“There you are,” he growled, powering up his blade.

Abel surged forward, blade blazing red. Asher noticed a figure above. It was Abel, already honing in.

“Shit!” Asher leapt sideways, dodging by a hair.

Abel brought the blade down hard, crashing into the floor with catastrophic force.

Asher landed on a vertical pillar wall, taking a moment to process what just happened. Then he raised an eyebrow. “That son of a bitch just tried to kill me.”

“STILL TRYING!” Abel hurled his sword upward from the cloud of dust—it embedded in the pillar near Asher’s feet.

Abel teleported to it instantly, appearing beside him with that manic grin. “Gonna need more than a suit to survive me!”

Asher launched off the wall, flipping back to dodge the incoming attack. Abel immediately gave chase.

Asher landed with ease despite the height of the fall. But Abel was already on the attack again. Asher sprinted through the pillars. Barely dodging the attacks as Abel pursued him like a raged demon. He saw that the wall of the room was just yards away.

He clashed with Abel briefly, reacting with superhuman speed. Their blades crossed several times, with Asher flipping back to dodge Abel's last swing before taking off toward the wall. Green energy flared again. He jumped--way higher than intended, and almost faster than the eye could track.

He landed on the wall, feet planted. He swung his arms back, coiling inward as energy surged from his legs. Then he released.

He shot like a bullet toward Abel.

Abel, grinning, charged with equal force.

Asher struck first—blades out, crashing into Abel’s guard. It broke for a split second.

Asher spun midair. Then, a roundhouse kick connected clean with Abel’s jaw, sending him flying into the far wall with a crash.

Asher landed smoothly, wide-eyed, heart pounding. He was excited about his ability in the suit, but the thought of Abel’s retaliation made him flinch.

He called out nervously: “You okay, big guy?”

Silence. Then: Abel’s blade landed beside him.

Abel appeared. Not angry. Curious. Slowly, he walked around Asher, eyeing the suit with interest. Asher was unsure of what was happening. He thought Abel would be furious. Instead, he mused over the suit like a window shopper.

Then, he looked up at Asher with an idea. “I wish to try something.”

Moments later...

Asher stood next to a SCP agent. Able paced in front of them both. The agent stood nervously, almost shaking. Neither of them knew what Abel was planning, but they figured it was best to humor him. Abel then approached the agent. He could hear the anxiety rattling through his body armor.

“Hold still, damn you. I mean you no harm.”

This brought the agent no comfort. Abel raised a hand to the agent's chest, lightly shoving him. This sent him flying across the massive room. He flailed and screamed as he flew. Right as he landed, the ground softened into a foam-like surface under him to prevent injury. He landed with a muffled thud. He gave a thumbs up to signal that he was ok.

Now Abel stood in front of Asher, raising his hand once more. He shoved, but Asher barely budged.

Curious.

He pushed two more times—green energy pulsing with each touch. Asher stood firm.

Abel grinned excitedly. Then, with both hands, he shoved Asher with much more force.

This only pushed him a few steps back. Energy surged as he caught his footing.

Then Asher shoved back.

Abel went flying. He crashed into the far wall once more.

But this time he came sprinting back like an excited child. “With this suit… you may yet prove a worthy opponent.”

“Wait, what are you—”

“Fight me!” He interrupted. “For real this time. No simulations.”

“Sorry boys,” Amalia’s voice broke in. “That’ll be all for now.”

Abel groaned. “Fine. I wasn’t going break your little toy soldier.”

Asher sighed, raising a thumbs-up to Cain in the window. “Suit’s a hit!”

Cain silently returned the gesture.

---

Now, it was Cain's turn.

He entered the training room alone. He flexed his arms, now visibly upgraded—sleek alloys humming with energy.

Amalia’s voice: “Alright. The goal for this drill is to generate as much power and force as possible. Simple.”

Cain took a deep breath. "Roger that. Starting drill.”

Amalia nodded to Amber, signaling her to hit the lights.

Immediately, the entire facility went dark. Asher looks around and notices her and Amalia were now wearing dark lab shades. Amalia hands him a pair.

“You might want to put these on.”

"Seriously," Asher muttered, “I literally can’t see anything.”

She smirks. “Trust me on this, agent.”

Asher sighs, taking the goggles. He struggled to put them on in the dark.

Amalia turned back to the window with a smirk that was laced with anticipation. “He’s starting.”

In the darkness, Cain began moving.

Faint blue light emanated from his arms. He started slow, waving his arms wide as energy began to stir within them.

Then--

He jabbed the air. Sparks flew--lighting up the entire room.

More punches. Energy flared violently.

He shifted into a boxing stance—then exploded into motion.

Rapid strikes. Crackling arcs. The room lit up with kinetic light. He was shadowboxing at godspeed. Each punch sounded off like a jet engine revving up. The air vibrated as if on the verge of breaking.

He paused briefly, bouncing and swaying side to side. “Power’s good,” Cain mutters. “But control’s the point.”

He then began throwing punches in rapid succession. Energy and light cracked wildly off of his fists. He stepped quicker now--almost like he was flash stepping between rhythms. The punches grew more rapid. Hundreds of flashes went off within seconds, sending the energy shooting from his arms.

Even with the goggles, Asher and Amber found it hard to withstand the flares emitting from the training room.

Then—Cain spun, rolled his fists like turbines. Violent gusts of wind kicked up like a storm. He unleashed a final flurry. The last hook sent a beam of light across the room, scorching the far wall.

Cain stood silent, chest heaving from the excursion. Then the energy dispersed from him mechanical limbs, winding down as the light faded from his joints.

Amalia spoke over the intercom. "That'll do for now. Nice work out there."

Amber went to hit the lights. Soon the facility was lit up again. They saw Cain, standing still as the energy from his limbs began to dissipate.

Asher exhaled. “All that from just shadowboxing?”

Amalia grinned. “Quite the team we have now, isn't it?”

Asher didn't respond. Too busy processing the fact that his co-workers were gods.

Cain wiped sweat from his brow. He glanced up at Abel, who was attempting to appear unmoved. Cain smirked while throwing a towel over his shoulder, then he made his way to the exit.

The lights dimmed back to normal as the training room shut down, seemingly vanishing from view through the observation window. Cain was just entering the control room, his face unreadable. Abel stretched his shoulders, leaning back against the wall, unimpressed but not entirely unamused.

Amalia stood before them, clipboard in hand, her voice crisp.

“I hope the upgrades were to your liking,” she said, scanning the group. “Because the next mission is already underway.”

Asher rubbed the back of his neck. “We just finished stretching.”

She didn’t smile. “Site-85 sent out a breach alert. Then—nothing. Total comms blackout.”

Worry took over Cain's face. Abel crossed his arms.

“Last transmission mentioned SCP-049 becoming more active than usual,” she added. “Aggressive. Obsessive. Then the feed cut.”

She looked up, her voice suddenly harder. “We’re wheels up in one hour.”

“Ooo—can I go?” Amber asked, raising an arm while sitting knees-up in her rolling chair.

“Absolutely not!” Asher and Amalia snapped back.

Amber lowered her hand, stuffing her face into her knees in disappointment. “Welp…figured it was worth a shot.”

Meanwhile:

[Site-85 – Subterranean Containment Block, Hall B]

A heavy silence clung to the hallway like a shroud, broken only by the distant hum of dead machinery and the pulse of flickering red emergency lights.

The breach had happened days ago, and already the facility was falling into disfunction. Red lights flashed, but the alarms were long dead. Loose pages of research logs stirred gently in the stale air, catching on the jagged edges of a shattered terminal. Nearby, a single bloody fingerprint smeared itself across the glass surface, as if someone had tried—and failed—to crawl away.

Corpses in lab coats and black armor lie motionless across the floor, all bearing a single, identical mark—blackened flesh at the neck or temple, charred with a sickly, sweet scent of rot and antiseptic.

Then—a sound.

Like a sandbag being dragged.

From the far corridor, a figure in black drags a limp body by the ankle. The metal toe of his boot drags noisily with every step. He moves without hurry. Without concern. But with purpose.

The dim lights catch the smooth white porcelain of an elongated mask.

The figure stops, standing over a small pile of corpses. Slowly, he kneels.

He touches one gently on the forehead, voice calm…deep and reverent.

“My, my, my…”

His fingers trace along the skin with something like affection.

“…such sickness… within the lot of you.”

He lifts a scalpel from the table nearby, already stained. His voice lowers to a chilling whisper.

“Fret not…”

He leans in closer.

“…for I have just the cure.”

Chapter End—