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Chapter Text

An automatic door responded to the swipe of your Level 2 keycard and parted before you, the lights of the observation room coming to life.

Striding across the small room, your shoes almost soundless across the white tile, you sat at the closest computer to begin your duty. You were to check the logs and take notes of any change in behavior, but it was always the same: the SCP in a perpetual state of lethargy and depression, much like the behavior of animals displayed in zoos.

You settled in for a boring night, resting your chin in your palm as you stared at the screen rather than the observation window. The subject was currently in its inner containment cell, and therefore could only be viewed by camera rather than the window that had a direct view of the middle containment room.

Not that the subject was doing anything; it sat at the desk, hunched over and absolutely still. Even with its head bowed, its intimidating stature couldn’t be denied, its dark shoulders rounded like a large crow huddling in the rain. Its mask, which couldn’t be viewed from this angle, would have no doubt lent to the image of a downtrodden carrion bird.

This particular SCP had behaved this way following its transfer to Site-20 after the closure of Site-19, and Dr. Puli theorized it was due to its lack of social contact with personnel, its lack of enrichment in the form of “intellectual discussions with like-minded, or so it would believe, peers,” as well as the Foundation’s refusal to provide it with cadavers to dissect and patients to “cure.”

You didn’t really know; you’d only been at Site-20 for a few weeks and were still adjusting to working solely with sentient SCPs. At least you preferred the design of Site-20 from your previous station, as it had been designed specifically for ease of navigation and cordoned sections in the event of a containment breach. Site-19’s catastrophic failure was due to its modular design that left its halls redundant and confusing, and ultimately, a death trap when one of the largest containment breaches in the Foundation’s history happened.

By the time you’d been accepted into the specialized psychological program at Site-20 and transferred to your new home, SCP-049 had already stopped speaking. It no longer wrote in its journal, or otherwise interacted with its environment, simply sitting at its desk for hours at a time.

It did this for days, only slightly raising its head when personnel entered the observation room, and even then, 90% of the time it wouldn’t react at all.

You knew all this, because you recorded the numbers daily, instructed to alert Dr. Puli to any behavioral changes. There were none. There never was. You didn’t expect today to be any different.

Your shift passed uneventfully, and there were only five minutes left. You finished completing the event logs (non-event logs, you thought cleverly) and turned in your swivel chair to leave.

Something caught the corner of your eye, or rather, a lack of something. The inner containment room was empty on the computer screen.

You raised your eyes to the observation window and froze. There, towering over you enough to block out the lights from the middle containment room, stood the looming figure of SCP-049.

For a long moment in which your heart pounded and sweat beaded at your hairline, you simply stared at each other. The dull, boney beak that served as its mask curved down from its face, those pale grey eyes watching you unblinkingly.

Unsure if you were anxious or simply curious, you refused to look away either, but in the next moment, you knew what you were feeling wasn’t either of those emotions.

The SCP raised its arm, its thick leather glove folded into a fist except for a single finger, which was pointed at you. Its fingertip rested on the glass.

And then it tilted its head slightly, like an inquisitive bird, its unsettling eyes piercing. Its message was painfully clear, even though it didn’t speak a word.

Something is wrong with you.

Considering what SCP this was, that could only mean one thing. You were out of your seat and through the observation room door before you’d realized you were moving.

You needed to write up a report for Dr. Puli immediately. That’s the only reason you sped from SCP-049’s containment chambers. That was all. Dr. Puli would want to know of any behavior changes and interacting with a staff member was significant.

That’s what you told yourself as the memory of cold, grey eyes chased at your heels.

Chapter Text

Dr. Puli had indeed been interested in the SCP's sudden change of behavior, and now you stood in a different observation room, this time with a few of your other colleagues. The assistants and doctors wore bored expressions, and why wouldn’t they? SCP-049 hadn’t shown activity in over a year, but everyone knew of the infamous “plague doctor” and its obsession with what it called the Pestilence.

This earned the SCP mockery more than interest, and even now, your colleagues were only here because it was standard procedure. Changes of behavior, especially in sentient SCPs, were to be documented and studied extensively.

Only two people gave this SCP full attention; you were one of them. You’d read every document, watched every interview with every sentient SCP in the facility as part of your training, and SCP-049 was no exception to that. You’d been surprised with how cordial and polite it had been in past interviews, not to mention well-spoken, and it was easy to see Dr. Hamm’s fatal mistake. He’d grown too comfortable with the entity, and he’d paid for it with his life. Dr. Sherman had been more hostile in their interactions, but in the end, 049 had ended his life as well, citing the Pestilence as validation for “curing” another life.

Dr. Hamm and Dr. Sherman were testaments that SCP-049 could never be trusted, and it was far from predictable. Even though the subject had a violent history with past personnel, Dr. Puli had insisted on conducting this interview himself. He was, after all, the other person who gave 049 their full attention.

Dr. Puli was in his late 50s, average height with a full head of salt-and-pepper hair, originally born and raised in Delphi, India, and he had no remaining family to speak of. Concise and with a sharp mind, he was the most well-equipped to deal with this interview. He sat at the standard interview table in the middle of the white room, his notes at the ready and a recording device close at hand. There were cameras and microphones hidden in corners of the room, recording everything as well. Even though this SCP had no documented effect on electrical equipment, the redundancies were standard.

The Foundation was nothing if not efficient.

Speaking of efficiency, two minutes before the interview was scheduled to be conducted, the door at the other end of the room slid open. Four guards in heavy gear marched inside, and between them, restrained in manacles and chains, stood SCP-049.

It towered over most of the guards, the intimidating dark robes and hood making it seem even larger. The Class III Humanoid Restriction Harness looked like it was a formality rather than something that could actually stop it from violence. The locking collar around its neck was attached to two extension poles, and two guards used them to guide the SCP forward to the chair opposite Dr. Puli. It had to walk slowly with its chained ankles, and it sat in the chair with careful, calculated movements.

The SCP said nothing, its cold, grey eyes sweeping across the room, gliding over the doctor as if he wasn’t even there, and settled on the one-way glass of the observation room.

They stared right at you.

You fought the urge to swallow and made no reaction as you watched. The SCP’s hands were covered in metallic mesh “mittens,” locked at the wrist so it could not remove them. Only its hands were lethal, and with the locking restraints and the protective hand coverings, the interview should be relatively safe.

Should be. Site-20 wouldn’t make the same mistake as Site-19. The guards stood nearby, still holding the extension poles, and the ones not actively holding onto the SCP placed their hands near their utility belts and the many weapons holstered there.

The SCP took all of this restriction without complaint, its eyes still trained on you. When Dr. Puli cleared his throat and started the recorder, it finally lifted its heavy gaze away. You breathed a little easier.

“This is a standard interview with the entity designated SCP-049, conducted by Doctor Amin Puli. This interview is taking place at Site-20 on ████████ and will last until all questions are asked and answered to the best ability of both parties. The subject will remain cooperative and non-hostile during proceedings, with the threat of privileges being revoked in the case of violent behavior. Do you understand the terms, SCP-049?”

The SCP said nothing. Heavy silence hung in the air for several long seconds, and Dr. Puli said, “Your silence will be taken as acknowledgement,” and proceeded to ask his questions.

They were all fairly standard. What was SCP-049, where had it come from, when had it come into being, why it had come into being. Questions about its abilities, past associates, and places of residence. Dr. Puli conspicuously didn’t ask about the one subject this SCP was always willing to talk about.

049 answered none of them. Its eyes remained on your boss at least, and it did seem to be listening, but it either had lost the ability to speak (less likely), or it simply didn’t wish to engage (most likely).

After five minutes of questions going unanswered, Dr. Puli paused to remove his glasses and pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket to clean them.

You leaned closer to the glass. Dr. Puli wasn’t just any researcher, he was the Head of the Department of Cryptopsychology. Subtle manipulation and subversive tactics to get a sentient SCP to talk were his bread and butter. There wasn’t much he could do with a catatonic SCP, but one that showed interest in something? That was more than enough leverage for Puli to ply.

The doctor finished cleaning his glasses, folded his hands in front of him, and gave the SCP the full weight of his attention.

“You’ve been isolated and strictly contained since your transfer to this facility, and for good reason,” Dr. Puli began, his tone even. Almost friendly. “I realize this containment may seem harsh to you, hence your withdrawal and lethargic state. So perhaps you could explain something to me. Something I don’t understand. Why has your first display of curiosity been in my research assistant?”

Your chest tightened, a mixture of anxiety and anticipation. The SCP was dangerous, but your own curiosity was piqued.

At least, until 049 slightly raised its head and once again turned its gaze on you, pinning you in place with its eyes. In past interviews, its voice had held a metallic quality behind that mask. That effect was harsher now with disuse, its words rusted and cracking.

“The Great Pestilence… festers within her.”

Its answer quashed your curiosity and filled dread in its place. There was no such thing, of course. Nothing had been proven or documented as evidence to show this Pestilence existed, but what was very real was the fact that those diagnosed with this strange malady most certainly found a fatal end at the SCP’s hands.

That’s not going to happen, you reminded yourself. You weren’t a fool like Dr. Hamm or distracted by anger like Dr. Sherman. I won’t screw up, and the subject will never get out of its cell.

The knowledge was a cold comfort, but 049 was relatively easy to contain. As far as SCPs went, there were worse ones to have focused on you. You just had to be careful, and you would be fine. In fact, this sudden change of behavior was a good thing. It meant studying the entity would finally yield some interesting results, and the higher-ups were always looking for a reason to give more grant money.

SCP-049 finally returned its focus back to Dr. Puli, its eyes narrowed as it sized up the doctor. Apparently, it wasn’t done speaking yet.

“And when she perishes from this most unfortunate affliction… you are all going to die. Painfully. Slowly. In ways you cannot comprehend.”

You blinked, but Dr. Puli didn’t miss a beat.

“Interesting,” he commented neutrally. “Can you tell me more about that? Such as how you know she’s… afflicted?”

The SCP narrowed its eyes once more.

“For the many long years I have been held in your laboratories, not one of your men of science have taken the Pestilence seriously. Not one has looked at my work and understood, or even desired to understand. Why would you be any different, sir?”

The longer it spoke, the more rust was dislodged from its voice. By the end, it was as eloquent as it had ever been, though there was a quality of weariness there that hadn’t existed from past recordings.

Was it possible for an SCP to feel such things? To grow tired of its lot in life? To be bored and suffer from ennui? They were interesting questions, and you were already mentally notating them.

Your churning thoughts were pulled back to the present when Dr. Puli gave his own retort.

“In its methods and goals, this facility diverges from those you’re used to. We conduct research and studies along with standard containment protocols, because we seek knowledge. We strive to learn, Doctor.”

The SCP slightly raised its head at being addressed with the title, but otherwise didn’t give any other reaction.

Dr. Puli added, “I myself am head of a specialized program dedicated to studying sentient SCPs. Unlike the inanimate objects we contain, those that are living beings deserve more… consideration to their confinement. To deny otherwise would be cruel.”

SCP-049 seemed to consider the doctor, though it was difficult to tell with nothing but its eyes to show expression.

“While your goals are laudable,” the SCP said, its tone indecipherable, “I require no specialized accommodations. All that I require of your Foundation is to continue my life’s work. I must discover the perfect cure, beginning with her.”

It said this last while turning its head, eyes once against fixed on you. Those weren’t the only pair of eyes; your colleagues had also started to pay attention to the exchange, and now it was as if a spotlight was fixed directly overhead.

Dr. Puli continued the interview as if the SCP weren’t staring daggers at you through the one-way mirror.

“I appreciate your predicament. To be denied one’s true calling is a sad fate. But involving my researcher with your studies is out of the question.”

SCP-049 returned its intense, bird of prey-like stare on Dr. Puli, and seemed to consider.

“You care for your apprentice.”

“I do.”

A surge of pride swelled within you, but it was ruined in the next moment.

“Then I implore you, good doctor, allow me to treat her.” The SCP leaned closer, quickly pulled to a halt by the guards holding the poles of its collar. It ignored them, full attention on Dr. Puli. “Her life, all of your lives, hang in the balance. I can spare the tools I require, but she must be remanded into my care—”

“She is perfectly healthy, as are we,” Dr. Puli interrupted, lips curling into a frown. It seemed he had chosen to not indulge in any more of 049’s delusions. “Your single-minded obsession with the Pestilence is—”

The SCP slammed its hands down onto the table hard enough to dent. The guards yanked on its collar, but Dr. Puli had already flinched back, as had you.

The SCP breathed hard, almost panting, and the guards were having to use considerable strength to keep it in place.

“Did you not hear me, sir! Your facility is doomed, your people will die screaming, choking upon their own blood, unless you allow me to cure the rot!”

Dr. Puli’s cool demeanor was gone; his face had lost some of its color, his forehead shiny with sweat, but his expression showed uncharacteristic anger.

“That’s a person you’re talking about. A human being, not some disease. This interview is over.”

Dr. Puli stood from the table. SCP-049 mirrored his movements, growling as the guards attempted to jerk him backwards by the collar. Its grey eyes were narrowed and sharp, and you imagined if it were possible, it would have bared its teeth.

“You condemn her to a fate worse than death! You condemn them all!”

The guards were only able to drag the struggling SCP from the room after pulling out what appeared to be pepper spray bottles, but what actually held lavender water inside. As soon as the mist hit its face, SCP-049 became quiet and still, and allowed itself to be led away.

You’d never heard the SCP so out of control during an interview before. Judging by the hasty way Dr. Puli wiped his brow with his handkerchief, he hadn’t either.

Dread shifted in your stomach. Why had the SCP chosen you as the newfound object of its obsession, especially after being inactive for so long? You didn’t know what this meant, but you did know your workload was suddenly going to involve a whole lot more of SCP-049. Your colleagues must have known it too, their gossiping whispers barely contained behind their hands.

You ignored your chattering coworkers, attention landing on the sizeable dent of the interview table.

All you could do was stare.

Chapter Text

Against your wishes, Dr. Puli wouldn’t allow you to interview SCP-049.

“But why not?” you had asked, sitting in one of the comfortable armchairs of his office. It was a cozy room of maroon carpet and green microsuede furniture, much different than the sterility of most of the site. “I’m in the best position to find answers. It will be more willing to cooperate if I ask the questions.”

“That’s exactly the problem,” he’d said with a shake of his head. “It’s precisely because of this obsession with you that the subject will be the least helpful in your presence. No, I will continue the interviews, and you will remain at a safe distance.”

You thought he was the one mistaken, but you did as he said and continued your daily check-ins of the SCP from behind the safety of walls and security.

Or you tried. Whenever you entered the observation room, SCP-049 immediately stopped what it was doing (which lately had been writing in its journal, the state of lethargy vanished), and it would stalk you from the other side of the glass. Eyes unblinking and laser-focused, it would stare you down like a predator, forcing you to cut your observations short. It would follow from the other side of the glass until you left the room.

You had quickly grown accustomed to working with sentient SCPs, had interviewed and studied more than a few of them, but this was different. Perhaps it was the stress and your long work hours, but you did begin to feel unwell and fatigued. Deciding to ride it out, figuring it was probably just a cold, you continued in your duties.

The next time you went into the observation room, roughly a week after the disastrous initial interview between Dr. Puli and the SCP, you decided to ignore 049 as best you could.

Interestingly, it didn’t notice your presence, completely oblivious as it paced around the middle containment room, muttering to itself.

“Been like this for hours,” Kenneth said with a disinterested glance at the window. He was in his mid-20s, with sandy-copper hair, dark-framed square glasses, and barely any stubble able to grow on his face. A fellow researcher in the Cryptopsychology program, he was nice enough, even though his attitude was far too casual and playful considering where you both were employed.

He got up from the seat and stretched, shooting you a little smile.

“Have fun with your admirer. If it acts up again, just bug out. Cameras will catch anything interesting that happens anyway. You look like you could use the extra sleep.”

“Thanks, Kenneth,” you mumbled tiredly.

He gave you a sympathetic pat on the shoulder and left the room.

As soon as the door slid shut behind him, 049 stopped pacing. Slowly, it turned its head in your direction.

You hadn’t even had time to take a seat, and you certainly didn’t take one now that it approached the glass, gradual like a hunter stalking its prey. It came to a stop just before the window, and even though there were a bank of controls and computers between you, it still seemed to loom over you.

Its eyes slightly widened as it looked you over, and it muttered something under its breath. You considered pulling up the audio log and rewinding the recording, but then it tilted its head and began to speak, voice low and laden with accusation.

“Sickness. Coursing through your veins like a poisoned river. Burning through your flesh like a conflagration. Bringer of Death. Avatar of catastrophe. They will speak of your demise as they do the Plagues in the book of Exodus.”

You couldn’t move, mesmerized by the conviction and borderline hatred in its words.

And then it pulled back its fists and slammed them into the glass, attempted to break it.

Your stillness was shattered, and without even thinking you reached over and slapped your palm down on the emergency button. Lavender-infused mist drifted down from the ceiling nozzles.

SCP-049 stopped attacking and backed away, vanishing into the opaque mist.

Your hackles rose but you leaned closer, trying to spot it through the haze, and then something flew at the window, striking it so hard it trembled.

You screamed and stumbled backwards, belatedly realizing the object it had thrown was its desk chair, previously bolted to the floor.

A looming figure darkened the glass once more, and 049 slammed its shoulder into the barrier. You flinched and covered your mouth with your hands to keep from screaming again.

The mist was finally doing its job. The SCP grew weaker, and when it bashed its shoulder into the window one last time, it didn’t move away. It slid to the ground on its knees, its breathing heavy and metallic through the mask, its cold eyes never leaving yours as it stared up at you through the window.

“You are going to die…”

Despite your pounding heart, you slowly drew forward, straining to hear its crackling whispers.

“…and there is… nothing I can do to stop it.”

The air wheezed in and out of its lungs as it struggled to speak.

“They will… not allow me to do what I must.”

The raw certainty in its gaze froze the blood in your veins.

“I can save you.”

Its eyelids drooped and it slumped to the ground. No longer a hulking figure of intimidation, it had been reduced to a pitiful pile of the floor.

The guards entered seconds later, securing the SCP’s hands first before dragging it into the inner containment chamber where it would be restrained until it calmed down.

You hardly paid attention, your voice distant and clinical when the incident manager entered the observation room to debrief you. You recounted the events that led up to you hitting the emergency button, but your thoughts were on the SCP, turning over its words in your mind over and over again.

I can save you.

But from what? What did you need saving from?

Chapter Text

Despite Dr. Puli’s protests that you didn’t “give in to the delusions of a dangerous entity,” you went to the medical wing and had a blood panel and physical completed.

The doctor read off the results to you, her voice clinical. You could barely process the words.

Abnormal blood work. White blood cell count too high. More tests would be needed, full body scans conducted to find where the illness had taken hold.

You moved through your life in a daze after that. Appointments were made, more exams performed, and then surgery was scheduled for the following week. They would have to be aggressive. Recovery would be long and painful.

You simply agreed to it all, unable to understand how this had happened. Dr. Puli was sympathetic, though you disliked the pity in his eyes, but were grateful that he gave you a sabbatical to focus on your health.

All you had left was to tidy up your work and finish a few things before you went on sick leave for the foreseeable future.

Your last task of the day should have filled you with dread, but it barely even registered in your mind past the barrier that seemed to exist now between you and the world. Every Euclid-class containment cell needed to be inspected and scanned frequently for any flaw in integrity. This was conducted by D-Class every 12 hours, an engineer once a week, and three times a week by assistants and researchers.

It took less than a few minutes, the handheld scanner did most of the work, and it was to prevent the possibility of any sort of containment breach. It was the reason Site-20 had never had an escaped SCP since its founding.

You were thinking of none of this as you entered 049’s cell. The SCP was safely contained within the inner containment cell, which only the D-Class scanned, so you weren’t concerned about the SCP itself. But you couldn’t stop thinking about its words. How could you not after its dire warnings and predictions?

It wasn’t unusual for 049 to claim someone had the Pestilence, in fact, that was fairly standard. But what if there was a grain of truth to its words? What if you had contracted this mysterious Pestilence, and the result of which would lead to everyone’s demise? Granted, that was a much different speech from its usual diatribe. Generally, it only threatened doom upon the infected person, but the SCP spoke of you as if you were a ticking-time bomb rather than a carrier of disease.

Despite its threats, 049 was a threat to no one, secured within the inner cell—

The magnetic bolt holding the inner door closed disengaged.

For a full second, you simply stood there. You couldn’t move, could barely breathe, the click of the lock and the slide of the door deafening in the silent room.

There was silence no longer. Soft but significant footfalls entered the room, and without a thought, without looking behind you, you bolted.

You hit the wall, coming to a hard stop with your shoulder braced against the concrete, and you dug your fingers into the plastic lid and pulled it upwards. You slammed the side of your fist against the red button labeled EMERGENCY.

Nothing happened.

No klaxons rang, no doors opened to reveal guards in vests carrying rifles. There was only you, and the dark presence behind you.

Jerking forward in a burst of panic, you rushed the door while yanking at the lanyard on your neck. You swiped your keycard across the electronic reader next to the door.

Nothing. Not even an angry buzzing noise to indicate you were denied access.

Only then, when the full weight of your situation crashed down on your shoulders, did you slowly turn around, back pressed to the wall.

SCP-049 stood tall in the middle of the empty room, head tilted like a curious bird. It spoke something in French, which was beyond your ability to translate, and then it spoke in soft English.

“Your mentor… has listened to reason?”

Its voice was metallic but smooth, like a chrome finishing. Death wrapped in a fine sheen.

“Or is this simply providence?” it continued when you didn’t speak. “No matter. It is quite fortunate you are here.”

Only when it took a step forward did you find your voice.

“Stay where you are, SCP-049. Don’t come any closer.”

The authority in your voice was undermined by the waver, the sheer terror thrumming in your chest. Your whole body was activity, trembling, beating, yearning to run. In contrast, the entity’s black boots were nearly silent as it took another step closer.

Despite its looming presence and its intimidating stature, its voice was different than before. It wasn’t rusty as it had been during the interview, nor was it menacing like your last encounter through the observation glass.

No, this time, it spoke with gentle quietness.

“I realize I perhaps frightened you with my actions. With my… sense of urgency. But you must understand, this is no typical prognosis,” it said. “Your treatment is of the utmost priority.”

It paused, raising its head to peer with narrowed eyes as it searched your features.

“You know, do you not? Just how unwell you are. Even now, it festers and spreads like a host of locusts.”

The situation shouldn’t have been able to grow more terrifying, and yet it had. Your voice cracked.

“I’m not sick.”

Another step closer, its grey eyes the same color as a tombstone.

“The stages are early, but this illness inside you will grow. It will conflagrate, consuming your flesh and bones until there is nothing left. Another victim of the Pestilence, though your death will signify something much worse.”

You hugged the wall as you moved further away from the SCP, and unfortunately, further from the door. Someone must have been looking through the cameras. Why weren’t they initiating a full lockdown of the room? Where were the guards?

Why was this happening?

“No,” you said, forcing your words to be calm. “No, I’ll be fine. They’ll biopsy the tissue and remove it. The Foundation has some of the best medical physicians in the world.”

The SCP followed your cautious retreat, its own steps unhurried. Slow. Stalking.

“Your men of science are blinded to the true nature of the Pestilence, as well as… other things.” It raised its head, the tilt of its beak nearly haughty. “I’m sure they will try their best, but…

Only I can save you.”

It darted forward, too quickly for you to react, and you were trapped against the wall in an instant. The SCP’s robed arms were on either side of you. Not touching, but obstacles you would never be able to pass.

You turned your head away, a scream trapped in your throat. All that escaped you were the soft whispers of your desperate pleas.

“Please, please don’t. Please don’t kill me.” The words were pointless, and yet the most important you’d ever spoken. “I don’t want to die.”

It hadn’t touched you yet, but once it did, you would be dead within the span of a heartbeat.

But instead, it lowered its mask close to your cheek, trying to meet your eye with your face turned away.

“Not… kill. Never kill,” it let out with a metallic hiss. “I will save you. You, above all others, must be cured.”

It raised a gloved hand toward your face. You were going to die. Considering your place of employment, it wasn’t a surprise it would end this way, but that didn’t mean you didn’t want to live so desperately you couldn’t breathe.

The hand hovered inches away. The SCP paused, its fingers almost touching your cheek, and then it changed course. It brushed the loose strands of hair from your face.

It touched you. The smooth leather of its glove grazed your temple, putting the hairs back in place behind your ear. It was a light touch, barely there, but more than enough to kill you.

And yet, you still breathed.

049 cupped your jaw with its leather glove, applying gentle pressure with its fingers as it turned your head. You complied, too stunned to resist, and stared up at its inhuman face.

Because of studies that had been conducted, the Foundation discovered the “mask” was actually made of chitin. You would have expected the mask to be made of keratin, such as is found in the beak of birds, and while chitin was similar in toughness it was usually found in invertebrates. It was a distinction that you didn’t know was important or not, other than it made the SCP stranger than it already was. Its leather “clothing” was simply its skin, a thick hide that protected its otherwise human skeletal structure.

Even its eyes, pale grey and intelligent, seemed so human. And in that moment, they held a look of pure awe.

“Remarkable,” it whispered as it gripped your jaw tighter in its fingers. Not hard enough to hurt, but you were undeniably being held in restraint. Its touch was warmer than you expected, surprisingly soft as well.

I’m the first to feel the texture of its hands, you thought faintly.

The warmth didn’t stop where 049 was in physical contact; it spread. Down your neck, across your chest and arms, descending across your abdomen and thighs. It tingled your flesh, activating goosebumps wherever it went.

It felt… well, it felt goddamn incredible. Like you were experiencing a massive surge of dopamine, and you half-closed your eyes as the sensation spread over every inch of your body.

049 watched your expression with intense fascination.

“What a miraculous revelation,” it murmured to itself. “It was right before their eyes all this time, they were simply too blind to see. But I… I see.”

It was babbling words that made even less sense than usual, but at the moment, you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You barely reacted when it brough its other hand to your jaw, tilting your head upward so it could study your face more closely.

“A panacea for that which decays the world.”

More nonsense. Your eyes drifted closed.

“Thank you for this gift.”

Distantly, a voice shrieked in alarm, somewhere from the back of your mind. You should break free, or at least, pay attention to what it was saying and mentally documenting everything that was happening.

Instead, you pressed your cheek against the SCP’s hand, nuzzling it.

049 gave a small intake of air behind its mask. You simply wanted to chase that amazing, overwhelming sensation, and when it moved one glove upward to hesitantly, almost shyly, stroke your hair, you found yourself completely unbothered.

If anything, it heightened the pleasure tingling along your scalp, and you leaned into its soft touch.

The spell was broken as you caught the scent of lavender. Instead of sedating the SCP as it should have, it gripped you tightly and pulled you to its chest.

“No,” it growled as the containment doors opened and the sound of several heavy boots followed. “No, they can’t—they will not have you!”

Several sharp cracks rang out—even in your inebriated state you recognized the sound of tranquilizer guns—and the SCP staggered and began to slump to the ground, taking you with it.

Kneeling on the floor, trapped within the grasp of its deceptively strong embrace, something hard and stinging bit into the back of your shoulder.

The effect was almost immediate, and the last thing you saw were black robes as you collapsed into the SCP’s arms.

Chapter Text

A thought tickled the back of your mind. There was something you were missing, something you were forgetting.

The tickle grew, expanded until it was an urgent thought, and then a desperate, gripping fear. You drew air into your lungs with a start, jerking upright as adrenaline flushed through your muscles.

You were alone, in a small cell with plaster walls and a concrete floor. You were lying on a green hospital cot, without even a pillow or blanket. Your slacks, blouse, and white lab coat were gone, and in their place a jumpsuit similar in design to the ones D-Class wore. This one was white, and there was a large, bold E painted on the left side, directly over your heart.

Only then did it come rushing back to you, as well as the severity of your predicament, the black camera in the corner of the ceiling confirming your suspicions.

You were under observation.

You stared at the camera. Someone must have seen you were awake by now, but then again, someone should have known you were in 049’s chamber too. The inner door between you and the SCP should have never opened, and you shouldn’t have survived. So many impossibilities had happened within the span of a couple minutes, and yet, you were alive.

How? No other living beings could survive 049’s touch, with the exception of other SCPs. From Dr. Hamm and Dr. Sherman to all the unfortunate souls at Site-19 during the infamous containment breach, no one was immune.

You turned it over in your head, and there was only one conclusion you could come to. The Foundation was attempting to find the same answers you were, and it was safe to say you weren’t going back on active duty anytime soon.

This was further confirmed when you were left alone for hours, your only company a D-Class prisoner accompanied by two armed guards to deliver a tray of commissary food and a pitcher of water. Your demands to speak to Dr. Puli were ignored, and none of them, not even the D-Class, would meet your eye.

You picked at the food but didn’t do more than nibble. You were fairly certain you were under observation only, and that this wasn’t an active experiment, but you couldn’t be entirely sure. You’d observed too many experiments yourself to know that the best results came when the subject had no idea there was an experiment to begin with.

Hours later, long after you’d memorized every imperfection of the plaster ceiling, the sound of the magnetic lock clicking had you bolting upright. Two guards entered, each carrying a pole and one holding an opened metal collar.

“Turn and face the wall,” one of them commanded, his eyes nearly inhuman behind his helmet visor. “Palms flat against the surface.”

You did as instructed, the hairs pricking on your arms as the two men approached from behind. The metal collar clicked around your neck, cold and heavy, and the two rods were attached. It was the same kind of collar they forced SCP-049 to wear during transportation, one reserved for unpredictable humanoid SCPs.

The guards guided you, or more accurately, pulled you along like an animal, and you bore it with as much dignity as you could. You were no threat to them even without the collar, which added to the humiliation, but there wasn’t anything you could do. Whatever authority you’d once held no longer applied to your current situation.

You were led to a plain interview room, an observation window planted to one side, the standard cameras lurking in the corners like ever-watchful spiders. The rods were unhooked from your collar, and you were handcuffed to a loop at one end of the table.

You slowly lowered into the metal folding chair, your attention on the man across from you, already seated at the other end of the table. A rather generic looking man, pale skin and brown hair, he might have been handsome if not for the icy focus in his gaze and the unfriendly turn of his lips.

You’d only met him a handful of times, mainly for the site-wide biannual meetings, and he hadn’t spared you a second glance. Now you had the full focus of his unblinking stare.

There were no notes before him, nor any tape recorders. There was no need with the observation room catching everything.

“My name is Doctor Geoff Leahy, Director of Site-20. I am conducting an initial interview of █████ Reid, junior assistant under Doctor Amin Puli of the Cryptopsychology Department. This interview is being conducted twenty-four hours after the incident.”

You blinked. Had it been that long already? How long had you been unconscious?

“The subject will now be asked a series of question, and I will instruct the subject to be as honest as possible. There will be no punishment for ‘undesirable’ answers. First question.”

He leaned forward, the harsh fluorescent lights deepening the hollows of his face, giving him a sinister appearance.

“Has the subject ever displayed any anomalous healing abilities?”

The hairs on your arms rose, and your spine stiffened.

“Excuse me?”

“The question will be repeated. Has the subject ever displayed any anomalous healing abilities?”

You stared at him for a few seconds, and then gave your best friendly smile. It was weak, and probably not all that friendly.

“Doctor Leahy, I can appreciate that you need to follow protocol, but there was a serious breach in containment procedures. The door wouldn’t open when I swiped my keycard, and the emergency alarm didn’t—”

“Has the subject ever displayed any anomalous healing abilities?”

It was as if he hadn’t heard you, or more accurately, didn’t care what you had to say. Not right now. Right now, you were the subject.

“No,” you stated shortly. “I haven’t displayed any anomalous healing abilities before.”

“Has the subject ever displayed any anomalous abilities of any kind?”

The handcuffs rattled as you attempted to pull them inward, forgetting they were there. The guards shifted behind you but otherwise didn’t move.

Jesus, you thought. All you wanted to do was cross your arms.

“No,” you answered blandly. “Nothing odd has ever happened to me, at least until I was recruited by the Foundation. Can you at least tell me why you’re asking these particular questions? Where’s Doctor Puli? I want to speak with him.”

Dr. Leahy eyed you for a moment before leaning back, his posture looser to a degree.

“All right, fair enough. After you were rendered unconscious by the tranquilizer dart, we kept you sedated and did an extensive physical screening. We can’t find a trace of cancerous cells in your body.”

He watched you, still unblinking.

“It seems you’ve been completely cured.”

Static filled your ears. You didn’t move an inch. You weren’t sure if you were even breathing.

Leahy went on.

“Because of this unprecedented situation with SCP-049, it falls under my purview as the Site Director, and out of Doctor Puli’s jurisdiction. You can understand our need to take precautions. Never before has that particular SCP’s ‘cure’ done anything except cause an instantaneous death. You are the exception. We want to know why. Further tests will be conducted.”

His last words snapped you out of your frozen state.

“What? No. No, I’m fine. You said so yourself, I’m completely healthy.”

Leahy’s eyes narrowed, his lips pulled into a thin line.

“That remains to be seen. Initial interview with Class-E personnel now concluded.”

Class-E. The designation given to Foundation personnel who had been exposed to an SCP in an unknown or novel situation and are kept under observation until they can be cleared for duty.

Many of them never leave a cell again.

Cold terror leapt up your throat as the Site Director rose from the table, and the guards approached you from the sides. As soon as you were unlocked from the table, you jerked away from the guard, shouting after Leahy.

“You’re making a mistake! There’s nothing wrong with me!”

Your arms were twisted behind your back, the rods reattached to your collar, but you struggled with every last ounce of strength to be heard by the retreating Site Director.

“Why was I trapped in 049’s cell?!”

Leahy never answered, and you lost sight of him as you were dragged around the corner. The guards didn’t bother letting you walk, they simply dragged you, arms squeezing around your bicep. Apparently, they had decided to skip using the rods.

When you were deposited onto the floor of your cell and left alone with your thoughts, it took all of your energy to pull yourself to the dingy medical cot. You crawled on top of it and curled into a fetal position, attempting to slow your frantic heartrate.

You would be fine. They’d already found you were cancer-free, wasn’t that good enough? You would go back to work and could continue to study this phenomenon from where you belonged, on the other side of the observation glass.

Despite reassuring yourself, you fell into a lethargy not unlike the one 049 had suffered from for over a year. You didn’t eat or drink, not until Dr. Leahy came over the intercom and threatened to have you strapped down with a feeding tube forced up one nostril if you didn’t care for yourself.

You ate after that. Site Directors didn’t make idle threats, but even with the energy from your meals, you couldn’t find any hope within the barren walls of your imprisonment.

How could this have happened? Just a couple of days ago, you’d been carrying out your duties, bored with the monotony of your days. At least, until SCP-049 had decided to come awake and turn its attention on you.

Had it known this would happen? It had seemed surprised at the time, but you would study it further—

Would have. You would have studied it further. Now, you were the one in a cell, waiting to see what your former colleagues and coworkers would do to you next.

Chapter Text

The bolt of the door sliding open startled you awake, body aching as you forced your reluctant muscles to pull you into an upright position. Sleeping on a cot was bad enough without the added anxiety of your predicament.

Two figures stepped into the room: a faceless guard with the visor covering the upper half of his face, and the Site Director himself, balancing a tray of food in his hands.

You eyed the tray warily as it was delivered in front of your cot. Funny how the man wasn’t afraid to come close to you, and yet had a guard escort him into your cell.

“Good morning,” said Dr. Leahy, as if it could possibly be a good morning. “How are you feeling?”

You kept your silence, the smarter option when you didn’t know what kind of response he wanted.

“I suppose your ill mood is to be expected,” he continued, clasping his hands together as if simply having small talk with a colleague. “But you must understand, holding you in isolation to ensure you weren’t infected with some kind of contagion, or otherwise a danger to others, was simply protocol. You know how unpredictable SCP-049 is. This could have been some new method for its ‘cure,’ or something even more nefarious.”

“Well, am I?” you asked. You hadn’t yet touched the food tray. “Contagious.”

“Not so far as we can tell. Nor are you abnormal or different in any way, save for the total absence of cancerous cells. In fact,” he said, eyes glittering with curiosity, and more troubling, ambition, “you’re at the peak of health. Your white blood cell count has gone back to normal levels, and even your blood pressure and cholesterol have improved. Unfortunately, we have yet to understand why only you were affected this way after coming into contact with 049.”

“You think it’s just me?”

“The other test subjects responded in the typical manner. There were no outliers.”

Your fingers tightened on the metal edge of your cot, your throat constricting.

“049 isn’t permitted to have direct contact with humans after Dr. Hamm and Dr. Sherman,” you said. “Especially not after Site-19.”

Leahy’s composure slipped for the briefest moment, the mask shifting to reveal true dislike underneath.

“I’m well aware. The risk is worth the reward. We’ve had little progress replicating SCP-500, so if we could refine 049’s ‘cure’ into something that remotely resembled its namesake, then we could do great work in protecting Foundation personnel from future harm.”

You sat upright, voice slightly lifting in hope.

“Are you letting me go back to work, then?”

“As of yet, no.”

You deflated immediately, the strength sapped from your limbs. Of course it wouldn’t be that easy.

“You will be much more effective where you are.” There was no empathy to be found in his features, none at all, and the thought occurred to you that he wouldn’t much care if you ever left this room.

Hoping to appeal to him, refusing to acknowledge the fact your tone was more pleading than persuasive, you said, “But… I’m of no use in this cell.”

“That’s why you won’t be in this cell.”

“…What?”

The corner of Leahy’s lips twitched; there was no denying the cruel delight he took in your discomfort. How had you never seen such qualities in this man before? Even if your brief encounters, surely some of the barren wasteland of his humanity could have been glimpsed on the surface.

“We have a unique opportunity to study SCP-049 up close, without the boundary of the lethality of its touch. Perhaps now we can finally learn its methodology, or at least decipher the language of its journal. At previous sites, it often clamored to have an assistant, or at least work alongside staff. An impossibility, of course, until now.”

Your mouth worked, the words refusing to form in your throat, until finally you said, “You… you can’t be serious.”

His expression darkened, so potently that you nearly shrank back.

“You may be under observation, but you are still an employee of this facility, and you will do what is required of you.”

For a moment the storm clouds hovered over his expression, only to clear up as he added with what he most likely assumed was a reasonable and fair tone, “For what it’s worth, it’s already shown enthusiasm when told of the new change, and even said it looked forward to working with its new assistant. In all likelihood, the SCP will cooperate with our efforts.”

Your stomach churned, you were going to be sick, how could he expect you to go back into the containment cell with that… that thing? It had nearly killed you! Would have, if it had done the job properly, and it still might.

“How do you know I’m permanently safe from 049’s touch? What if it was just a one-time fluke? A miracle?” Your pounding heart leapt in your chest. “What if it simply decides to break my neck?”

Leahy’s gaze was unblinking.

“That’s a risk we’re willing to take.”

He doesn’t care, you thought. He really doesn’t care at all if I live or die, not as long as he gets results that are slightly interesting.

Your stomach shrank further, the skin of your palms cold and clammy. How could Dr. Puli work under someone so ruthless and inhumane? All department heads reported to the Site Director, and you’d assumed that someone with so much control over the facility would have at least some social tact and emotional intelligence.

You wondered if Dr. Leahy had pulled the wings off helpless insects as a child.

“If it brings you any comfort,” said the Site Director, “049 continued physical contact with you after you were tranquilized. It took several seconds of heavy sedation and three armed guards to get it to release you. So, no, I don’t think it wants to end your life. It’s unlikely the entity will attempt to harm you.”

His smirk was an ugly thing, born of sinister thoughts.

“If anything, it seems rather… attached.”

Warning klaxons blared in your head. Attachment was a very loaded word within the Cryptopsychology department. When dealing with sentient SCPs, it was natural for them to become attached to researchers, and sometimes, the attachment went both ways. It was why researchers were rotated to different SCPs after several weeks, to keep from such bonds and sympathy from forming.

Developing any sort of relation with an SCP was risky at best, and an invitation for a containment breach at worse. The Site Director knew this, and still he was without a doubt going to encourage this bond to continue to develop.

And worst of all, there was nothing you could do to stop it.

Leahy turned toward the door but didn’t go through; instead, he half-turned to eye you coldly.

“Your instructions are this: You are to do whatever the SCP asks of you, within reason, of course. You still have your faculties, use them. Gather what information you can from the entity, and your cooperation and contribution will be noted. You have ten minutes before you’ll be transferred to 049’s containment cell. I suggest you prepare yourself.”

The Site Director and the guard departed your cell, leaving you without a word to say or a thought in your head. There was nothing left to do except wait for the inevitable.

You were going back into SCP-049’s containment cell.

Chapter Text

The walk through the long halls was like a funeral procession, though perhaps that was premature. A journey to the hangman’s noose, then.

The guards around you, once your colleagues and allies, were now your wardens, and they didn’t spare you a second glance as they escorted you to what could very well be your final resting place.

Fear crept along your spine, urging your heart to race faster. If it ended here, you hoped they would at least remove your body before the SCP could get its hands on it. If you were dead, you wanted to stay that way, and not come back as a shambling, nightmare version of yourself.

You couldn’t indulge in your grim thoughts any longer: you had arrived, the placard outside the door announcing the specifications of the Euclid-class SCP inside.

I can’t do this. I can’t. I can’t, I can’t, please, don’t make me do this.

The terror curled around your throat, but it was too late: the door was opened, and the guards shoved you inside. The door slid shut behind you before you’d even caught your balance. You glanced over your shoulder just to verify your only chance of escape was sealed, which it was, and you slowly turned back around.

The middle “common” area of the containment cell was empty. Well, empty wasn’t the correct word, there was a brand new, recently bolted down autopsy table to one side near the sink.

The hairs on your arms and the back of your neck stood straight as the heavy containment doors to the inner chamber slowly rumbled apart. The tall, dark entity stood at the threshold, as if it had been waiting to be released.

Its pale eyes immediately fixed on you, and it clasped its hands behind its back as it took a step forward. There was a curious tilt to its head as it pondered this novel situation.

“Ah, there you are,” it rasped in its metallic voice. “I grew concerned they would not return you to me.”

You took a step back, keeping your distance, which unfortunately put your back to the closed door. There was nowhere else to go.

The SCP continued speaking, unperturbed by your fearful silence.

“Though I imagine your physicians wished to conduct tests of their own. What have they found, pray tell?”

You licked your dry lips, voice crackling as you eventually found the will to speak.

“That I’m cancer-fr—… that I’m healthy.” The correct was delivered quickly, if clumsily. SCP-049 viewed individual illnesses as an “amateur prognosis,” as only the Pestilence mattered to this entity.

You’d have to be very careful moving forward if you had a hope of leaving this room alive.

“You are free of contamination?” It took another step forward.

“Y-yes. That’s right.”

It stopped, standing in the middle of the room next to the autopsy table. Still a few feet from you, but at least it didn’t seem interested in another attempt at “curing” you.

At least… not yet.

“Yes,” it breathed out, the word spoken with something close to awe. “I… I do not sense the Pestilence within you. This is wonderful, absolutely wonderful. The breakthrough I’ve been working so hard to achieve, and at such a critical juncture.”

The D-Class that Leahy had thrown at it after your incident, now cold and lifeless in the morgue, would refute that point. But there was little use in antagonizing the SCP. It had no reason, no logic when it came to anything regarding its delusional fixation on a fictional plague.

The SCP stood for a moment longer, still staring at you, before turning away and approaching the black doctor’s bag set on the counter. From within its depths, it pulled out its journal, and despite your dire situation you perked up in interest. That black bag was nearly as strange as the doctor itself. It appeared empty on scans and physical examination, but 049 could pull from it all manner of odd tools, even things that would be impossible to fit inside.

Your scientific curiosity was smothered when it again turned toward you, a black and silver fountain pen in its gloved hand.

“Describe your experience with the cure, if you please.”

“I’m… sorry?”

“What sensations did you experience? Was there any pain? Euphoria? Warmth? A chill?” Its eyes curved into something that was almost a smile. “I’ve never had a patient be able to explain the experience of the procedure to me before, and it’s vital these findings are documented most accurately.”

You shifted, hugging your arms over your chest, wishing the entity wouldn’t look at you that way. It was… disturbing.

“I don’t know.”

“Please, try to think,” it asked politely. “Your cooperation is most appreciated.”

Fixing your stare on the floor near its black boots, not wanting to meet its gaze but not wanting to take your eyes off it for a moment, you cast your thoughts back to that horrific moment.

Horrific, but it hadn’t felt that way.

“It… tingled.”

The SCP, which had been scribbling something into the journal, stopped and looked up.

“…Tingled?”

Its head tilted, like a curious bird.

“When you touched me, yes. And then it was warm, all over, and…”

Humiliation burned your cheeks. Describing the experience to the SCP was bad enough, but you were also being recorded, scrutinized, perhaps by the Site Director at this very moment on the other side of that one-way glass.

“Would you say it was an unpleasant experience?” The question was asked quietly, the SCP’s voice almost gentle, as if trying to ease the answer out of you. “Was there any discomfort?”

“No. No discomfort. The… opposite, actually.”

Meeting its eye was impossible now. Thankfully, it had returned to scribbling down its notes, and continued to do so for long enough that the silence grew too heavy for you to bear.

“Why am I alive?”

SCP-049 stopped writing, slowly lifting its head.

“My cure is most effective.”

Bullshit.

The annoyance that rose within you was sharp, bitter in your mouth. The only thing this SCP was effective at was killing and reanimating corpses, and it damn well knew it. For being so intelligent, SCP-049 was frustratingly ignorant. Normally, you would have indulged these delusions, but not when your life was at stake.

“But how?” you pressed, slightly leaning forward. “What did you do to me that was different from the others?”

The SCP paused, blinking once.

“You would not understand the work I have spent a lifetime perfecting. My methods are too complex to explain without decades of study and a willing, open mind.”

You’d spent enough time with academics to understand that was genius-speak for I don’t know, and I won’t admit it.

SCP-049 stared straight at you and said, “Perhaps that is why you are here. Are you willing to receive my teachings? To learn from me, to continue my great work should I be… hindered in my progress?”

You frowned as you turned over its words. Hindered in its progress? Was it referring to its own mortality? No one knew how old the SCP was, or if it could die by natural causes. As far as incapacitating it went, all the Foundation knew was that lavender sedated it and bullets could slow it down. They’d discovered that after the containment breach at Site-19, though while they’d been transporting it to its temporary holding cell, it had used the tools from its black bag to extract the bullets and suture its own wounds. It was far sturdier and stronger than any human, that was without a doubt, but it wasn’t invulnerable.

Or perhaps it was referring to the Foundation itself. Perhaps SCP-049 understood it stood on thin ice with the organization, and that if it killed any more staff, during containment breaches or otherwise, it might be placed into permanent storage.

Either way, the SCP was waiting for a response, and there was only one answer you could give. This was precisely what Leahy wanted, and if there was even a chance you could one day be reinstated into your old life, you would take it.

Where you would then be transferred as far away from SCP-049 as humanly possible.

“The Site Director is agreeable to me working as your assistant,” you responded carefully. “But I have a few stipulations of my own.”

The SCP’s head perked up, like a magpie spotting an especially shiny bauble.

“Name them.”

“You will treat me as a—”

You paused. The word you were going to use was person, but considering what this SCP did to people, you reconsidered.

“—as an equal. I’m not one of your—”

Again, you had to rethink your vocabulary. Zombies was the word you’d wanted to say this time, but you doubted the SCP would take kindly to that accusation.

“—other patients. I ask to be treated with dignity and respect.”

SCP-049 gave a small recline of its head.

“I would expect nothing less,” it said. "I accept your terms.”

You blinked. That was it? No arguments or negotiations or having to prove your loyalty and dedication? Who knew it was easier to be hired by an SCP than it was to ask for a raise from your boss?

Former boss, you grimly corrected yourself.

“Are there any other conditions to your apprenticeship?” it asked, tone still polite. The use of the term apprenticeship, as well as the oddly cordial nature of the conversation, left you disoriented. Two days ago, you’d never have believed this is where you’d be now, accepting a position to work under the entity that had previously tried to take your life.

“Yes,” you said, that last particular thought at the front of you mind. “You won’t touch me again without my explicit consent.”

You would have preferred to say you won’t ever touch me again, but that would veer into dangerous territory, and not agitating the SCP was the wisest course of action.

Plus, Leahy might very well want SCP-049 to touch you again for further experimentation. You shuddered at the thought.

The SCP appraised you, the gentleness from its eyes completely gone, a cold detachment in their place.

“Should the unthinkable happen and I sense the Pestilence within you once more, I will take the necessary steps to save your life.”

The blood drained from your face with each word. The reality of what you were about to do was truly settling on you, and you wanted to claw at the walls until you found your escape. But there would be none. There was no rescue, no reprieve, no stay of execution. Any chance of survival you had depended on staying smart and alive.

Besides, if the SCP truly wished to “cure” you again, there was nothing you could do to stop it. Only pray that you survived it a second time.

You took a deep, steadying breath, having the impression that you were bracing yourself before stepping off a cliff.

“Then you are not to touch me unless it’s to prevent my death. And you will treat me with dignity and respect. Under those terms, I will work as your assistant and help you to… to refine your cure.”

The SCP perked up again, that icy, uncaring look vanishing from its eyes.

“Excellent. We have a gentleman’s agreement. Or, in your case, gentlewoman.”

You slightly frowned. Gentleman? Did that mean the SCP had a concept of gender, including its own? The urge to pull out your tablet to write down your notes make your fingers twitch, until you remembered, oh yes. You weren’t the researcher in this situation. You were a pretend-assistant at best, and a test subject at worst.

“We do,” you finally responded when you realized the SCP was waiting for an answer.

“Wonderful,” it crooned, its mask tilted slightly up like the beak of a pleased rooster. “I will inform your doctors to bring in new test subjects, preferably ones in the early stages of the Pestilence, and we shall get started immediately.”

The SCP turned away to rummage through its black bag, and you allowed the tiniest bit of despair and hopelessness to tighten your features. But by the time SCP-049 turned to hold out a second notebook for you to take, your expression was blank.

As empty as your hopes for the future.

Chapter Text

With how enthusiastically the Site Director had green-lit this project, you’d expected the first “patient” to be a human. Instead, an assistant brought in a surgical tray with a deceased rabbit, its fur as white and sterile as your surroundings.

Disappointment flickered in the SCP’s pale eyes when it was released back into the middle room. Despite not being given its preferred test subject, the SCP rallied and proceeded with the surgery. It instructed you to assist by handing it tools from the black doctor’s bag.

Getting to interact with the object was almost as strange as interacting with 049. Whenever it asked you to retrieve an item, even if the name of it was unfamiliar, every time you reached into the bag you managed to wrap your fingers around something and pull the exact tool needed from the bag. You truly didn’t understand why your superiors hadn’t impressed more importance on studying the bag, which could be categorized under its own SCP designation.

Unless it only worked while in SCP-049’s presence. Codependent SCPs were rare but not unheard of. You would have thought it of interest for further study, but you no longer had any say on the matter.

After a grueling two hours that tried your patience to the limit, the rabbit came back to life, or rather its corpse reanimated after being pumped with tubes of strange liquid stored in the doctor satchel. SCP-049 went on to voice such proclamations as these types of subjects are insufficient for true academic study and Homo sapiens are the only animals able to be infected by the Pestilence, and anything less is a sham.

You stared at a speck on the floor.

“You will want to write this down, assistant,” it said following a stretch of silence. You continued to say nothing, almost resentful at being spoken to like a wayward pupil, but you followed it to the autopsy table and picked up a notepad and cheap ballpoint pen that had been put aside for note-taking purposes. You were almost nostalgic for your college days. Shadowed by an overbearing professor and contemplating the downward spiral of your life, it wasn’t really all that different.

You wrote down everything the SCP had performed during the experiment, though you couldn’t explain the liquid being delivered via copper tubes into the mutilated rabbit, or how it was able to move at all.

SCP-049 stared at the rabbit, its continued silence unusual.

“Is something wrong?” you asked, curiosity getting the better of you.

“The cure is effective, but not without… problematic side effects.”

No kidding.

The plague doctor returned to its own journal, scribbling down something with that old-fashioned pen you had noticed before. It had pulled it from the black bag, and you wondered if that’s simply where it was stored, or if the pen was a part of the mysterious contents.

The SCP moved away, not paying you attention for once as it slowly paced and scribbled at the back of the chamber. It gave you some breathing room, a chance to not stand so rigid, and you took the moment to look down at the pitiful creature hunched on the autopsy table. The rabbit sat huddled in a ball, milky eyes half closed and nose twitching, all the appearance being miserable despite not being alive.

Some of your coworkers were more comfortable using animal test subjects rather than D-Class whenever the rare test was needed, but you didn’t see why it was better to be comfortable with this. Causing suffering for a tidbit of knowledge that would gather dust in a file cabinet somewhere. You should know, you used to do the filing.

Maybe you had been spoiled working in the Cryptopsychology Department, where tests with live subjects were rare and generally not fatal. Or maybe you realized you had more in common with the rabbit.

You reached out a hand and stroked the rabbit’s back, wanting to give it one last gesture of sympathy.

As soon as your fingers made contact, the animal collapsed, its eyes empty and truly dead.

SCP-049 stopped pacing.

You stared at your fingers, searching for a sign that anything was different, but there was no reason it should have happened—

SCP-049 snapped its journal shut, put it down on the counter very slowly, and approached the autopsy table.

“What did you do?”

You backed away, retreating from its low voice as if it were a snake. The change in its whole demeanor was sudden, its broad shoulders rigid and its eyes as cold and grey as the table.

“I just… touched it.”

SCP-049 picked up the rabbit and scrutinized it for a moment before its icy stare fixated on your face.

You took another step backward as the SCP gently placed the animal back down, and your heart leapt in your throat when it slowly rounded the table and stalked in your direction.

“What. Did you. Do.”

That quiet, metallic voice was underlined by something that froze your spine.

“I didn’t do anyth—”

The SCP rushed forward, grabbed you by the base of your throat, and shoved you backwards until you hit the wall.

“Look what you’ve done,” it growled, the curve of its mask almost touching your cheek. “You’ve ruined it! Now I have to start again to correct this heinous error.”

Its fingers tightened around your throat, and you choked for air.

“I cannot perfect my cure with such sabotage.”

You grabbed its wrist and tried to pry it off, but the SCP was inhumanly strong. After a moment, it relaxed its grip enough for you to gasp, and you gulped in precious air as your heart hammered wildly.

Its masked face loomed entirely in your vision, its cold stare as heavy at the hand at your throat.

“You are the student, I am the teacher. Do not interfere with my work again. Have I made myself clear?”

Before you had a chance to catch your breath and come up with some sort of answer, mist drifted from the ceiling, and you caught the medicinal scent of lavender. The sedative should have worked quickly, but the plague doctor continued to hold you around the neck, its ravenous gaze on your face still alert.

Whoever was in charge of the test must have come to the same conclusion you did, that the lavender was no longer as effective as it once was, as three guards rushed into the middle common room. SCP-049 didn’t acknowledge their presence until one prodded its back with a shock baton.

It growled but kept its grip on you, even as it was shocked again and again, until it finally released you with a snarl. It turned on the guards, its voice risen in pure rage.

“You must not interfere!”

The guards turned up the voltage on their weapons; it only took two more hits for the SCP to drop to the ground, grunting in what sounded like pain, the metallic wheezing from its mask strained with effort.

They didn’t stop there. Your would-be rescuers were without mercy as they continued to beat and shock the SCP even when it no longer gave resistance.

You picked yourself up from where you’d slid down the wall, your throat raw and ragged but your words still clear.

“That’s enough!”

None of them paid you any attention, continuing their ruthless beating.

Oh, God, you thought. They’re going to kill it.

“Enough!”

You lunged between two of the guards, hoping your presence would interrupt the frenzy. All it earned you was a pair of hands dragging you from the room, your last glimpse of SCP-049 was of it curled in a protective position on the floor, reminding you more of a rabbit than a monster.

Chapter Text

More tests. More scans. You assumed nothing had changed, because after the doctors were done prodding you, you were returned to your barren room, your cot removed. It was such a petty thing, removing one of the few things that could provide comfort, but you bore the indignity in sullen silence.

When Dr. Leahy joined you in your cell, bringing a metal folding chair to sit on, you glared at it with envy. Your bones and joints ached like someone three times your age, and the concrete floor did nothing to help.

“We’re changing tactics for your next session with SCP-049.”

“No small talk today, Site Director?” you asked, your voice croaking. A parting gift from the SCP’s rough treatment. “Not going to ask me how I’m doing?”

The man didn’t look up from his tablet.

“Your tests came back the same as before, perfectly healthy. However, we still don’t know how you and SCP-049 are having an effect on each other, and that’s what the focus of today shall be.”

You said nothing. There was nothing much to say.

“I will feed you a set of instructions from the intercom, and you will obey them. If you do not, your accommodations will be revoked.”

You glanced around at your concrete box.

“Accommodations?”

He looked at you over the rim of his glasses, catching your dry note of sarcasm.

“If today’s session goes well, you will be transferred to a standard D-Class cell. Continue to be an exemplary employee, and you may even be reinstated in the staff quarters.”

You considered telling him to shove his “accommodations” up his ass, but your sensibility overruled your pride. As much as your fear had begun to ripen into anger, you knew Leahy could make things much, much worse for you. It was better to take what you could get.

He took your silence as agreement.

“You will follow my instructions to the letter, no matter what they are. If you disobey, encouragement will be given.”

A nice word for punishment if ever there was one.

“You will be escorted to SCP-049’s chamber immediately.”

The words barely registered before Leahy stood and tapped on the door with a knuckle. Two guards came in, one of them strapping a biomonitor on your wrist and the other grabbing you by the arm and hauling you into the corridor.

The walk wasn’t any more pleasant than it was before since your cell wasn’t close to your destination. SCP-049’s chamber was located in Heavy Containment Zone Sublevel 09, and each checkpoint you crossed drained what little anger you’d managed to harness.

Light Containment was an almost comfy section compared to the thick concrete and reinforced steel corners of Heavy Containment. The two were separated by a long catwalk and a longer elevator ride, compartmentalizing the segments enough that a breach in one would not affect the other. It was a clever design, but it meant everything was far apart, and wearing only thin sneakers your feet were aching by the end of your journey.

You were led into the control chamber and released once more, not bothering to try to run when the doors slammed shut behind you. You simply waited in front of the inner containment doors, your stomach twisting as the magnetic lock disengaged and the doors slowly rolled open.

SCP-049 walked forward, albeit slower than usual, its gait burdened. Its wrists and ankles were bound in shackles connected to each other, ending at the collar around its neck in a Class III Humanoid Restriction Harness.

On top of that, there were two collars around its neck, one constructed of metal and attached by chain to the wall of its inner containment cell, giving it just enough room to make it a few feet but no further.

The second device around its neck held a small black box to house a high voltage battery unit.

A shock collar.

It was the first time you’d seen one employed on an SCP. Dr. Puli never would have authorized it, and it wasn’t difficult to guess who had.

As the SCP shuffled forward, it favored its left side, injured from its confrontation with the guards. Confrontation was too gentle a word, perhaps. Yesterday’s beating would have been enough to kill a human, and you wondered if the SCP had been given any medical treatment. Knowing the Site Director, it was doubtful.

SCP-049 came to a sudden stop when its chain went taut, dragging it back a step. It steadied itself and straightened its posture with as much dignity as one could in shackles.

It seemed about to speak, but its eyes trailed down your neck, specifically the bruises peeking above the collar of your white jumpsuit.

“I have harmed you.”

Its voice faltered, as if this knowledge was troubling. There was no use denying it had hurt you, but you weren’t going to linger on that fact, either. Not with the Site Director watching your every move, documenting every word, and seeing how the interaction would play out.

“It’ll heal,” you answered without inflection.

The plague doctor seemed to frown, or at least its gaze narrowed with dissatisfaction as it gave you a thorough visual examination. You forced yourself to remain still under that piercing stare.

“Perhaps, but I… I should not have…”

It trailed off, uncertainty creeping into its words, along with something else. You would have called it guilt if it was coming from someone else.

The SCP rallied once more, drawing itself up and raising its head to look you in the eye.

“I owe you an apology, Doctor.”

Technically, you weren’t a doctor, having never gotten past a bachelor’s degree, but you didn’t correct the mistake. As far as you could remember from the recorded interviews, this particular SCP rarely showed regret, let alone apologized, and you didn’t want to derail its attention. You gave a nod to show you were listening, genuinely curious of this change in behavior.

“My actions yesterday were unbecoming of a professional of my standing,” it continued. “I was… vexed by my lack of progress, which is in no part due to your effect on the patient. It is clear your set of skills differ from my own, and I should attempt to understand them, not place blame where there is none.”

It gave a slight bow of its head, though its eyes never left your face.

“I also broke our covenant, disregarding your wishes so soon after you voiced them. But I have gained clarity since our separation, and if you will allow me the chance to prove my integrity, I swear this breach will not happen again.”

It shuffled closer, once against stopped by the chain. Its eyes beseeched you to listen, and you found yourself unable to do anything else.

“I ask for your forgiveness but understand if you do not grant it. If we must part ways here, I hope we may do so as colleagues. But I do hope you will stay. It is my wish for you to continue to assist me in my work. It is… quite important to me.”

The SCP stopped speaking, waiting for your response. A response that wasn’t forthcoming. You wanted to parse through each word, study it to unravel what the SCP was truly saying, because it couldn’t be a simple apology. Could it?

When several seconds passed and nothing was said, you could practically sense the burn of Leahy’s gaze on your back through the observation glass.

“I forgive you,” you said, your words no longer stiff or flat.

Because strangely enough, you did. Its outbursts and abrupt changes in mood weren’t truly its fault, no more than any SCP was to blame for its existence. Unpredictable behavior was part of SCP-049’s nature. You had upset it, and it had responded. Stimuli and reaction. It wasn’t personal.

No. What seemed personal were the guards’ brutality and the unnecessary application of chains and a shock collar.

You eyed the heavy manacles.

“And I agree to continue to be your assistant.”

Not like you had a choice in the matter—the Site Director was forcing this role on you whether you wanted it or not—but the SCP’s reaction made it a little easier to bear. It visibly perked up, head lifting to meet your gaze, eyes bright. A far cry than the dull, stony grey they’d been when the containment doors had parted and it saw the damage it had done upon your throat.

“I truly am grateful for this second chance.”

The SCP really did sound sincere, its mechanical voice warm and satisfied. It was unexpected. You hadn’t realized it was capable of sounding so… well, almost affectionate.

“Our collaboration in the coming days is something I look forward to with great anticipation,” it crooned. The praise was so genuine, so eager, you had to look away. Your gaze landed on the one-way mirror, and you gave a subtle nod, indicating you were ready for what happened next, even if you truly weren’t.

At least you and the 049 were cooperating now. That was something.

“We are ready to start,” the SCP announced to the observation glass, behaving as if it were in charge of the tests despite the fact it had about as much control over the situation as you did.

The chain detached itself from the metal collar by remote control, letting the SCP have free roam of the containment chambers again. The Site Director must have been ready for the next round of experiments, and you dreaded what he had in store for you.

For both of you.

You blamed the SCP’s uncharacteristic apology influencing your own behavior for what happened next. You approached its side, taking your place between it and the doctor’s bag, your notebook and pen at the ready as you picked them up from the lab counter. You kept your voice low, lips barely moving.

“It’s good to see you’re still in one piece.”

I’m glad they didn’t hurt you worse.

The SCP may have understood what you didn’t say aloud, or maybe it just knew the need for discretion, because it turned only enough to catch you in the corner of its eye.

It tilted its head by a fraction. You couldn’t tell if the gesture was an acknowledgement or curiosity, but its gaze lingered all the same.

Chapter Text

You dreaded more dead animals laid out on trays for the next test, but what came through the doors was worse. Three goats, very much alive, were brought in via collars and chains. The ends of their chains were hooked to a metal ring in the wall, and they were left behind by the D-Class who had brought them inside.

Even with SCP-049 itself still in chains, there were two additional guards with rifles along with the D-Class who had brought the animals, and they backed out of the control room with their eyes never leaving the masked entity.

You were largely ignored, and as soon as the doors shut, Leahy’s voice was broadcast into the room from the circular speakers in the ceiling.

“Test one, begin. Take the goat with the blue collar labeled 01 and bring it to SCP-049.”

There could be no one else he was talking to, and you had no choice to obey even if your stomach churned and your chest ached. It was unlikely any of the animals would be leaving alive.

The goats shuffled on cloven hooves at your approach, but they didn’t resist when you unhooked the one with the blue collar and led it away from its companions.

“SCP-049, touch the animal,” Leahy instructed once you had brought the goat up to the tall SCP.

049 gave the observation glass a cool stare.

“Pardon me, sir, but this is my experiment and my laboratory. I shall run the tests as I see fit—”

“Your so-called tests are over, SCP-049. We’ve humored you long enough with these ridiculous fantasies and pointless waste of resources. You will obey my instructions, or you will languish in that cell with absolutely nothing. No books, no furniture, no experiments. And no assistant.”

It was this last sentence that caused 049 to raise its head and peer at the glass with an emotion you couldn’t quite pin down.

“I suppose… we have the same goal,” it said, its metallic voice low and quiet. “The methods do not matter. Very well, I will allow this.”

“I’m thrilled to have your approval,” Leahy droned. “Now, touch the animal.”

The SCP turned its head with a narrowing of its eyes. The coldness of that stare thawed when it landed on you, and it seemed to be on the edge of saying something.

Instead, it bent down and, with surprising gentleness, touched the back of the goat’s neck.

The animal fell to the floor, dead instantly as they always were, a further reminder that you were the exception.

You released the end of the leash animal’s chain, realizing you were still holding it only after the end of it went slack, but you didn’t move away from where the SCP was bent down. It reached to pick up the goat, no doubt to put it on the autopsy table and continue the experiment, but it didn’t get that far.

“Stop. Do not touch the subject any further. Back away two meters.”

SCP-049 narrowed its eyes again but straightened into a standing position and stepped back.

“SCP-049-3, you will now make physical contact with the subject.”

After several seconds, you realized he was talking to you.

SCP-049-3?

You couldn’t focus on that, what it meant, not now. You shoved it to the back of your mind and touched the flank of the animal. If 049’s touch had been gentle, yours was timid, worried of what would happen, but nothing did. The fur remained lifeless under your fingers, coarse and still warm.

“SCP-049, continue with your reanimation procedure,” Leahy ordered from the intercom. “And be quick about it. We don’t have days to carry out this single test.”

If looks could kill (which they could, just not with SCP-049), there would no longer be a Site Director. But 049 picked up the goat and brought it to the table without complaint, and it began its strange surgery.

From what you’d gathered from past logs at other sites, it was true that SCP-049 could sometimes take days to reanimate a single corpse, so you didn’t know how Leahy expected this to go any faster. You also didn’t know what the rush could possibly be. Maybe Leahy was impatient to report his findings on your peculiar condition to the O5 Council.

Or maybe he wanted to get to the “good stuff.” You dreaded to find out what that would be.

Within twenty minutes, using methods you still didn’t understand despite trying to write it all down in the notebook, the goat was again alive. Or it was showing vital signs, lying on the table with the intelligence gone from its milky eyes as the SCP removed the copper tubes from its stomach and sewed up its insides.

It seemed SCP-049 could work faster under pressure. The results were the same as always, the subject in a vegetative state, the body continuing to function while the consciousness was entirely gone.

You flinched when the intercom squeaked. Goddamn asshole was probably trying to jump scare you on purpose.

“Touch the subject, SCP-049-3.”

You grit your teeth at the new designation, but there was nothing to be done about it. Instead, you turned to the SCP, finding its attention was already on you as it so often was.

“You’re not going to attack me again, are you?”

You had to ask, not wanting a repeat of the rabbit incident. Your neck could only take so many strangulations in a week.

“No. No, I…”

The plague doctor trailed off, its words quiet and subdued. You wondered if it felt regret. It certainly acted like it did.

“I give you my oath I will not allow my emotions to best me again,” it said.

Even though you knew better than to trust an SCP—hell, at this point you could barely trust other humans—it was difficult not to be moved by its… earnestness. It seemed to mean every word it said, and maybe it did, though that didn’t necessarily mean it could control its own actions, either.

You kept eye contact with 049 as you reached out to touch the goat, knowing what would happen next. As soon as your fingers touched its fur, its head dropped to the table and it appeared to be truly dead, no doubt recorded through the biomonitor on its neck, similar to the one cuffed to your wrist.

049 moved forward, and it took every ounce of your willpower not to shrink away. But its attention was focused on the animal, its gaze both curious and troubled.

“SCP-049, attempt to reanimate the corpse.”

The SCP sent the window a glare, this one coated in frost, no doubt already planning to do as the Site Director demanded.

It went through its typical process, inserted copper tubes and viscous dark liquid that couldn’t be identified with any of the tools available to the Foundation, and after a few minutes it stepped back from the corpse.

“I cannot reanimate this specimen. It is… inert.”

“Elaborate.”

A huff came from behind the skull-like mask.

“My methodology is no longer effective on this beast.”

“And why’s that?”

“I believe that’s why they pay you the stipend,” 049 said, lifting its beak as it stared disdainfully toward the window. “I will not do the work for you simply because you think it beneath your station, sir. A true man of science would make the effort himself, not hide behind stone walls like a cowardly king—”

A sharp buzz came from its collar, cutting the words clean off, and SCP-049 braced itself against the autopsy table as its limbs trembled.

You took an aborted step forward, hand raised toward the distressed SCP, the only thing running through your mind was to help, to stop it from being in pain. You quickly stopped the gesture and moved back, but you knew it had been caught by the cameras, if not Leahy himself.

Idiot, you thought. Don’t make things worse.

The buzzing noise stopped, giving the plague doctor a reprieve, and it caught its breath with a heave of its shoulders.

The Site Director had shocked 049 simply for telling him to do his job. Something hot simmered under your skin, but you turned toward the observation window in hopes of keeping the SCP from receiving more shocks.

“What do you want us to do next?”

“Bring another specimen, the one with the green collar labeled 02. And advise your lab partner to keep its mouth shut.”

You said nothing to the latter, as anything you wanted to say wouldn’t help the situation, but you did obey the former, reluctantly separating the second animal and bringing it over to the table. It tugged at its chain, but you kept a firm hold, forcing yourself to remain numb and emotionless. It was a necessary skill when working for the Foundation.

“SCP-049-3, grab the subject by the scruff of its neck. Make sure you have a firm hold,” Leahy instructed. “SCP-049, touch the subject on its head.”

Your stomach turned despite your attempt to remain unfeeling, and 049 drew closer, its movements stiff as a result of its recent shock. Its touch was not cruel against the goat’s fur, but you still flinched when the animal dropped to the floor, slipping through your fingers.

“What is the point of this?” you asked, more to yourself than the Site Director.

“Do not speak unless you have something pertinent to say, SCP-049-3.”

You loathed that man more than you ever had before, but your hatred didn’t distract you from noticing the SCP watching you, his gaze unblinking and intense.

“Leave the animal where it is,” Leahy snapped. “We don’t need another dissection. Retrieve the third subject with the red collar labeled 03.”

You did so with a heavy heart. The third animal balked, able to smell and see its two dead companions.

I’m sorry, you said in silent apology, the only place where it would be safe to voice such things. Then again, this was the Foundation, and not even the privacy of your thoughts could be considered a sanctuary if they didn’t want it to be.

You brought the third goat to the table, its chains tight in your hands.

“I want you to touch SCP-049.”

You jerked your head toward the window.

“What?” You couldn’t have heard right.

“Make physical contact with SCP-049 somewhere on its body. I don’t care where,” Leahy said, his tone between boredom and irritation. “Preferably somewhere you won’t be a hindrance.”

At a loss, you stared at 049 as if the Site Director had asked you to transform the SCP into an ice sculpture of a swan.

“You may stand behind me and place your hand on my shoulder,” it said, its eyes unusually soft. You were grateful for the instruction, your mind too jumbled to know where to touch the SCP, let alone why.

You stood behind the plague doctor, its intimidating height easily observed at this close distance. Standing at almost 6’3” and 210 pounds, it made most of your colleagues small in comparison, let alone yourself.

Placing a hand on its shoulder, you noted how warm and soft the fabric was, yet another reminder that it wasn’t truly cloth at all but an integral part of its body. You’d expected it to feel like rough hide, but it was more like a combination of smooth cotton and soft leather.

Leahy gave you no time to adjust to the strangeness of 049’s skin.

“SCP-049, touch the subject, now.”

The SCP held out its hand to you.

“May I?”

It took you a little too long to realize what it was asking before you handed off the goat’s chain leash, placing it within 049’s palm. It gave you a small nod in thanks and knelt before the animal. You weren’t sure why it did this, maybe so it wouldn’t frighten the goat by looming over it, or maybe to make it easier for you to keep ahold of its shoulder.

Even in these circumstances you couldn’t help but try to dissect the SCP’s behavior and thought process, such as when 049 reached for the animal and hesitated for a single moment before making contact with its neck.

Against all possible reason, the goat remained alive and even settled down as 049 lightly stroked along its back. The touch was slow, almost reverent, and something in your head clicked. Besides you, this might be the first time 049 had touched another living thing and it remained living.

The intercom cracked with Leahy’s dreaded voice.

“SCP-049-3, release your contact with SCP-049.”

The masked SCP stopped petting the animal, its hand resting on the goat’s back. It must have known what was going to happen next, but 049 remained quiet and without objections.

“Please, can’t we stop here?” you pleaded with the one-way glass. 049 had barely gotten to experience what it was like to touch a living creature, and Leahy was going to take away this new experience before the SCP could explore it. It wasn’t fair. It was cruel and—

“Don’t make me ask again, Reid. Do as I say if you want those privileges.”

The plague doctor stiffened under your touch.

Frustration and a hint of guilt welled in your chest. Wishing it was the Site Director instead of the goat about to meet its demise, you let go. As soon as you did, the goat dropped to the floor, lifeless, and 049’s hand remained frozen in the air.

“Testing concluded,” Leahy said, voice smooth with insidious satisfaction. “SCP-049, return to your containment chamber. SCP-049-3, remain next to the control door to be escorted for further testing.”

You reeled backwards as if physically struck.

“What? Further testing? Why?”

It was too much to hope you were being taken for more medical tests. Leahy had used the phrase further testing, not further tests. The distinction mattered. These were Foundation experiments he was speaking of.

What other possible experiments could be conducted that didn’t involve SCP-049?

No answer was given, the intercom remaining silent.

Fear gripping your throat, and you looked to the only other occupant of the room, seeking what, you didn’t know. Something, anything, an acknowledgement that there was a witness to your coming fate.

By the SCP’s sharp gaze, it understood the implications. 049 took a step towards you and then staggered, its shock collar buzzing.

“You are trying my patience, SCP-049,” Leahy growled. “If you ever want to see your assistant again, you will obey. Get in your containment cell. Now.”

The SCP reluctantly moved towards the back of the chamber where the doors to the inner cell stood open. Its gaze never wavered from yours until the magnetic doors slid together and sealed shut, cutting off your view of the cloaked SCP.

The guards entered after that, pulling you from the middle chamber and past the waiting cleanup crew. There was no comfort in leaving this time, but at least by Leahy’s threats, it sounded like you would be undamaged enough to return to 049’s containment chamber.

The Site Director could have lied. After all, you were no longer Class E personnel.

SCP-049-3.

You’d been reduced to an instance of SCP-049. As equal in the eyes of the Foundation as the doctor's black bag, or a reanimated corpse.

Chapter Text

You were given a total of fifteen minutes to remain in your cell with a tray of food and told to prepare for the next phase of testing. You ate what you could stomach and rested while you could, because the guards were at your door all too soon.

No one told you where you were going, but you paid attention to the levels and containment zones. It wasn’t much comfort when you were led to Light Containment, as SCPs that were simple to contain didn’t necessarily mean they were harmless.

But when you went into a simple testing chamber and an orange blob that quivered with delight waited behind a glass door, you nearly sobbed with relief. You did end up making some kind of noise that was almost a laugh when the creature wiggled with the pure, simple happiness of a puppy spotting a new playmate.

You wondered if this was Dr. Puli’s doing, that perhaps he had brought SCP-999 to the testing chamber for psychological soothing. The Site Director certainly didn’t care about your mental welfare, and you didn’t know what other reason there could be for bringing in—

Leahy’s voice cracked over the intercom.

“Next test, begin. SCP-049-3, make physical contact with SCP-999 using your hand.”

The glass door parted, and with more speed than one would think of an entity without legs, the orange blob zoomed across the room and begged at your feet to be petted.

“Why? What’s going on?”

999 might be one of the nicer SCPs at the Foundation, but the Site Director being involved meant this wouldn’t end well.

“SCP-049-3, make physical contact with SCP-999 using your hand,” he repeated, his tone indicating you wouldn’t like what would happen if you disobeyed.

Wishing the Site Director would drop dead already, you reached out to the SCP, knowing as soon as you touched it, all negative thoughts would fly from your head to be replaced by pure joy. SCP-999 had the particular effect of filling those it met with love and happiness. No matter how violent the creature or person, being “cuddled” by 999 would make you the most docile, gentle being in existence.

When you contacted the warm, gelatinous surface, you knew something was wrong. Not only was the happy euphoria absent that should have accompanied the touch, but SCP-999 made a whimpering noise and sank into an amorphous pile of orange goo.

What?

You’d come into contact with 999 before—it was routine after a certain amount of time in order to keep spirits and morale high on the staff. It wasn’t allowed full rein of the facility as it had at other sites, but it did sometime have free roam of the staff areas while being monitored.

“You may release SCP-999,” Leahy ordered unnecessarily. You’d already done so, horrified you’d hurt the harmless, friendly SCP. But as soon as you broke skin contact, it sprang back up and made an inquisitive chirping noise. It tried to rub against your thigh like an especially large friendly cat, and it looked up at you with puppy-dog eyes when nothing happened.

Nothing. Not a thing. No happiness or joy, no warm feelings of knowing everything would be all right in the world.

Despite no pain or torment being involved with this experiment, it still felt like a horrific experiment had taken place when the guards hauled you away. What was happening? What had they done to 999 to make it this way?

Your struggles were met with the butt of a riffle jammed into your stomach, causing you to double over and gasp for breath. You stopped resisting after that. It was better to wait and see what came next, because you certainly weren’t getting away from highly trained security carrying P90s.

The next room you were dumped wasn’t familiar, but it had a simple design of four plexiglass walls reinforced with titanium corners. The space around you appeared to be empty, but that didn’t necessarily mean it was.

“Next test, begin. SCP-049-3, are you able to see anything in the room?”

You’d backed into a corner and were huddled in a defensive position, not wanting to be attacked from behind.

“No,” you answered, too tense to give him anything more than that.

“Keep looking.”

You didn’t want to. You wanted to do the opposite, cover your face with your hands and pray it was all a nightmare, or if it wasn’t, that it would be over soon. If the Site Director would just tell you what SCP you were being forced to face, then you could at least prepare yourself, but that would defeat the purpose of a clean test. Especially if it was a type of SCP where your knowledge of it could change your perception of it.

Now you knew how it felt to be a D-Class.

You focused on one corner of the room and held your breath. Only when your focus was wholly on one spot did you sense it. Something in the upper left corner of the cubed room. Watching. Observing.

You buried your face in your hands, ignoring the Site Director’s commands to open your eyes and watch. You couldn’t bear to look at the thing that was going to end your life.

But… nothing happened. You sensed the SCP watching you, but nothing else, and over time the fear drained from your mind. Your breathing slowed as did your heart, calmness settling over your body. You knew it wasn’t going to hurt you, though you didn’t know how you knew.

With your face still pressed to the top of your knees, you carefully stretched out one arm, palm facing forward. You kept it there, but you couldn’t quite understand why. It seemed the right thing to do.

Light skittering noises came from the glass as the SCP moved down the wall, nearly silent clicking claws as it reached the concrete flooring. Something thin and flexible tickled your hand, as if curiously exploring it.

You forced yourself to keep still and silent. After several seconds heavy in anticipation, something smooth bumped against your palm, resting there. The texture was cool and hard, reminding you of some kind of shell.

You cautiously raised your head and stared at the SCP. It had several stick-like limbs, a glossy green carapace, and feelers that stuck out from either side of its head that wavered, testing the air.

Its head was pressed against your hand, very much like an animal demanding attention, and it made a clicking noise in response to eye contact. Only then did you realize what it was, and it had taken you this long to recognize it because technically, no one had laid eyes on it apart from glimpses and shadows.

SCP-372.

“Are you getting this?”

The insect flinched and raised its antennae, the clicking noise becoming a startled screech, and it skittered away. As soon as you broke contact, it vanished into thin air. In truth, this SCP didn’t vanish, it simply vibrated at a frequency that allowed it to flicker at a rate that was between the neural impulses that go from the eyes to the brain. It literally hides within plain sight.

At least, until you’d touched it. Why it had even allowed you to touch it, you didn’t know.

Judging by the Site Director’s expression when you were led to a small room with an interview table, he was pleased with the results. As you were forced into a chair and chained to a loop on top of the table, you couldn’t relate.

With the Site Director himself present, you expected this to be some kind of interview following the experiments.

Instead, a junior researcher you recognized entered the room. He was carrying a wooden box, and while he didn’t say anything to you directly, Kenneth gave an apologetic wince as he placed the box directly in front of you and opened the lid.

A jade ring lay inside. Though you hadn’t seen it in person yourself, you recognized SCP-714. Another relic of Site-19 after it was shut down.

“You may go,” Leahy said, dismissing the only friendly face you’d seen in… how long had it been? A week? Less?

Kenneth mumbled a “yes, sir,” and left the room, sending you one last glance of regret. It gave you hope that not all of your old colleagues saw you as a test subject like the Site Director clearly did.

“Put on the ring.”

No formal announcements of tests this time. Leahy didn’t even have any notes or his tablet. He simply watched, two-armed security personnel flanking you on either side of your chair.

Not that they would be needed. If 714 worked as it was supposed to, you’d be as sedated as if you’d received a dose of muscle relaxant with a chaser of morphine.

“Please,” you tried one last time, your voice cracking. “Tell me what’s going on.”

Leahy stared straight through you. He wasn’t going to answer, and there was no point in testing his patience.

One benefit to wearing SCP-714, you wouldn’t care much about anything in a moment.

That is, if it worked correctly.

You picked up the jade ring, beautiful in its simplicity, and slipped it on your finger. It was too large to fit, but as soon as you pushed it down all the way, it shrunk to the perfect size.

It was as if all the lights in your brain were flicked on at once, and each of those bulbs had the power of football stadium lighting. Your thoughts expanded, your mind racing as your eyes darted around the room. Alert was an understatement; you took in the whole of the room and catalogued every detail of it perfectly, down to each of the Site Director’s eyelashes.

“What are you experiencing?” he asked, his voice slow and muddled to your ears. Already you took his question and manipulated it like clay, tearing it apart and turning it over to shape it into something that revealed the truth.

You had an anomalous effect on other SCPs. It wasn’t just SCP-049, though it was perhaps the first. You seemed to either negate the anomalous effects of SCPs, or even stranger, caused them to create the opposite of their intended effect.

You’d make the ever-joyful 999 sad. You’d pinned down the elusive 372. The jade ring had plugged your brain into an overloaded socket that would have been overwhelming if your mind hadn’t been able to keep up, filing away the details of each of your senses and documenting every complex thought that sprang upward like an errant weed.

And SCP-049: instead of it killing you, it had cured you, and while in contact with it you negated its lethal touch.

The Foundation was studying you, not because of 049, but because you were being evaluated as an SCP.

You came to this conclusion as Leahy finished saying the word: “experiencing.”

Rising to your feet, you moved so fast you broke the handcuffs binding you to the table. Both men on either side of you aimed their guns at your head—but you hadn’t meant to do it, your body was functioning on another level, and you had to adjust—

The guards were yelling at you now, screaming at you to put down the “weapon.” Your anger was as quick to appear as your new intelligence.

Your left hand struck one guard in the throat, causing him to stumble as you sent a kick back into the stomach of the second guard. Grabbing the gun from the first guard, you pulled it apart in your hands, ripping off the barrel from the body of the weapon.

The second guard had almost rallied by the time you took his gun and smashed the butt downward into his helmet, sending him dropping to the ground.

The first guard held up his now-empty hands, terror bleeding from his cowering posture even if you couldn’t see past his visor.

But you weren’t going to kill the guards. No, you spun to face your true target—and took two wired prongs to the chest.

Pain erupted up your body, coursing through your rib cage and down your limbs. Your knees gave way and you collapsed, twitching as the flow of electricity finally stopped.

Leahy stood over you, the other end of the wires attached to the spent taser in his hand. He reached down and pulled the ring off your numb finger, placing it back into its wooden box.

His lips were pulled into a sneer of triumph, but there was a reflective shine to his forehead. You might no longer possess the photographic memory you did while wearing the ring, but you could still remember with satisfying details of the mask of terror he’d worn when you’d broken free of your restraints.

The guards didn’t drag you from the room this time. Doctors in white lab coats entered the room, and you were lifted onto a gurney. The sting of a needle was at your neck and the prongs removed from where they’d been embedded in your sternum.

The last image you had were the fluorescent lights passing overhead, one bar after another, hypnotic. Your eyes fluttered closed, and you were dragged down into the darkness where more horrors awaited.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

You couldn’t stop twitching.

It didn’t happen constantly, but every so often there was a spasm, a flinch, a shudder that couldn’t be denied. Your body ached but your mind was far worse. You’d barely noticed when after the batch of testing was over that you weren’t led into your previous barren box.

The Site Director had kept his word, and you were now the luxurious owner of a D-Class cell. At least it had a metal bunk built into the wall, and even its own toilet rather than a drain in the floor.

It was an upgrade, but in the end, it was garnish on a pile of shit.

Not even your old boss could save you. He’d conducted your exit interviews, asking after your mental and physical state while you stared at the wall, the concrete as blank as your static-filled brain.

But the numbness didn’t last forever, and eventually, your mind couldn’t stop replaying the horrors. Each test seemed to grow worse and worse, even when some of them did nothing at all. But unlike a D-Class being submitted for testing, you recognized each of the SCPs you were exposed to, and many of them should have left you dead, or worse.

The toy bear that was the stuff of nightmares, the sheet of music that should have driven you to finish the song using your own blood, the coffin that could make you go mad in so many insidious ways. Even the beasts that could mimic speech and the gas mask that warped your view of the world (or in this case, caused the warping of others) wasn’t as bad as the little girl.

She was a sweet child at the inquisitive age of three or four, no one was quite sure. You’d interviewed her a few times before during your time as a junior researcher, though it had always been at a safe distance with a time limit of ten minutes.

Today, they’d shoved you in the room with her with no barriers or protection, and certainly for longer than ten minutes. And absolutely nothing had happened. For the first time in her life, she could be a normal little girl without ruining the lives around her, driving them to violent madness while she went into a trance, unaware of the chaos around her. A blessing, in your opinion.

She’d actually cried when she’d hugged you around the knees, the first person she’d had comfort from in a long time. And it was the first time you’d considered that maybe whatever was “wrong” with you didn’t necessarily need to be a bad thing. Or at least, it had some possible benefits, such as getting to hug a child an immortal child that must be kept in isolation for her own good, and the good of those around her.

It was the only test you’d been reluctant to leave, your chest aching at the tear-streaked face that tried to be brave at your departure.

You had no idea what any of this meant, how you were able to do these things, if it was permanent or temporary. All you knew was the Foundation wouldn’t be satisfied with the data they’d gathered so far. Of that, you were certain.

As you waited for their next move, you tried to get as much rest as you could. You lay curled on your side, fingers pressing into the bed sheets to ground yourself, a reminder you were still alive and whole. But for how long? What other SCP would you call on next? You’d survived so far, but there were far worse anomalies than the ones you’d faced already, many of them right here in Site-20.

After dozing for what could have been a few hours or a few minutes, the guards opened the door to your cell and dragged you out before you could retreat into a corner. Not that it would have helped.

You were led back into Heavy Containment, which didn’t bode well. Each step brought your heart beating faster and your muscles tensing, until you turned down a familiar hallway where you stood before a door leading to a Euclid labeled as a “Sentient And Violent.”

Funny how that sign brought a sense of relief along with foreboding.

You didn’t resist when the guards pushed you inside, sealing the doors shut behind you. The room was empty for only a few seconds before the inner containment doors opened, and the SCP stepped forward.

SCP-049 was once again in the Class III Humanoid Restriction Harness and chains, though today it was no longer chained to the wall, now having free rein of the room.

But its gait was slower than usual, and it only took a handful of steps forward before coming to an unsteady stop. When it lifted its head, its eyes reflected none of its discomfort, instead seeming to brighten in better spirits as it caught sight of you.

“Good morning, assistant. I had not seen you these past two days and grew concerned.”

Two days? Was that all it had been? It seemed like an eternity since you last laid eyes on the masked SCP.

You considered 049’s “concern” for you, but quickly dismissed it. Any concern it had for you was due to its obsession with finding a cure, like misplacing a favorite microscope.

Despite the SCP seeming to be in a good mood, you couldn’t relax. Your eyes darted from one corner of the room to the next. Why had you returned? What did Leahy want? What if you’d been exposed to an SCP you couldn’t remember, and you only thought you were back in 049’s containment chamber—

“Are you all right, Doctor?”

049’s low voice brought your attention back to its watchful gaze. You hadn’t realized your breathing had quickened.

“Is this a test?”

The SCP’s eyes narrowed, studying your face.

“I am unsure as to the nature of your question.”

You crossed your arms over your chest as if cold. Though the containment chamber was a little too chilly to be comfortable, that wasn’t the reason you did it.

“Please,” you quietly said, “just answer the question.”

It stared at you for several seconds, so long you weren’t sure it would answer.

“Not to my knowledge.”

A tension within you loosened. You believed 049. It was unlikely the SCP would collude with Leahy to perform a test while keeping you in the dark. In a strange way, it was easier to trust this entity than it was to trust the Site Director.

Besides, you had to believe something was real, otherwise you’d go mad. You’d heard about that happening to other colleagues, constantly questioning the nature of their reality after working here for long enough or exposed to certain SCPs. When it got bad enough, they were given one of the milder amnestics. You didn’t think you would be so lucky.

SCP-049 stepped closer and spoke in a soft tone, as if taking care not to startle you.

“I will ask you once more: Are you well?”

No. Not even close. But you needed to keep it together, and confiding in an SCP, even this one, wasn’t going to get you any closer to freedom. You still held out hope that was possible, because what other choice did you have?

“Yeah- yes. I’m fine.”

049 moved closer until it stood just before you, its head tilted as it visually examined you in a manner that was both cursory and meticulous.

“I disagree. Your skin is reflecting a sheen of sweat, your breathing is far too rapid, and your posture is held in prepared action. Aside from that, you are emitting fear-induced hormones. These are all signs of hyper-vigilance. A trauma response.”

The only thing your mind latched onto was: It can smell me?

“You have not slept in some time,” it added. Maybe it was the gentle way it said it, or that it was so oddly perceptive in this single moment, but you nearly cracked.

You broke eye contact and drew away, turning so the SCP couldn’t scan your face to see the lie there.

“I said I’m fine.” Before the SCP could say more, you glared at the one-way glass. “Are we doing more tests or not?”

The intercom answered, as if waiting on cue.

“My apologies,” Leahy drawled. “I didn’t wish to interrupt the… tender moment.”

You scowled. Of course, the Site Director would be listening.

“As you so astutely pointed out, there is a test on the schedule for today. One test, though it will have multiple phases. Do pay attention, because this will take up most of the day, and I hate to repeat myself.”

Lavender-infused mist drifted from the dispensers in the ceiling, and SCP-049 sank to its knees as the fog reached it. Its eyes were half-lidded and unfocused as the outer doors parted, and two guards and a D-Class stepped inside. Your stomach dropped as the D-Class was left inside, alone.

He couldn’t have been older than twenty-two, with short brown hair and pale, freckly skin. Something seemed to ail him apart from the fear that had him in its grip. He had no color to his face other than his reddened cheeks, and he was slightly hunched over as if in pain.

The few human tests you’d witnessed conducted on D-Class had required you to separate from your humanity, compartmentalizing and putting it away. But here, with it so personal and right in front of you, that wasn’t an option.

The lavender mist stopped, and the tall SCP rose to its feet. Grey eyes first appraised you, and then they slid over to the D-Class and latched on like a bird of prey zeroing in on a lone mouse.

It stalked forward.

You were unable to move, instincts screaming to stand still so as not to be seen by the predator whose cage you occupied. But before 049 could get near the D-Class who cowered near the door, a buzz from its collar brought it to a stumbling halt. It gave a pained, metallic growl as it dug its fingers at the device around its neck.

Whoever was at the end of the controls must have increased the power, because 049 could barely stand, leaning on one of the lab counters as it gasped for breath.

“Wait for your instructions, SCP-049, or your patient will be removed, and you will lose the opportunity to save another soul.”

The Site Director said this last with dripping sarcasm, but the words held 049 in place. The D-Class looked as if he were about to faint.

“Good,” Leahy said. “You do know how to listen. SCP-049-3, instruct the subject to approach the autopsy table.”

He wasn’t going to let you sit this one out, no. The Site Director was going to involve you directly. Make you culpable for what was about to happen to another human being.

You hated him for it.

“Do as he says,” you said quietly to the young man. “It’ll be easier.”

The trembling prisoner shook his head, unable to verbally respond as he trembled where he leaned against the wall. You moved a little closer to him. He flinched.

“I’m Reid. What’s your name?”

“D… Daniel.”

“I used to be a junior researcher here.” There was no point in not being honest, and maybe it would help. “Now, I’m a test subject. Like you.”

He blinked, and his trembling lessened.

“Neither of us asked to be here, but we are. All we can do is move forward, even when it seems like there’s no hope.”

You felt like a monster, especially when your crappy little pep talk worked. The D-Class, Daniel, approached you, though his eyes skirted to the masked SCP that still watched him with bone-chilling intensity.

“A rousing speech, SCP-049-3. Get the subject onto the autopsy table.”

The young man paled even more, but he didn’t resist as you put a light hand on his elbow and led him to the table.

A hiss filtered through 049’s mask, its eyes wild and piercing, and you couldn’t blame Daniel as he started to shake again. His terror was contagious, and you remembered how quickly the SCP lost its temper and control when denied a chance to cure you before. How it barely restrained itself when you’d “ruined” the experiment with the rabbit.

With some help from you by providing a steady shoulder, Daniel sat on top of the table, and you stayed close to offer what little comfort you could.

“The subject will lie flat on the surface.”

Daniel swallowed and lied down on his back, keeping his eyes on you. They brimmed with tears.

A small, sharp pain formed in your chest. A crack. You choked down everything you wanted to scream and forced your face to remain carefully blank.

“SCP-049-3, approach SCP-049.”

“Just say my name, for Christ’s sake.”

“…SCP-049-3 will be silent, or it will be gagged.”

You pressed your lips tight together before you could say another word. You sent a glare to the one-way mirror before turning to the SCP, your heart nearly stopping at its expression.

049 was perfectly still, poised as if about to leap, and your approach was cautious. Like an alarm bell, those instincts wouldn’t stop chiming as they told you to run before you were devoured.

Standing between that predatory glare and its target was like standing in the path of an oncoming train. Leahy’s next words were, possibly for the only time in history, actually a relief.

“Stand beside SCP-049 and make physical contact as you did in the last test. You will remain in physical contact with SCP-049 as it attempts to cure the subject.”

So, just another repeat test with the goats. Maybe the Site Director would even let Daniel live if they wanted to see 049’s effects on a living body.

You moved to 049’s side, and while facing the same direction, you placed your hand on its shoulder. It didn’t move aside from the light rise and fall as it took each breath. It felt like putting your hand on a wild animal that was simply too distracted to notice your touch.

But as the moment stretched on, 049 seemed to further relax, its breathing slowing down as it stood straight from its slightly bent posture. It even turned its head toward you, looking you over with one eye as if just realizing you were there. Most importantly, the wildness in its gaze was fading, replaced by a peculiar curiosity.

The intercom crackled.

“Once the test is performed, terminate the subject and reanimate its corpse.”

Chapter Text

Daniel’s eyes went wide. He half-fell from the table in a clumsy rush, screaming pleas at the one-way observation window.

“No! No, please! I don’t want to—”

049 caught the movement out of the corner of its eye. Its head snapped forward, spine straighten, and it bolted.

In three long strides, it descended on Daniel. Its hand wrapped around his throat, and in an instant, Daniel’s body went limp, his wide eyes blank and empty.

The SCP’s momentum carried them forward and it slammed Daniel against the observation window so hard the glass bent under the force before bouncing back into place. The collar buzzed, much louder than before, and with a snarl SCP-049 dropped the body and clawed at the device to no avail.

The shocking eventually stopped when smoke begun to curdle from around the SCP’s neck.

“I will allow that. Once,” Leahy said, far too calmly. “The next time you interrupt testing, SCP-049, it will not be you who gets the collar.”

The entity raised its grey eyes to rest on you, still catching its breath.

You hadn’t moved, hadn’t looked away from where Daniel had fallen. There hadn’t been time to gasp, or scream, or do anything. He was—had been—probably barely old enough to drink. And now he was staring blankly at the ceiling, his neck at an odd angle.

Not only had SCP-049 killed him with a touch, but it had also snapped his neck, probably not even on purpose.

One minute, the SCP had started to calm down, and the next…

It was as if there were two opposing sides living within the plague doctor. The side of the entity that was cordial and friendly and intelligent, that wanted to cooperate with Foundation personnel and aid humanity, even if its version of “help” wasn’t very helpful.

And then there was this version. The ruthless, raving, monstrous side that was all claws and gnashing teeth despite it having neither.

Mist drifted down from the ceiling, causing the SCP to stumble to its knees again, and that could only mean one thing. The outer doors opened, and another D-Class was pushed through, followed by another. Two of them now, perhaps one acting as a redundancy in case 049 lost control again.

You might have laughed if you were capable. Even now, you couldn’t stop observing like a researcher. Then again, what else did you have left?

The guards left, and the mist stopped after the door seals behind them.

“D-25867 and D-33248, approach the table.”

Both men obey, one of them looking ill as Daniel had, the other covered in bruises, lacerations, and welts. He swayed on his feet, like it might pass out at any moment.

A part of you wondered if this was just one long sequence of nightmares. But no, you wouldn’t be that lucky.

“Reid, go to SCP-049 before it decides to make another scene. No, leave the body where it is.”

It seemed the Site Director had tired of using your official designation. Good.

The two D-Class looked at Daniel’s body but said nothing, nor did they make a run for it, which was fortunate because 049 once again stared them down as if they were a pair of antelope and it was a stalking lion. You definitely recognized that look from when you’d been trapped in its cell that first time, and even before then on the other side of the observation glass.

Your approach to the SCP wasn’t as cautious this time, and you gripped its shoulder firmly. You just wanted to get this over with.

049 didn’t lunge when the D-Class walked to the autopsy table. Like before, it didn’t seem as agitated when you held onto it.

Not enough to help Daniel, a voice of guilt reminded you.

“SCP-049, make physical skin-to-skin contact with each D-Class using your hand. Reid, do not break contact with SCP-049 at any time.”

049 stalked forward as soon as the instructions were given, forcing you to scramble for its shoulder, your fingers slipping down to hook on its arm instead. The SCP didn’t slow at your difficulty, and you ended up half-hugging its arm just to keep pace. Your additional weight barely seemed to make a difference in its stride, as if you weighed nothing and it hardly noticed.

Both men next to the table flinched but otherwise didn’t move. They were both older than Daniel by at least two or three decades, and perhaps knew there was no escape. No point in running and screaming.

SCP-049 extended its arm and wrapped its fingers around the throat of one of the D-Class, the one that appeared ill. The prisoner stared up at its face with terror, but the fact he could be afraid at all meant he had survived the lethal touch.

The D-Class blinked, and something like confusion mixed with the fear, and you wondered if he was experiencing the same euphoria-like warmth you had. You didn’t recognize any sort of blissful haze in his eyes, just a sort of puzzlement.

049 slowly removed its hand, turnings its palm to look at it, confusion on its own features.

“SCP-049, make physical contact with the other subject.”

The masked SCP finally spoke, its soft voice in contrast to the violence it had carried out moments ago.

“This one does not need the cure. He is without Pestilence.”

“If you make me repeat myself about how I don’t like to repeat myself, your assistant will bear the burden of your punishment.”

You frowned. That was twice now that Leahy had threatened 049 with harming you in its place. Why would the SCP care what happened to you? What kind of game was Leahy playing now?

SCP-049 declined its head and reached for the other prisoner. The second D-Class survived 049’s touch just as the first had, but nothing seemed to happen. You weren’t sure what was supposed to happen besides simply not dying.

“SCP-049, remain where you are. Reid, don’t you move, either. D-Class, go to the door.”

Relief made your knees weak. You wouldn’t have to witness their deaths, at least, not today.

“Now, take your hand off the SCP.”

You were still holding onto its arm, your fingers digging into the “sleeves” from the force of your grip. You quickly moved away after letting go, and mist entered the room for a third time, causing 049 to slump and catch itself on the edge of the autopsy table.

When the living D-Class were led from the room and the outer doors were closed, the mist stopped, and 049 gained its feet. You stood close to the lab sink, unsure what would come next. Leahy answered the question with a most foul answer.

“SCP-049, relocate D-86992’s corpse to the autopsy table.”

Your stomach clenched. After enduring two days of tests and forced to watch as 049 killed without mercy, you were reaching the limits of what you could take. You would just have to take a little more.

049 picked up Daniel’s body with ease and placed it on the autopsy table with a gentle consideration it hadn’t shown him in life.

“Reanimate the subject,” the Site Director ordered. You took a step black, planning to retreat unnoticed, but he didn’t let you go that easy. “Reid, assist the good doctor. This is, after all, your job.”

The sneer in his words added insult to injury. This was your purpose now, and there was no fighting against it. You assisted the SCP in dissecting and dismantling a young man who didn’t deserved this, no matter what he’d done to earn a death row sentence. If that was even the case. There had been rumors that sometimes the Foundation wasn’t as selective with its D-Class when the supply pool ran low.

Before, you dismissed the rumors are just that. But now…

No words were spoken as you took the requested instruments out of the black bag, keeping your eyes fixed on the SCP’s elbow. It was easier to look there, watching for the motion of it turning toward you when it wanted a new instrument. Easier to block out everything else and simply focus on breathing.

Your inattention didn’t escape the plague doctor. When you handed it a bone saw instead of a bone chisel, it turned its grey eyes on you.

You froze under its scrutiny. It took a long moment to rove over the details of your face, its gloves dripping Daniel’s blood. There was even a drop splattered on the bridge of its beak.

“You mustn’t let your mind wander while reaching into my bag, assistant,” it said. “You may not like what you find.”

You numbly nodded, anything to get it to stop staring at you, and you paid closer attention from that point forward. It was still a hellish two hours of helping the SCP butcher Daniel’s body, replacing his blood with strange fluids, rearranging organs, even severing one arm and sewing it up inside the man’s chest.

And then, the mess of a human body somehow… twitched.

“Back away from the instance, Reid,” Leahy said. Apparently, the bastard was still riveted to the experiment. “Don’t touch it. We want to see how long it can last before decomposition.”

You were all too glad to back away from the table.

“Am I—” Your voice cracked, and you cleared it. “Am I done?”

“For now.”

The masked SCP had long since calmed down, regaining its composure and serenity as it had carried out the dissection. It was disturbing how the operation had seemed to relax 049, allowing it to enter a meditative state as it worked with the focus of any skilled surgeon.

“You did well, assistant,” it said with a touch of warm pride.

The praise was lost on you; you were already facing away at the sink, turning it on and scrubbing down your hands and arms as well as you could without soap or a towel. You never took your eyes off of the body on the table, even as you backed up until you were on the other side of the room, realizing too late you were on the opposite end of the outer doors. Your back was to the inner chamber, an area you’d always thought of as 049’s “bedroom.” It had few furnishings, such as a metal desk, chair, and a single-sized bed.

The only part of the room that wasn’t sterile and devoid of personality was at the head of the bed stood a small bookcase. It was filled with books, the same titles (though not the exact same copy) of those that it had at Site-19. The hope had been to engage 049 and bring it out of a lethargic state by providing it something familiar and entertaining, but it hadn’t touched the books since arriving.

You didn’t know where else to retreat as the corpse slowly sat up and surveyed the room with milky eyes. Its gaze passed over you and kept going, ignoring your presence.

“Do not be afraid,” 049 said in a soothing tone. “Daniel will only attempt to incapacitate those infected with the Pestilence. You will be unharmed.”

That thing wasn’t Daniel, and it would devour anything that moved if the Site-19 documents were accurate. You remained as still as possible, praying you wouldn’t draw its blank gaze.

Meanwhile, SCP-049 scribbled in its journal, its chains clinking as it moved about the room observing the shambling corpse, which truly did seem to be unaware of you as it aimlessly wandered. But whenever it started to get close, you would move further backwards, and eventually you were fully inside of 049’s inner containment cell. There was one security camera in the corner, and no observation window. That, at least, was a welcome break from being constantly observed through the glass. You knew from experience that the camera was an old security model that shot in black-and-white and didn’t have the best audio quality. Expensive observation equipment was reserved for those SCPs that were more dangerous and difficult to contain.

Your movement seemed to attract the walking corpse, or maybe it just happened to be meandering your way, and you retreated until you were physically blocked, the back of your knees hitting the edge of the bed.

049 tilted is head, and then turned to look at the observation window.

“Perhaps it would be best for my assistant to be separated from the patient. Should they come into contact, your experiment will be prematurely ended.”

“Keep your suggestions to yourself, SCP-049,” the Site Director said, the scowl evident in his voice. But despite his dickish response, he did in fact listen, and the inner containment doors slid shut.

You were now trapped within 049’s containment chamber, but at least you were alone. No vacant-eyed zombies, or the unsettling pseudo-doctors that brought them to life.

You sat on the bed and scooted backwards until your back was to the wall, pulling your legs up to your chest. Waiting for this nightmare to be over, at least you could rest your aching feet and take a moment to think.

Naively, you thought you’d been making some kind of progress. You were in a unique position to get to know 049 without the danger of being killed with a single touch, but the obstacles were numerous. Every step forward seemed to lead one step backwards.

Daniel, for instance. 049’s ferocity and speed had caught you completely off-guard. There was nothing in the SCP’s file that claimed it could move in such a way, and from the surveillance reports during the Site-19 containment breach, 049 had wandered the halls at a leisurely pace, taking its time whenever it saw Foundation staff or a D-Class fleeing from other SCPs.

The tall, strangely garbed plague doctor wasn’t easy to overlook, and yet it had snuck up on many of them without a sound, placing its fingers around their necks and dropping them cold. It would then drag them to the nearest room, pull its black bag from under the shadows of its coat, and begin to reanimate them. By the time a Mobile Task Force squad had arrived, they’d had to contend with a small army of the undead.

But 049 had stalked its victims with slow persistence, or simply caught them unawares. There were no reports of it moving with predatory strength and speed. Then again, maybe it hadn’t had to. Or maybe the “patients” it came across were easier prey than Daniel.

You didn’t know the reason; all you knew is you needed to be more careful. 049 wasn’t a colleague or a friend. It was a dangerous anomaly that sometimes chose to treat you with warmth and interest.

That was all. Letting down your guard, or worse, deriving sympathy for the SCP, would be a mistake. You had to focus on your own survival and put your attention on the actual threat: the Site Director. SCP-049 was simply a distraction.

Despite your new resolve, the stress of the last two days was catching up to your body and mind, and you caught yourself drifting off, head drooping to lean on your shoulder. You tried to shake yourself awake, but you needed rest. Trusting that being a light sleeper would work to your benefit if anyone entered the room, you lowered onto your side and laid your head on the single pillow.

It had a light, not unpleasant smell to it, and you remembered that 049 would sometimes use the bed even if it didn’t experience true sleep cycles. It had lain in this bed quite a lot during its strange dormancy period after arriving at Site-20, and 049 must have used it since the last time the sheets were changed, because the pillow carried its scent.

The sensible thing would be to sit back up and stay alert. Most people would have shied away from the scent after what had just happened during the test, but it wasn’t a bad smell. Nice, almost. Familiar, now that you were spending more time with the enigmatic SCP.

You let yourself relax until you were putting your full weight onto the pillow, unable to avoid breathing in the scent as you closed your eyes. Against all logic, it calmed your nerves and further loosened your sore muscles.

You were asleep before you could finish the thought of what would happen if 049 found you in its bed.

Chapter Text

Something touched your shoulder.

You curled up tighter, wanting to shake off the warm pressure and go back to sleep. Your head ached and your body was stiff and heavy with exhaustion. Burying your head further into the pillow, you let out a low noise of complaint, hoping the offender would go away.

“You must awaken, my assistant.”

That metallic, raspy voice sent your heart slamming in your chest. You flinched from the touch even as the hand on your shoulder quickly retracted, and you cried out, “Don’t touch me!”

Images of a shambling, milky-eyed corpse loomed in your mind, and all you could think was that you were going to be next.

But 049 didn’t move to touch you again, its voice and gaze unfairly soft. What right did it have to look at you like that? Especially after what it had done to Daniel?

“My apologies,” 049 said in a low rasp. “I did not wish to do so, but your Site Director insisted if you do not awaken and leave this chamber, you will be punished. I believed that was an appropriate reason to temporarily bend our accord.”

Right. The promise it had made not to touch you without permission. Frankly, you were surprised it still cared about such things, that it still held a concept about decency when it had… it had…

“It’s fine,” you said, unable to meet its eye. Everything else about the room seemed unchanged, no guards had come to take you away just yet, at least. Aside from the light touch on your shoulder, you doubted 049 had done anything else to you.

You were still catching your breath and getting your wild heart under control when you stood from the bed. The masked SCP moved back a respectful distance, though you kept its silhouette in your peripheral vision as you returned to the middle containment room.

You came to a dead halt. Daniel was still there, crawling on the floor now, still moving, still searching, for what only he knew.

“You may touch the corpse, Reid,” came the cursed voice from the speakers. “That is, if you’re done napping.”

You were too drained to glare at the observation window and approached the crawling corpse, pity rather than fear twisting in your chest. The thing that was once Daniel paused at your shoe in front of its face, and it unsteadily craned its head to look up at you.

Did he recognize you? Remember you? It was hard to tell through the pale, slack-jawed nature of his face.

Swallowing thickly, you crouched in front of him, still maintaining eye contact, wondering if something of Daniel remained inside.

You hoped not.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. You reached out to touch his cheek, and you could have sworn there was relief in his eyes just before you made contact. As soon as your fingertips grazed his jaw, he went limp and collapsed to the concrete floor.

You stayed like that for a moment, fighting down the horror and the tears. By the time you got to your feet, your face was schooled into a blank expression. They had taken enough from you; you wouldn’t let them have your grief over Daniel.

As the mist drifted down from the ceiling, you kept your back to 049, unable and unwilling to look at it, even when the guards came to take you back to your cell.

When they deposited you inside, you curled up on the bed under the thin blanket and covered your head in your hands, trying to block it all out, and never making a sound even as you screamed and screamed in the darkness of your own mind.

When the guards came for you next, it felt like there was nothing left inside you. You were a hollow shell, empty and devoid of all emotion. Maybe you’d finally cracked, and there would be nothing left of interest for the Site Director to study. If that was the case, and he had no further use for you, you couldn’t imagine living very long. You weren’t sure you cared, either.

Expecting to be dragged through another slew of random SCP tests, you found yourself back in Heavy Containment, being pushed into an empty containment room featuring the familiar lab counter, stink, autopsy table, and one-way glass.

There was no trace of blood or reanimation fluids. The metal surfaces were sparkling clean, ready for the next round of tests. If only you could be polished down so easily, the tarnishes and rust wiped away.

The inner containment doors parted and the infamous SCP itself entered adorning its chains and collars. There was nothing amiss except its tone, which was subdued more than usual as its eyes carefully traveled up your body.

“Good morning, assistant. How are you faring?”

How could it even ask that question? Why would it ask that question? Your hand tightened into a fist at your side. Perhaps, you weren’t as empty as you thought.

“Just fine,” you said, voice cracking from disuse. The SCP had that same look of skepticism as before when you had lied about how well you were doing.

“Are we to cure more patients today?”

It took a cautious step forward, and then another. It seemed to be testing you, seeing if you would bolt or freeze in fright. You did neither, simply stared back.

“I don’t know. They don’t tell me anything.”

It paused, tilting its head.

“Are you well, Doctor?”

A small jolt went up your spine. That same loaded question had been asked to Dr. Hamm, just before 049 had killed him and reanimated his corpse.

“Why?” you asked against your better judgement. “Do you sense the Pestilence in me?”

It narrowed its eyes at the question.

“This is no jesting matter. The Pestilence will be the doom of humankind if we do not find a tenable cure.”

You met its heated gaze with your own tired one, unable to gather the energy to start up the old argument again.

“No.” Its voice went softer as it lost some of the hunch in its shoulders. “You are free of the Pestilence… in such a way I have never witnessed before.”

On another day you might have asked what that meant, but today, you were too worn thin to hear 049’s Pestilence spiel.

It remained silent for a moment, before quietly stating, “I have upset you.”

One thing 049 was good at was catching you off guard with its fleeting glimpses of self-awareness. Once in a great while, it would break out of its obsessive loop and appear to acknowledge what it was doing. And just like that, you were drawn in, curiosity pulling you back when fear had driven you away.

“Why would you upset me?”

“My behavior during the last round of experiments. You were… disturbed.”

“You were disturbing, if I’m being honest.”

You spoke carefully, waiting for an outburst or show of anger, but there wasn’t one. Only the SCP standing there, staring at you in a peculiar way.

“I… well, yes, I can see how my actions could cause such a reaction. I had not thought of that.”

It seemed to ponder your words, its attention drifting in thought before focusing on your face again.

“You were equally disturbed by Daniel after I cured him,” it added after a moment.

How strange. Had your reactions bothered 049? It certainly was curious and wanted to understand your behavior, and that felt important. Maybe not a breakthrough, but it was certainly heading in a new direction.

The lethargy and apathy that had previously had you in its grip since yesterday slipped away so subtly you barely noticed, replaced by cautious optimism.

“I’m not the only one who’s had a similar reaction to your patients,” you said. “Human beings don’t generally like it when their dead stand up and start walking.”

“Perhaps,” it conceded with a small bow of its head. “But I had thought… I had hoped you would be different.”

“Why?”

“Your mind is opened in ways your fellow doctors are not,” it said, the words followed by a sigh of breath. “I find it quite… refreshing. It can be so tiresome to meet other men of science and believe they are likeminded, only to find they close themselves off to knowledge they are unwilling to understand.”

You had meant the question to mean why would 049 think you were different; not why did it want you to be different. But the admission was interesting, as if it was… lonely. There were certain SCPs that could experience loneliness, of course, but 049 wasn’t supposed to be one of them. The closest it had gotten was frustration at the Foundation’s lack of understanding the Pestilence, and regret when it had killed Dr. Hamm. As far as you knew, that was the extent of its feelings towards companionship of any kind.

To think 049 wanted something like a peer, or a confidant…

“Maybe,” you finally said, “but you’ve admitted it yourself that your cure is imperfect. After your… procedure is complete, your patients aren’t the same as they were before.”

“But they are free of the disease!” it interjected with a sharp raise of its head. “What has more bearing than that? True, they are changed, but such changes are necessary to eradicate the corrupting influence from their spirits! Sacrifices must be made to—”

“Would you be pleased if I received this cure?”

“…Pardon?”

“If I became like Daniel, would you be satisfied?” you pursued. “Would I still be useful as an assistant?”

The SCP huffed, narrowing its eyes into an irritated stare.

“You have no need of a cure. Such an operation would be unnecessary. It would be a flagrant disregard in the face of the good deeds of science and medicine.”

That wasn’t the point, but before you could argue it further, 049 turned away, its shoulders stiff and hunched.

“We shall discuss this no further. You are not sick. You do not need to be altered. You—”

049 choked off its own words with an abrupt growl. You remained quiet, watching the SCP as it battled some inner frustration you couldn’t see. And then it spoke, so softly you almost didn’t catch it.

“I am pleased with you as you are. You are a wonderful assistant, even if I sometimes fall short of expectations. There is nothing about you I would change.”

Surprise struck you like a lightning bolt, warmth spreading from the strike instead of thunder.

You were still trying to find the words to say when the doors opened and several guards entered, guns at the ready. You flinched at the sudden intrusion, the unnecessary show of power, and 049 stepped closer, acting as a barrier between you and the armed men.

Your confusion grew when one of them carried a metal chair in his hands, setting it on the ground a few feet away before retreating behind the line of his armed squad. Another two guards approached the chair, one carrying power tools while the other had empty hands, and together they bolted the chair down into the concrete before also retreating.

“What’s going on?” you asked, peeking out from behind 049’s stature and addressing the glass rather than the security force.

“SCP-049, sit in the chair,” Leahy’s voice crackled from the intercom, both ignoring your question and answering it. It seemed there would be more tests today, and that was only a marginal relief over being faced with a firing squad.

The SCP didn’t interject this time, though it did send you a parting glance as it moved to obey the instructions. As soon as it sat, lavender mist drifted from the ceiling and 049 went slack, struggling to remain upright and not topple over.

The guards quickly approached the sedate SCP, bringing out thin chains and restraining it to the chair, avoiding its limp hands even though their ballistic gear would protect them from 049’s lethal touch.

Once that was done, instead of retreating, two of the guards remained close to the SCP, using handheld aerosol sprays to keep a permanent cloud of lavender mist around 049’s head. The mist from the ceiling came to a stop, and the containment door opened a second time, drawing your attention. The Site Director himself entered the chamber, the permanent half-smirk on his lips seeming to deepened as he spotted you.

What was he doing here?

“We’ll be conducting two separate tests on the effects of SCP-049’s cure combined with your touch,” Leahy said to your unspoken question. “Phase One will be conducted on D-Class personnel. I expect your full cooperation, Reid.”

You bristled, fear of this man curdling into a simmering rage burning in your rib cage.

“Forgive me for not jumping at the chance to take more lives, Site Director,” you said stiffly.

His brows rose above his rimmed glasses. Amused, perhaps, that you still had the spine to speak to him this way, especially when nobody else dared.

“Everything we’re doing here is for the greater good, a fact you seem to have forgotten very quickly. But very well,” he said, giving a dramatic sigh. “These tests should not result in any lives lost, and in fact, should save them. All D-Class provided today already have various illnesses and maladies that will eventually result in their deaths. Phase Two of the test will involve low level employees that have volunteered for this experiment, as they too are severely ill with conditions that cannot be treated conventionally.”

He slowly paced as he spoke, pausing toward the end to cast a sneer toward the SCP.

“I’m sure the good doctor will confirm that they’re simply filled with Pestilence.”

049 said nothing, still slumped forward and kept sedated by the guard’s aerosol sprays.

“Not feeling chatty, apparently,” Leahy mused. “Either way, if the latest tests are any indicator, these subjects should be cured of all illnesses. You’ll be a veritable hero, Reid. You should be proud.”

“…What? What are you talking about?”

Curing illnesses? Leahy didn’t think the Pestilence was real, sharing the same opinion as the rest of the Foundation. So what could he possibly mean?

“Oh, I suppose you don’t know,” he said in mock surprise. “All of the goats from the initial test were given toxins to induce rapid-growth cancer. They were, in essence, dying.”

He resumed his slow pacing, uncaring of the fists tightening at your side.

“After our team dissected the third animal, the one touched by SCP-049 while you were in physical contact with the SCP, it was found to be absent of all cancer cells.”

You blinked, your hands loosening at your sides. What?

“The first D-Class from yesterday’s test was exposed to a deadly virus—noncommunicable—beforehand, and he too was found to be free of active virus when an autopsy was performed.”

Daniel, his terror uneasy to forget, had already been marked for death before he’d stepped into 049’s cell. Had he even known? It was doubtful; the Foundation tended not to share procedure with their test subjects, a fact you were learning well.

“And the other two D-Class?” you quietly asked.

“The first was infected with a deadly bacterium, which was absent after SCP-049’s touch was supplemented with your own,” Leahy said, smug at your curiosity. “The third D-Class was unchanged as his ailments were due to physical trauma. There was no component of disease, which seems to be the sole target of your collective ‘cure.’ Whether introduced externally like a foreign pathogen, or caused internally such as cancer, any form of illness is eradicated by your combined touch.”

You stared past the Site Director, trying to take in what he was telling you with little success. Not only were you able to survive 049’s touch, and let others survive it as well, you were able to help cure others just as you’d been cured?

“At least, so far,” Leahy added. “However, constant physical contact is required, and a lapse of contact from you will results in the instant death of the subject. An objective waste. So, you will be secured to SCP-049 for the remainder of the test.”

He began to turn away, then paused.

“Oh,” he said, as if he’d forgotten a small, unimportant fact, “and skin-to-skin contact is required.”

Your reeling mind was slow to understand exactly what that meant, and your belated cry of “wait!” was ignored by the guards as they snatched you by the shoulders.

Denied the dignity of undressing yourself, two of the guards held your arms while a third unzipped your jumpsuit and pulled it down off your shoulders. The other guards only let go enough for your suit to be stripped off entirely.

You shivered at the brutal treatment and exposure and tried to pull your arms inward, but they wouldn’t let you, already dragging you to the SCP. Your standard-issue white undershirt and underwear offered little protection from the chill left behind by cold air and watchful eyes, but you did your best to stay silent as you were manhandled toward your destination.

Your composure didn’t last long. The guards forced you down, right onto 049’s lap.

Chapter Text

The SCP stirred underneath you as soon as you sat. The guards were quick to finish securing you, tying a chain around your waist and looping it around 049’s. You were effectively trapped against it, and because you were sitting sideways in its lap, you had a literal front row seat as it slowly raised its head.

Its eyes fluttered open, mind clearing as the lavender spray was no longer administered, and its silver eyes focused and drifted to you.

Or rather, it drifted over your body, taking in the state of your undress and bare skin with a focus that left searing heat in its wake. As if realizing what it was doing, the SCP stiffened. You hadn’t seen it do that before, even when threatened at gunpoint.

“This wasn’t my idea,” you mumbled, feeling the need to justify why you were chained in such a precarious position.

The SCP relaxed a little, taking a quiet breath through its mask. You hadn’t realized it stopped breathing.

“Yes, I did hear the doctor’s explanation for this… methodology.”

“It’s ridiculous.”

“…Perhaps.”

Its eyes slightly crinkled at the corners. Was it making a joke? If you didn’t know better, you would have thought it was teasing you. The idea caught you so off-guard that you cracked, smiling briefly until you remembered who else was in the room. It wouldn’t be wise to give Leahy more fuel to add to his fires.

Speaking of the Site Director, he instructed you on what to do, or rather what 049 had to do, which basically came down to “touch each D-Class as they approach—even you shouldn’t be able to screw this up,” and you settled in for a very weird testing session.

Weird, but not unpleasant. There wasn’t much dignity in being chained to an SCP while being in your underwear, but it could have been worse. Leahy could have just stripped you down completely, and then you’d be naked in 049’s lap right now. A shiver went up your spine, and not from mortification—which was itself, mortifying.

You forcibly switched your thoughts elsewhere, focusing on the orange-clad D-Class as they walked by single-file, waiting for the plague doctor’s curative touch. Not one of them dropped dead, and to you nothing seemed to happen at all, but if Leahy was right, then each and every one of them had received a healing miracle.

You were still skeptical, but the Sire Director had no reason to lie as far as you could tell. And having an SCP that could cure any illness, well, the benefits of that would be nearly limitless. Maybe you should believe Leahy if his ambition was anything to judge.

At least none of the D-Class gave you a second glance. Either they didn’t care, or they’d seen worse, because none of them reacted to the odd arrangement of a nearly naked human sitting on an SCP.

Your mind wandered back to a place it shouldn’t go, namely how a good portion of your skin was pressed to, what was technically, also skin. It held a heat you didn’t expect, soft against the backs of your thighs and the side of your arm. Your undershirt didn’t have any sleeves, so you were touching 049 at all times, whether from your legs against its thighs, or your arm against its chest.

Fortunately, the SCP itself was preoccupied by reaching out and touching the D-Class. It was hard enough being distracted by its intimate proximity without having to be the focus of its steel gaze, so close that all you would have to do is lean forward and you’d be practically kissing its beak.

049 remained silent the entire time, and once the last D-Class was led out of the containment chamber, it turned that piercing gaze on you, just as you’d dreaded. You’d been managing well enough so far, but as soon as its eyes met yours, your skin heated.

“Stand by for Phase 2.”

049’s eyes finally swept over you to give the observation room, where the Site Director had returned, a thoughtful stare, allowing you to relax—or as relaxed as you could be where you were currently sitting.

That wasn’t to mention the testing. It was catching up with you; the bone-deep exhaustion and the mind-numbing fear. It didn’t help that the SCP you were currently perched on was warm and solid, giving you the impression you were safe and secure, even if it wasn’t true.

You meant to close your eyes for just a moment, take one of those micro naps you were using to survive. But when you opened your eyes, the containment chamber was gone, as was SCP-049.

Buttery, warm sunlight shone down on your skin and hair, a pine-scented breeze brushing against your face. You could have cried. How long had it been since you’d seen the sun, breathed oxygen that wasn’t cycled through a closed filtration system?

You were in a grassy clearing, a meadow that was dotted with wildflowers and sprigs of tall grass. It must have been on a hill because it gently sloped down to reveal a wooded forest as far as the eye could see, which was quite far on this bright and sunny day.

You closed your eyes and breathed in, then quickly opened them, afraid if you held them shut for too long this wonderful place would disappear. But it didn’t, and there was something else, a tingling at the back of your neck.

You were being watched.

Closing your fists at your side, you whirled around to face your observer, preparing yourself for an assault. But there was only an older man, sitting on a fallen log you’d failed to notice, wearing a dark suit and tie.

The man wasn’t looking at you, but he patted the log next to him, waiting for you to join him.

You did, with an abundance of caution, but he kept his far-thrown gaze fixed on the forest below, leaning on an old-fashioned cane that looked like it could have belonged to your grandpa.

As you sat next to him and looked him over, it seemed there was something very familiar about him, though you could have sworn you’d never met him before.

“So,” the man said, his voice friendly and low, with a gravitas that made you want to listen to every word. “You’re finally awake.”

“Awake? I’m pretty sure I’m asleep.”

His lips curled at the corners and he chuckled, as if your answer pleased him.

“You were, but you’re awake now. And they’ll be looking for you.”

“Who?”

You didn’t bother prodding him with questions about if this was real, or where you were, or how you’d gotten there. Those answers weren’t important. What mattered was… his message. He was here to deliver a message, you knew that. How did you know that?

Instead of answering your previous question directly, the man said, “You’ll have a choice to make. And that choice will have consequences that can ripple farther than you can imagine. Or perhaps you can. You have already begun to understand certain truths, haven’t you? About the reality-benders and the dimensional misfits.”

“…SCPs?”

“Is that what you call them here? Hmm. No matter.” He tapped his cane against the ground. “If you have not yet gained the necessary insights, you will. You will. And then you will choose.”

“Choose what?”

“You won’t need me to tell you. You’ll know when you know.”

Despite your instincts telling you to listen to this man with every atom in your body, you frowned.

“What kind of answer is that?”

He chuckled again but declined to give further comment.

“Who are you?” you finally asked.

“It’s not important. Not really, but you may call me Tony. Or was it, Richard? I never quite know who I want to be. A feeling I’m sure you can understand.”

Ever if this was a dream, your stomach clenched.

“What am I?” you whispered. Afraid to speak the question louder, as if fearing something else might hear.

His smile lost its edge of contentment, slipping into something quiet. Sad, perhaps.

“You’ll have your answer the moment your choice is made.”

Refusing to settle for such vagueness, you opened your mouth to pelt him with more questions, but he held up his cane and pointed down at the forest.

“And to start down that path, you must go back to the beginning.”

You frowned further. The beginning of what? How was any of this remotely helpful—

A thundering rumble overhead preceded two black attack helicopters flying low, disturbing the peace of the meadow as the grass flattened in waves and the flowers seemed to bend in fright.

As if in response, a monstrous cry erupted from the distance, down in the forest, only that large shape rising from the forest wasn’t a tree. A massive tail whipped the air, slamming into one of the helicopters. It exploded in a ball of fire, and the creature raised its head toward the sky, roaring in pure hatred and fury.

You covered your ears and yelled, “What’s happening?!” but when you turned, the man next to you had vanished.

The next roar was so deafening every bone in your body shook, and you shut your eyes tight, your screams adding to the cacophony until they were indistinguishable from the cries of world-ending rage.

You jolted awake. The panic of the dream clung to you like a trapping net, but the meadow and sunshine was gone, replaced by the cold sterility of concrete and the too-white drone of fluorescent lighting.

But some warmth remained, centered across your back and against your cheek. Your head rested against something dark, the material soft and the scent familiar and comforting. You nearly buried your face in it before you realized it was the plague doctor’s robes.

You were still in 049’s lap, and you’d dozed off against its shoulder.

Flinching upright, you would have fallen if not for the SCP’s arm across your back. Before you got a chance to apologize, the intercom crackled to life.

“Did you hear me? Stay awake, Reid.”

“I am,” you snapped, rubbing your face. It was a shame your reprieve from the Site Director was so short.

You removed your hands from your cheeks, trying to avoid the inevitable. But with all things inevitable, you couldn’t put it off forever, and you lowered your hands to match the SCP’s gaze.

It had moved its arm from around your back once you were sitting fully, but the warmth remained along your skin as its eyes seemed to take in all of you. Curious, attentive, and far too observant.

“You were dreaming.”

“What?”

Had you said anything aloud? Thrashed? Screamed out the horror of being deafened by that terrible voice?

SCP-049 tilted its head, its eyes drifting over your body in a clinical manner, but your skin still tingled. If you’d been fully clothed you might not have been so reactive, but it was impossible to remain impassive while so vulnerable under that prodding gaze.

“Whatever was in your dreams had you quite distressed. Your heart rate had doubled, as well as your respiration rate, and despite the chill of the ambient temperature, you are perspiring.”

“Oh.” You tried for a chuckle, but it came out as a weak release of air. “Sorry for… sweating on you.”

049 slightly raised its head, not sharing your amusement as it stared you down. You swallowed under the scrutiny, but it wasn’t enough to draw the truth out of you, because you knew exactly who that strange man was.

SCP-990, also known as the Dream Man, a mysterious figure that would appear in the dreams of Foundation personnel to warn them of coming doom. It was too bad no one had told 990 you were no longer a part of the staff, and Foundation test subjects weren’t exactly on the payroll. Well, not at this site, anyway.

“I don’t remember what I was dreaming about,” you lied. It wasn’t as if you wanted to hide the truth from 049, in fact, his opinion on the matter could have been interesting and thoughtful.

But you absolutely did not want Leahy to know you’d had a visit from an entity that had cryptic words only for you. And they were only for you. The Dream Man can visit any Foundation personnel he wanted, and if he’d wanted to visit the Site Director, he would have.

But he didn’t.

049 narrowed its eyes. You were once again reminded that you were solidly in its lap, closer to that intimidating stare and otherworldly face than you’d been before. You squirmed, and the plague doctor’s gaze narrowed further.

“Phase Two, begin.”

You’d never been relieved to hear Leahy’s voice before. It seemed this was a day of firsts.

The SCP’s attention was pulled from your face as soon as the D-Class began to file in—no, they weren’t D-Class at all. Some of them wore blue jumpsuits, some in business casual wear, and you took a closer look at their badges they approached 049 in single-file line.

The blue jumpsuits were janitorial staff, the very bottom of the rung at security clearance Level 0, and some of them at Level 1 if their duties were in secure containment zones. This was the same with the business casual staff that you gleaned from their badges: they were clerics, accountants, and otherwise dealt with administration duties. None of them had access to SCP-049, nor were they D- or E-Class personnel fit for testing. This was something else.

More troubling than the idea of low-level staff being subjected to testing, many of them seemed… unwell. Sweaty foreheads, colorless features, slow or limped gaits. Stranger still, the more obvious signs of illness seemed to vanish as soon as 049 gripped them around the wrist.

The Site Director was testing this “cure” on Foundation personnel. What kind of clearance must he have to do that? Not to mention, every one of them didn’t have the security clearance to come into contact with SCP-049. They would need to be treated with Class A amnestics afterwards, and that alone would cause a mountain of paperwork.

This had to be O5-levels of clearance, and then a worst thought occurred to you. What if the O5 Council had no idea what was going on? Surely, they had been alerted to your strange effect on SCPs, or at the very least told about 049’s newfound healing abilities.

Right?

There were twenty in all, a large test group by most standards of the Foundation, and you wondered if there would be a Phase 3. You knew that not to be the case as the last staffer left the chamber and a squad of security personnel entered, two of them stationed next to 049 to begin spraying lavender around the SCP.

The plague doctor shook its head as if to fight off the sedatives, and a warm pair of arms encircled your waist as 049 tried to maintain a hold on you. Apparently, it didn’t want to let you go just yet, and you couldn’t say you wanted to go with the guards, either.

Two of the guards unchained you from the SCP and ripped away its weakened grasp, the third guard grabbing you by the bare arm and hauling you to your feet. The concrete was cold and unpleasant against the soles of your feet, and everything felt sharper and crueler once taken away from the strangely pleasant texture of 049’s robes.

“This concludes today’s testing with SCP-049,” Leahy announced. “You will be taken back to your cell pending further testing with other SCPs.”

Your breathing became a wild, frightened animal in your chest as you struggled against your captors, forcing them to hold onto you despite your lack of clothing and strength, the electric fear coursing up your spine making up for it.

“No! No! Please, not again!” you cried at the glass, your own terror staring back at you. “I did what you asked, don’t make me do it again! Please!”

“SCP-049-3, you will be escorted to your chambers without resistance,” Leahy growled over the speaks, “or, I assure you, I’ll have you begging for the privileges of D-Class by the time—"

The screech of ripping metal and the snap of chains interrupted Leahy’s threats, and you were yanked backwards out of the guards’ grip, gone lax in surprise. Hauled behind a towering mass of black, you were shielded from the guards and the observation window by the hulking figure of the SCP.

Broken chains dangled from 049’s arms and ankles, one of those arms pulled behind its back to hold you against it. Your chest and stomach were pressed against its robes, and you buried yourself as far into the material as you could. You were safe, you knew it down to your core, even as your pressed ear could catch the threatening growl in its words.

“You will subject my assistant to no more tests, especially those of a distressing nature.”

It drew itself to its full height as its metallic voice deepened further.

“Exit my quarters of your will or mine, but you will be leaving.”

The plague doctor gave a shudder accompanied by a soft noise of pain as its collar buzzed to life, but otherwise, it didn’t move. It acted as a barricade between you and the guards as long as it could, right up until mist drifted to the ceiling.

You gave a startled “no!” as the plague doctor dropped to its knees. Your first instinct was to reach out to the SCP, protect it as it knelt in a vulnerable position, but as soon as you moved, Leahy’s shout crackled through.

“Don’t touch it!”

You paused. Was that fear at the edges of the Site Director’s voice?

That hesitation was enough for the guards to spring around 049 and grab you, pulling you away from the SCP who had fallen to a bracing position on its hands and knees. It struggled to fight off the sedatives, lifting its head just enough to watch, helpless, as you were dragged from its containment chamber.

You were equally helpless to stop it, thrashing against the guards and hurling curses, until the bite of a needle at your arm sent you into cold darkness.

Chapter Text

You were not returned to your cell. Not your usual one, at least.

This cell was barren concrete walls and ceiling, definitely a testing chamber rather than a containment cell. Various sensors and receptors lined the room, targeted at you as soon as you awoke.

Your wake-up call was one of confusion and pain, loud bursts of static rousing you from sleep with your heart leaping in your throat. Various other noises and lights assaulted your senses, but that was better than when the room was quiet and dark. Those were the moments that something undetectable assaulted your body, making you feel dizzy and nauseous.

A typical D-Class would have no idea what was going on, but unfortunately, you did. This was an assessment chamber, a place where new SCPs or D-Class exposed to an SCP were tested with various stimuli, sound frequencies, electromagnetic radiation, and whatever else they can think of to measure.

You were exposed to odd bursts of light, vibrations that tightened your skin and rattled your teeth, flashes of hot and cold, and even an electric shock, though you had no idea where it came from as the floor was solid concrete. Knowing them, they electrified the whole thing.

By the end, you had found a corner to crawl to, shivering and pulling in your limbs. No one had bothered to give you clothing, and you couldn’t stop shaking. Tears burned the corners of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. You wouldn't give anyone the satisfaction of seeing you break, and that included the universe at large. Maybe this was cosmic punishment for all the work you’d done for the Foundation, but if that was the case, then fuck the universe for punishing you and no one else in this cursed place.

Finally, there was light. Fluorescent strips shone from above, covered in a thick barrier of plexiglass to avoid damage from the tests. A door opened and a D-Class entered your cell.

“Stay… away from me.”

Your voice hoarse and cracked, but you were pleased to hear it angry rather than afraid. In fact, the D-Class seemed more afraid of you, his features drawn and his shoulders hunched as he approached.

You waited for what he would do, he was as much a test subject as you were, proven when he grabbed your wrist and forced your hand onto his arm. You couldn’t reflect on the odd gesture, because as soon as you made physical contact, you sensed… it. Something wrong inside him, evident now that you were close. Sweat-slicked forehead, broken blood vessels in the whites of his eyes, his dark-toned skin flushed with an unnatural pale hue.

He was sick, and not sick like the D-Class in the previous test with 049. This man was actively being invaded by a violent, unseen enemy, though as you gripped the man’s arm, it had gone quiet. Inert, as 049 might have said.

Was it an SCP? It must be, to change so drastically under your touch. You concentrated, closing your eyes, and reaching out in a way that was less than scientific.

You knew what it was. How could the Site Director have done this? The amount of danger he was putting on the whole facility just for this one test, one that would have cosigned you to death as soon as the man stepped in the room if it wasn’t for your own unnatural ability.

You opened your eyes, your fingers squeezing in what you hoped he would see as comfort.

“I’m sorry they’ve done this to you.”

The man’s eyes went glassy, and his throat worked. He’d already known what fate awaited him, then. And the cruelest part of this was you might have been able to help him, perhaps even cure him with 049’s help.

But the doors opened with a pneumatic hiss, and three guards in hazmat suits entered the room and pulled the man away, forcing you to let go. Even though you couldn’t feel it, you knew SCP-008 would return to its active state as soon as you let go, resume its ravishing of this man’s body until he would become something not unlike 049’s reanimated dead.

You hadn’t even learned his name.

A pair of hazmat-suited guards came for you right after, taking you through a series of decontamination chambers that left your skin stinging and your underclothes drenched. At the last decontamination chamber, a guard in a hazmat stripped off the tattered remains of your underwear and shirt, and you went through the harsh stinging liquid with nothing to shield your naked skin.

You were shivering and retching, that last chamber dousing you with something especially strong, the automatic dryer doing nothing to warm the chill from your bones. You were led away from the high-tech purifying chambers and down a series of halls into a white room filled with computer banks and medical instruments.

Your mind was as numb as your body, past the point of wishing it to be over. You craved sleep as an escape more than you wanted it to heal your body. Even as you were surrounded by guard and technicians and doctors, none of them met your eye. None acknowledged you as a person. You were truly alone.

At least this last room provided you with a stack of clothing. White underwear, a long hospital gown and white leggings, as well as hospital slippers, it was a lot better than walking around naked. Even if all the eyes on your body were clinical and only saw you as an object, it was still a relief to wear clothing again. It was humanizing, and certainly a lot warmer.

Your newfound relief was robbed of you. Strapped to a hospital gurney with no inch to move, they inserted IVs into the crook of both arms, and you were pumped with an assortment of chemicals even you couldn’t identify. Your system was flushed of the chemicals, only to have more pumped into your system. This was repeated over and over, until your heartbeat was sluggish and uneven. Ironic for you to survive this long only to die by accidental chemical overdose.

The drugs stopped, but the procedures didn’t. One doctor removed patches of your skin with a scalpel, no numbing agent given for the pain. The only thing they gave you was a rubber mouthpiece forced between your teeth. At least your tongue would be spared as you bit down and screamed.

Everything went fuzzy after that, though you recalled blood being taken with more needles, and your wounded arm was given ointment, gauze, and wraps.

You were pulled to your feet before you realized you’d been unstrapped, and the two guards leading you got to have the privilege of half-dragging you, legs refusing to cooperate. You were led down familiar corridors, the steel catwalks and concrete tunnels of Heavy Containment, and you tried to pay attention as a door was opened before you with a keycard.

It wasn’t a containment chamber. It was an observation room.

The door slid open, and you were manhandled inside by your guards.

“Ah, all right, that’s fine. Let her go.”

You forced your head upward, disbelieving your ears—but there stood Dr. Puli, his expression apologetic as the guards left you alone in the dim room filled with computer banks and one long observation glass—

No, it wasn’t just the two of you. Someone was behind Dr. Puli, leaning against a console with his arms folded, posture haughty with disinterest even as his eyes were too sharp on you.

A growl ripped from your throat as you stalked toward your target, but Dr. Puli blocked you, putting his hands on your shoulders and pushing you back. With the sorry state you were in you couldn’t push past him, but your rage did force the doctor to use most of his strength.

“You!”

“Yes, me,” the Site Director said, examining his fingernails. “Now sit down and stop acting like an animal.”

You bared your teeth. They'd treated you like an animal, and you’d show him what one looked like.

“It’s all right,” Dr. Puli said, his voice soft, an attempt at comfort. “Please, have a seat. We wish to speak to you, that’s all.”

You glared at the man you’d once trusted. He was just as bad as Leahy by the fact he was letting these dehumanizing and cruel tests continue, and you would be damned if you let a kind tone let all be forgiven.

But then your eyes drifted to the monitors, a dark figure the focus of the screens. The room displayed was 049’s inner containment chamber, and the SCP itself was chained to the wall, agitated and continually yanking on its restraints.

Your fury burned away, leaving cold fear in its wake.

“What happened?”

Dr. Puli gave another apologetic wince and pulled up a chair for you. You took the seat if only so he would answer your question, but you couldn’t deny the cushion of the seat was a relief against your sore joints.

The doctor handed you a ceramic mug, and your mouth immediately salivated as the aroma of fresh hot coffee hit you.

Damn the man for tempting you with coffee and knowing it would work. It wasn’t just the warm promise of caffeine that drew you in, it was the temptation of normality, of returning to a time when you had routine, control, and a lack of terror and pain.

You weren’t the only one without control over their own lives. You took the coffee mug, but your eyes didn’t waver from the SCP. It wasn’t clear how long 049 had been struggling against its chains, but it didn’t let up for a moment, every fiber of its being dedicated to fighting its way to freedom.

No. It wasn’t its freedom it wanted, was it?

“It was fine until you left,” Leahy answered your previous question with a scoff. “Though it kept muttering about the Pestilence closing in and that it needed its assistant. We sedated it and restrained it to the wall, but before it could be properly secured, it attacked one of the guards. A man you supposedly cured.”

At his accusatory tone followed by the soft slap of a paper dropping beside you, you turned your gaze away from 049 to a file sitting next to you on the console. You opened it and recognized the employee file inside, though he hadn’t been wearing a guard uniform at the time you last saw him. He’d been one of those “cured” during the test.

“His name was Louis Salazar. A good man, survived by a wife and two daughters who no longer have a father because of that dangerous, criminally insane monster.”

Dr. Puli shifted uncomfortably beside you, but your focus was on the Site Director.

“Why?”

Leahy frowned.

“Why, what?”

“Why did 049 attack him?” you pressed. If this Louis Salazar had been cured, then that meant there was no “Pestilence” inside him, and the plague doctor would have no cause to be aggressive.

“Did you not hear the criminally insane bit?” Leahy squinted at you. “That thing is unpredictable, out of control. It’s my suggestion to the O5 Council that it be put into permanent storage.”

You bolted upright.

“What? You can’t do that! It’s not 049’s fault!”

Even as you protested, something tugged at the back of your mind. Why was the Site Director meeting you and Dr. Puli in some dim observation room? Why was this not being done in his office, or hell, why was he talking to you at all? Threatening to place 049 into permanent storage—which meant putting the SCP into a lead-lined box and burying it miles underground in a layer of concrete—didn’t make any sense. He could just do it and never mention it to you.

Maybe it was the insight granted to you previously by SCP-714, or maybe you just knew Leahy too well at this point to know he wouldn’t be bothering unless you had something he wanted.

The Site Director glared, but not as angrily as he should be.

“You put the grand delusion of cures into its head,” he said with a little more bite. He might want something, but he still didn't like you. The feeling was mutual. “You’re just as much to blame for the lives it takes.”

“I was trapped in a room with 049 against my will, and you blame me for not dying?”

The Site Director’s face went beet red, and oh, wasn’t that satisfying.

“I survived something that never should have happened,” you seethed, your returning anger carrying the momentum forward. “And instead of opening an investigation, you threw me into a cell and turned me into a chew toy for SCPs—”

Leahy was gripping the edge of his chair at this point. Maybe if you pissed him off enough, he would stop playing games with you, but Dr. Puli stepped forward before he could lash out. Your old boss had been standing some distance away, shifting uncomfortably at the verbal sparring match between you and the Site Director.

“That’s not why we asked you here.”

He spared a nervous glance at the Site Director, but Leahy simply leaned back in his chair and folded his arms over his chest.

They had both asked you here? Why? What were they up to?

“You have proven to be a valuable asset in terms of learning more about the nature of these SCPs, especially SCP-049,” Dr. Puli said. “I recommended that you be kept with 049 until its agitation passes.”

You blinked. He couldn’t be serious.

Dr. Puli gave you a sympathetic smile, one that you wanted to trust. But you knew better.

“You have been under a considerable strain yourself. This is not another test,” the doctor insisted at your disbelieving frown. “Rather, it is a time for you to rest in a place where you’ll be more… comfortable.”

You didn’t believe it for a minute. It was a trick, a ploy—

“This is ridiculous,” Leahy muttered like a petulant child. “Who in their right mind would be comfortable around that beast?”

Dr. Puli ignored the Site Director, maintaining eye contact with you. He was… serious. Leahy’s annoyance to the proposal lent it more authenticity than anything else.

You looked back at the monitors where 049’s struggles hadn’t changed. After everything you’d been though, maybe it shouldn’t be a surprise that the idea of being back in the SCP’s cell was… calming. Familiar. The SCP had protected you when you’d been distressed, had defied the guards several times when they’d come to drag you away. And even though you had no delusions that it was simply protecting what it viewed as a tool in defeating the Pestilence, in a strange way, 049 was the only one actively trying to keep you sane and alive.

“It’s a waste of time and resources to keep her locked away with that creature,” Leahy said in a tone that indicated he and Dr. Puli had had this argument several times before. “A creature that is delusional at best, and manipulative to an unprecedented degree at worst—"

“For how long?”

Both men stared at you.

“How long do you want me to stay with him? It?”

You corrected your slip too late. Dr. Puli and the Site Director exchanged a glance, then Leahy simply shrugged.

“I am willing to put the other testing on pause if you can keep SCP-049 docile and cooperative. A list of personnel who are terminally ill, due to natural causes or anomalous ones, has been compiled, and the first batch are being transported to this site to be… healed.”

Leahy said the word with a sneer. 049 might be his golden goose laying the golden egg, but he didn't like the SCP no more than he liked you. You thought it fitting.

“If you both cooperate in the days to come,” he added, “then perhaps your privileges will expand.”

“I want guarantees.”

“You’re not in a position to demand them.”

You glared at him, fear and anger mixing into a murderous concoction. All you’d wanted was for the torture in the form of tests to stop, but the best you could hope for was a temporary reprieve.

But the Site Director was right. You had no leverage, and you were lucky to be given this much.

Your gaze drifted one last time to the monitors, to 049 and its fruitless struggles. It wouldn’t stop fighting until its strength ran out, or it injured itself too much to continue.

“I’ll do it,” you said. The word carried the weight and finality of a deal with the devil.

“So glad you agree.”

With the use of a walkie-talkie close at hand, Leahy called the guards inside.

“Take her in.”

That was it? No more bargaining or cajoling or mocking?

Why did you get the feeling you’d played right into the Site Director’s hands?

It was too late to change your mind, and what was the alternative, anyway? To not help 049 and continue being tortured? There was no choice, not really.

Two guards entered the observation room and pulled you to your feet, forcing you to leave your mug behind on the console. You hadn’t even been given a chance to finish it.

You were dragged to the containment doors even though they were only a few feet away, and a duffel bag was heaved into your arms before you could ask questions. The outer containment doors opened and you were escorted inside, left beside the autopsy table as you clutched onto the bag like a lifeline.

The inner containment doors parted more slowly than the outer ones, these doors heavier, taking more power to move. 049 was where you last saw it, chained to the wall with shackles around its wrists, ankles, and neck, but it was completely still as the doors parted.

You avoided its gaze for now, instead catching sight of what you’d missed from the camera in the corner. 049’s inner containment chamber had had some… renovations.

The left section, which had been empty before, now contained a toilet and shower head installed into the wall, both with zero privacy. There was also a bathroom sink, small and porcelain compared to the metal industrial sink in the middle containment room.

That wasn’t the only change to 049’s “living” area: instead of the single-sized bed that had been there previously, there was a larger full-sized bed in its place.

Before you could wonder at the new changes, and the implication of how long they expected you to stay, the locks holding 049 in place disengaged.

The SCP was on you before you could blink.

Chapter Text

You nearly bolted, your body electrified with adrenaline from how quickly it approached, but 049 didn’t touch you. It hesitated and then slowly dropped its hands. It stared at you, studying you, its gaze roaming over your body as if needing to drink in the sight. Even though its hands were kept at its sides, you could have sworn you felt the ghost of them by the intensity of its gaze.

It finally spoke.

“They have mistreated you.”

“They did tests,” was all you said.

The SCP narrowed its eyes and looked past you to the observation glass in the middle containment room. That had changed too, you just now realized. Before, it had been a one-way glass, reflecting the autopsy table, the sink, basically everything in the “laboratory” portion of 049’s containment unit.

Now, the glass was dark. Tinted so strongly that it was opaque to your eyes, and maybe 049’s as well. You’d figured out fairly quickly that the plague doctor could see beyond the one-way mirror, and you wondered if this would block its sight.

In the end, it didn’t matter. You couldn’t see a damn thing, but at least you wouldn’t be forced to watch any more horrific experiments carried out in reflection.

“That will not happen again,” 049 said, its low voice drawing you back. “You are my assistant, not a plaything they can abuse at their whims.”

The SCP stood before you just as tall as ever, but your initial fear was gone, its presence and words comforting. Though there was something in the way it said, “my assistant,” the possessiveness in its voice that sent a shiver up your spine. Maybe you were truly going mad, but it didn’t feel like madness. It felt like the opposite of madness.

“That’s… kind of you to say,” you offered, trying to give the SCP as much of a smile as you could. You’d nearly forgotten how. “But neither of us can do anything about it.”

“We shall see.”

You expected that to be the end of it, that the tests would continue or 049 would go back to whatever it did when you weren’t here. But the SCP moved closer, looming over you as it stood a breath away.

You swallowed.

“What are you doing?”

“I wish to conduct a physical examination. It would not do to have my assistant in poor condition.” It paused and added, “Do I have your consent to do so?”

Well, at least it was asking this time. You didn’t know what a “physical examination” entailed, but you were curious. As long as the plague doctor didn’t find a case of spontaneous Pestilence, you would probably survive the procedure.

Probably.

“…Go ahead.”

“Excellent.”

Despite its newfound enthusiasm, its hands were gentle as it felt along your neck, sending your heart racing immediately. But the SCP didn’t squeeze or otherwise make any aggressive moves; in fact, it was treating you with such care that your brain simply couldn't process it for a few seconds.

Your heart quickened. No one had really touched you like this before.

It felt along your jawline and cheekbones, pressing down lightly with its thumbs before moving upwards, stroking your forehead, and ending with massaging its fingers into your scalp. You shuddered and closed your eyes, clenching your jaw so you wouldn’t make a sound. This was embarrassing enough without making it obvious how long it had been since you’d had physical contact with another person.

Its hands traveled downward to your neck, more thorough with taking your pulse and feeling along your vocal cords. Your eyes were open again, and you fixedly stared at a place over 049’s shoulder, unable to meet its eye. Doing so would while its hands were on you was too exposing. You feared it would see every thought running through your head.

Its hands descended to your shoulders, pressing and prodding along your clavicle and shoulder blades, and you bit your lip to stifle down the moan that wanted to escape. This was not a massage, it was an examination, you kept telling yourself even as you relaxed further and further under the SCP’s ministrations.

When its hands dropped to your breasts, you nearly jumped out of your skin. The plague doctor released you at the sound of your sharp gasp, concern in the tilt of its head.

“Did I hurt you?”

“N-no.” You cleared your throat. “No, you didn’t. But do you have to examine… there?”

Its head remained tilted, as if it found the question silly.

“This was the source of your previous disease,” it said, indicating the left side of your chest. “It would be most prudent to examine tissue that was once infected with the Pestilence, but… if you wish, I shall move on.”

That’s exactly what you should do, tell it to skip this section of your body. You’d gone through enough humiliation without having an SCP feel you up like you were two teenagers learning petting for the first time.

Except, its touches were nothing like that. Fumbling, careless, clumsy with eagerness. 049 tended to you like… well, not quite like any doctor you’ve had, but it was clear it wanted to be thorough and diligent.

…And it really did feel nice. Nice things were a rarity in this place.

“Okay,” you said, your voice quiet in its breathless state. “You can continue your examination from… where you left off.”

The SCP bowed its head the smallest amount.

“Thank you. I will be gentle.”

Oh, you knew it would be. That was both the problem and the perk.

To your relief, 049 led you further inside the inner containment chamber. No peep show today for the observation room, and with 049 angled with its back to the camera, the researchers wouldn’t get a clear view from there, either.

You were nearly relaxed as you closed your eyes, the pressure of being constantly watched lifting for just a moment, and then you froze when 049 put its hands on your chest. You had to remind yourself to breathe. Its touch was even more careful than before, focusing on your left breast first as it rolled it in its hands. Honestly, it wasn’t much different than a normal breast exam, except it was an SCP conducting it and its touch was a bit too sensual to be clinical. You knew it was only because 049 was being careful, but still, it was far closer to a lover’s touch than a medical one.

By the time it moved on to your right breast, massaging and kneading the skin for whatever the plague doctor was looking for, your nipples were painfully hard even though they hadn’t been touched. So hard, in fact, that they could be seen through the undershirt and hospital gown, but 049 didn’t comment. It simply continued on, and you weren’t sure if it was relief or disappointment clenching your throat.

Your eyes popped open again when the SCP’s fingers pressed along your stomach. It was getting closer to a sensitive spot you’d completely forgotten about, a kind of erogenous zone along your lower pelvis a few inches below your belly button.

049 pressed down with its thumbs into that spot, and the pressure on your uterus made you bite your lip so hard tears obscured your vision.

The plague doctor hesitated at your full body tension at that particular touch.

“Is there pain here?” It pressed in the same spot, and that same warmth pooled across your abdomen, resulting in a pressure between your legs. It didn’t help that the SCP had to stand closer at this point, so close that it was examining you by touch rather than sight.

You wondered why it was doing that, why it didn’t kneel down to examine you that way, or ask that you lie down on a table. The answer came to you just as quickly as the question. By standing up, it could still block the camera. Was it doing that to be respectful of your privacy?

Or… did it not want anyone's prying eyes on you for other reasons. Reasons that had to do with the possessive way it had uttered my assistant.

“No,” you squeezed out. “No pain.”

“Hmm.”

The inquisitive hum was the only comment it made as it continued its work, feeling along your pelvis and hips before continuing downward, toward the place you’d both dreaded and been curious about. How far did 049 plan on—

Quite far, apparently, as it rolled up the bottom hem of your hospital gown and said, “Hold this, please.”

When you remained frozen, it raised its head to meet your eye, a patient question there, but you could barely meet its gaze. You couldn’t look at much else either, as the SCP’s dark robed figure completely filled your vision.

“You’re… not going to conduct a pelvic exam, are you?”

“Only a cursory one,” it answered, a tilt to its head. “With your permission, of course. It will be swift.”

Well, if it was fast… it couldn’t be too bad, right?

This was insane. You should tell it to stop, there was nothing to be gained from this. Despite the medical bag and the strange chemicals and surgeries, it wasn’t a real doctor. You were leaving your body in the hands of an anomalous entity. A—

—creature that is delusional at best, and manipulative to an unprecedented degree at worst.

You used to view the plague doctor the same way once, though maybe not as cruelly as the Site Director, you’d still seen it as not-human. And it wasn’t human, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t a person deserving of being treated like one.

You didn’t need to let 049 continue in order to prove you weren’t Leahy. You wanted the SCP to continue because you wanted to know what it did next.

“You may continue.”

You licked your dry lips, hoping you hadn’t made a huge mistake. Even if it was a mistake, you weren’t sure it was one you would regret as you took the rolled material of your gown from the plague doctor and held it up, exposing your leggings.

The SCP gave you a nod before returning its attention to continuing its exam. You clutched the fabric tightly as a pair of hands felt along your thighs, making the muscles jump at the contact. There was no relaxing massage this time, your body on edge and your skin oversensitive in anticipation of 049’s hands.

Your nerves had been ratcheted up so high that when the plague doctor’s fingers first traced along your mound, it was like a punch to the gut. Breath escaped your lungs, warmth erupting in 049’s wake as its touch slid downward, ghosting over your labia, and making your clit throb even without direct contact.

It increased the pressure of its fingers as it moved over your entrance, prodding there enough to cause a full-body shudder, but then it pulled away, apparently satisfied.

“We’re nearly done,” the SCP reassured you, and you could only nod, speech taking a backseat for a moment. Now it did kneel in front of you as it continued the last portion of its exam, and you could breathe easier without 049 filling your entire vision. Still, a part of you had enjoyed being shielded from the cameras, protected from your former colleagues by the entity you’d once studied.

It was almost mesmerizing as its black gloves moved over your white leggings, pressing into your knees and then your calf muscles, looking for what, you still weren’t sure.

When it reached your feet, it lifted your leg and slipped off the shoe, forcing you to brace against its shoulder for balance. The soft texture of its robes under your hand added to the whole weird but not-unpleasant situation. Its gloved hands felt along your foot, its thumb tickling the sole as it pressed down.

You twitched and stifled a giggle. This would be the worst time and place for that.

Thankfully, the plague doctor set down your leg with no further examination, at least the physical portion seemed to be over. 049 reached into its robes and pulled out its black doctor’s back, which was definitely too large to fit so seamlessly under its outer layer, but no one had been able to figure out where it actually stored the bag.

It led you further into the inner containment chamber and set the bag on the bed, drawing your eye toward the new piece of furniture. Larger and with sheets, pillows, and a blanket, it was clearly meant for more than one person. Did they actually expect you to share the bed?

049 drew something out of its bag and turned to you, and when you caught sight of it, you nearly giggled again. A genuine, old-fashioned stethoscope. No one at this site had documented that item from its bag before, but of course, it had never had a living patient it could examine until this point.

That thought wiped away all amusement, and you waited for the SCP to continue its exam as it pressed the resonator piece against your upper chest below your clavicle. You’d done this kind of exam hundreds of times—medical visits were a regular staple as a Foundation employee—but this one sent your heart racing when the SCP hovered behind you.

You nearly leapt out of your skin when it pulled up the back of your gown, and even though you still wore leggings and it was only seeing the bare skin of your back, you still felt nakedly exposed.

“Breathe regularly, please,” 049 said, pressing the piece against one side of your spine. You attempted to breathe slow and deep, calming your heart before returning to normal breathing. The resonator was cold, but the warmth of its other hand splayed across your shoulder blade made up for it.

Goosebumps broke out on your skin, and you closed your eyes, praying it would be over soon. Not because this whole thing had been horrible, but because it wasn’t. This was the nicest, most pleasurable thing you’d had in a long time, longer than you wanted to admit.

In fact, the last time you’d felt this good had been when you’d found yourself trapped in this very containment area, pinned against a wall with a certain plague doctor cradling your face as if you were the most precious thing in the world.

A shudder ran through you, but 049 didn’t comment as it took your arm, examining the bandages covering the inner side. It removed the bandages before you could give warning, and you both stared down at the damage done. You didn’t remember most of the procedure, your mind shut down at that point, but it looked like a patchwork of skin had been removed from the first few layers, and several methodical measured cuts up near your inner elbow.

As if awareness was awakening the nerves, your arm throbbed and stung to the exposed air. But 049 held your arm with gentle precision as it examined the skin, turning your arm from one angle to another, and then it released you to rummage in its bag. It pulled out a green bottle, a ragged, grey cloth, and several white fabric wraps.

“Barbarians,” 049 muttered as it dabbled the cloth along your skin, drenched with whatever liquid was in the green bottle. The sting was replaced by a cool, balmy relief, and you watched the plague doctor work in relaxed silence. Its hands were deft but careful, never fumbling or being rough on accident.

Barbarians. Is that how 049 saw the Foundation? It had been cooperative with personnel once upon a time, seeing the researchers as fellow doctors and “men of science,” even going so far as to call them colleagues. But once the experiments slowly stopped and it was treated less like a person, it had stopped seeing them as equals. This was all before the plague doctor had arrived at Site-20, and you remember well seeing it for the first time, lethargic and stooped over its desk like a stature carved in a moment of quiet grief.

How different it was now, fussing over your wounds with a keen eye and gentle hand, so vibrant and alive. Even when at the beginning it had been intimidating and hostile, it had still shown signs of life only after you’d been assigned to observation duty.

Why? What about you was so compelling to the SCP?

049 remained silent as it finished wrapping your injured arm with the cloth bandage, tying the ends in a flat knot that wouldn’t hinder the use of your arm. Only when it was finished did it raise its head and speak.

“The damage is reparable and largely psychic. A few days of bed rest, or at the very least of calm and quiet, and you should be in good spirits.”

“Yes,” you said slowly, running a finger along the top of your arm, feeling the soft bandages. “That’s… why I’m here.”

The SCP tilted its head, a silent question of explanation. You were getting better at reading its quirks.

“My superiors think you can help with that,” you explained.

“Mmm. And what do you think?”

One thing the plague doctor seemed to value was honesty, and it wouldn’t be wise to lie to it. Besides, what would be the point?

“I would rather be here than in my cell, waiting for more tests,” you admitted.

“Why?” It tilted its head a little farther. “Does it matter where in this facility you are if these tests are inevitable?”

You were stuck on the spot, both by the question and that piercing gaze. Did it matter if you were here or if you were back in your cell?

“I don’t know,” you eventually said. It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t exactly the truth.

049 studied you, expression unreadable. You were starting to wonder if that was the wrong answer, or at least a disappointing one, when it turned away and began to clean up its supplies, replacing them in the bag.

“Perhaps the answer will come to you while you are here. In the interim, you should rest. The freshly installed accommodations should be of use to you, though if I were in control of such things, they would be less… austere.”

That was surprising. You could hardly imagine 049 in a comfortable, cozy setting, surrounded by shelves full of books and a warm fire crackling in a fireplace—okay, perhaps you could imagine it. And it was a distracting image at that.

You surveyed the clinical room, really taking in the lack of personality and livability. If you could do it over, become a junior researcher again, the first thing you would do is get rid of these horrible chambers. Dr. Puli had to fight tooth and nail just to have 053’s cell decorated like a child’s bedroom, but what about SCPs like 049? They’d been shoved into white boxes that, in hindsight, were more like a tomb.

Well, it was too late for regrets now.

“You don’t mind if I use the bed?”

“The facilities are yours,” it said with a small sweep of its arm, indicating the room. “I do not need sleep. Any rest I wish to do can be done while the bed is unoccupied.”

And there were those funny, distracting images again.

“That should work. Thank you.” You went to retrieve the duffel bag you’d dropped by the inner containment doors, then hesitated. “Thank you for… you know, everything.”

Your less-than eloquent gratitude was received with a slight raise of its head, then it dipped its beak down and its eyes crinkled in that way that meant it was smiling.

“You are most welcome, assistant.”

You held in your wince as you turned back to your duffel bag. Right, assistant. That was your role in this madness, and you would do well to remember it. As charming and well-spoken as this SCP could be, it was still an SCP.

You could do worse. This was much better than being stuck in a kennel full of 939s.

Bile tried to crawl up your throat at the memory, and you quickly turned back to your previous task, opening up the duffel bag and taking stock of what was inside: clothing and some toiletries. That answered your question about how long they wanted you to stay, at least a few days. You looked forward to not being stuck in your cell and having someone to talk to.

It should be fine. Just so long as you didn’t linger on the memory of 049’s fingers caressing between your legs.

Chapter Text

The SCP was right about one thing: you needed rest, desperately. You didn’t know what time it was, the small biomonitor strapped to your wrist like a watch didn’t tell the time, but by the heavy sluggish weight of your limbs, you could guess it was getting late.

A small meal was provided on a tray through the deposit bank in the wall. It was a light soup, along with a cup and pitcher of water, but that was more than enough for you. After not having eaten in so long, the vegetable and herb broth quickly filled you up, and you had to sip slowly so it wouldn’t come back up.

Once you returned the tray and bowl—keeping the pitcher because it made getting water from the sink easier, and if they wanted it back Leahy could damn come get it himself—you changed into what looked to be pajamas. 049 offered to go into the other chamber while you dressed, but you didn’t want to kick the SCP out of what little space it had, so you said if it wanted to just turn around that was just fine.

Honestly, you would have been more comfortable with the SCP watching you undress than that blinking camera in the corner. You were so tired that modesty with 049 wasn’t really a bother—after its hands had been on you, there wasn’t much left to be shy about, anyway—but that camera made you feel like an exhibitionist, and you wondered if you’d ever get used to it.

You located a light dimmer on the wall, definitely something that hadn’t been there before the “renovations,” and when you asked 049 if it minded the lights being lowered, it assured you it did not.

The SCP was occupied with reading, and even though there was a lamp on the small desk, it didn’t turn on the light. Maybe it could see in the dark. You turned down the overhead lights until you were just able to make out the plague doctor sitting at the desk with its book.

You knew from going over the supply logs that its bookshelf contained titles that it had once requested while at Site-19. Some of them were the classic French and English literature you’d expect, along with medical and biological texts, but the thing that perplexed you the most were the romance novels. 19^th and 20^th century literature had plenty of romance, but you wouldn’t have guessed an SCP with an obsession for a mysterious illness would be fond of bodice-rippers or tales of eternal pining.

Maybe it was just bored. Something as old as 049 probably read whatever grabbed its attention. It’s not as it if were capable of love or romantic feelings—

You forced yourself to lie down, pushing the wayward thoughts out of your mind. It was natural to be curious, but trying to sleep in the SCP’s bed was not the time to have such wandering questions.

It was unfortunate sleep wouldn’t come. No matter how long you laid there and tried to slow your breathing or give in to the exhaustion of your body, you remained stubbornly awake.

“Rest evades you,” 049’s voice carried across the dim room. “An inability to sleep indicates a chaotic mind.”

There was no use denying it, not when it could sense you so easily. If it could see you in the dark, maybe it could hear your breathing or heartbeat. You recalled at one point it was even able to smell you.

A startling thought occurred to you. If it could sense you so easily now, surely it would have known the kind of reactions it had caused from its examination? Those less-than clinical touches remaining somehow professional even when your heart had raced, and your muscles had trembled. It had to have known what it was doing, yet it treated you the same afterwards as it ever had.

“It’s been a difficult couple of weeks,” you said, an understatement of the century. “And it’s unlikely to get better.”

There was a quiet shuffling followed by silence. It was so quiet that when the bed dipped next to you, you flinched like you were about to be struck.

“I apologize,” it spoke from where it sat on the edge of the mattress. “It wasn’t my intention to startle you. I thought, perhaps a tale to quiet the inner workings of your mind would be welcome.”

You relaxed a little. It was only 049. This wasn’t a test, and you weren’t being subjected to an experiment.

“It’s not your fault I’m easily startled these days.”

You turned on your side toward 049, very awake but no longer in fight-or-flight mode either as you plumped up the pillow and rested your head on it.

A bedtime story, huh? You gazed up expectantly at the SCP, and 049’s expression seemed amused at your attentiveness.

“Yes, I suspect that’s why you cannot sleep. I had hoped something to take your mind off recent events would help. Perhaps, a recounting of my various travels? If you are receptive to it.”

“Yes!” you said, maybe a little too eagerly. “I would like that.”

049 made a low, pleased hum in its throat, one that sent goosebumps across your skin. You resolutely ignored your reaction.

“In that case, I shall start at the beginning.”

The SCP took a moment to gather its thoughts, or at least, you assumed that’s what it was doing as it stared off into the dark. And then, it spoke.

“My earliest memories originated in the 1300s, where my wanderings took me far and wide across Europe. Before that time, I can recall very little, and even now, I am unsure as to why that is. But the first I heard of a widespread instance of the Pestilence was from rumors of a devastating sickness, one which destroyed entire villages without mercy. I wasn’t the only one who heeded the call to Italy.”

049 huffed, displaying its disdain with a slight upturn of its beak.

“These amateur physicians had gathered to try and battle this devastating malady. It was 1348 in Avignon, and the disease was so rampant that Pope Clement VI paid these… doctors, myself included, to cure the ill.”

It paused for a moment, but you never moved, your attention rapt on its face. It may have had a chitinous mask for a face, but its eyes were so expressive, showing every flick of emotion in its words. You almost felt like you were there, seeing and feeling all the same things as 049.

“Suffice it to say, not many survived, including the other so-called physicians. All of them perished, either dying to their own stupidity or… well, as far as anyone knew, they simply vanished.” 049 let out a breath, one that wasn’t entirely happy. “They were charlatans, claiming to be healers but further spreading the Pestilence wherever they went. I made sure they would do no further harm.”

It didn’t take a genius to figure out what had happened to those other doctors. And considering how difficult 049 could be to work with, you wouldn’t be surprised if the rest of the doctors had turned on the SCP towards the end, to their fatal mistake.

“As I was the only surviving physician, I took what funds were given to me in payment and gave them to future patients as I met and cured them. I had very little need for monetary reward, and at most, in return for my services I would simply ask for a hot meal and a place to rest. I had no need of either, but, well… such things can be a balm to the soul. Perhaps, I’m growing sentimental in my old age.”

It gave a chuckle at that, one that warmed the pit of your stomach.

“I understand,” you offered quietly. “After being without warm meals and a soft bed, having those things again makes me feel… human.”

049 watched you, eyes softening.

“Indeed.”

You wondered about the patients it cured. To you, being “cured” by 049 meant a swift death and a grueling reanimation. It didn’t make sense that the SCP would give money to these shambling corpses. Had it actually cured people, truly cured them without resorting to death? You would have to ask at another time, for now, you wanted to learn more of its history. As far as you could tell from the records from other Sites, you were the first to get it to recall so much of its past.

It continued on, its low, mechanical voice soothing in the dark.

“For the sake of continuity, I shall skip forward 300 years to France where another instance of the Pestilence took hold of the land and its people.”

Ah, France. Montauban had been where the SCP had first appeared on the Foundation’s radar. It was interesting how it had taken so long for them to discover 049’s existence, but then again, 049 was very old compared to the somewhat young organization.

“The first known written record of myself, as far as I am aware, was in the year 1619 during the outbreak in Paris. Royal Physician Charles de Lorme, in service of King Louis XIII, followed in my footsteps as I cured the ill. He had so many prodding questions, wanting to know everything I did, even if he did not understand the finer points of it.”

049 spoke with a mixture of annoyance and fondness, recalling this man. There was a small pang of envy. Being trapped in the middle of a devastating bubonic plague would have been terrifying, but to get to observe 049 outside of these clinical walls, watch as the SCP tended to the sick—and it must have actually cured the sick, otherwise this physician would have fled—it made you oddly jealous over a man who had died hundreds of years ago.

That was why you were envious, you told yourself. Not because 049 spoke of him with warmth in its voice.

“Writers are an odd lot, curious even at the threat of their own health,” 049 mused. “But the Pestilence did not touch him, and he did not mock my methodology, so I let him be. He was a polite enough fellow, though I did not appreciate the manner in which he compared me to a ‘stooped, fastidious crow’.”

You pressed your lips together not to smile, able to pull up the imagery too well. A studious bird, perched over its work.

“The outbreak of the disease was… quite extraordinary. Monsieur de Lorme took my teachings and applied them in sometimes effective, sometimes mysterious ways…”

“How so?”

049 gave another light huff, clearly miffed about something.

“He decided part of his treatment regime should be to dress like me. Including a beaked mask, a cane, and waxed, leather robes, he insisted I wore these things to keep the Pestilence at bay. An utterly ridiculous notion from an utterly ridiculous man!”

You bit your lip hard, slowly losing the battle not to grin. 049’s offense at a 17^th French physician dressed in long robes and a beaked mask was… well, it was something.

“Is that where they come from? The… plague doctors?”

Your question drew its attention, and it sat up straighter and smoothed down the front of its coat.

“Unfortunately. The monsieur even went so far as to believe lavender was a defense against foul odor and miasma simply because I sometimes took it with my tea.”

“Really? I thought lavender acted as a sedative for you.”

“Yes,” it said slowly, “and like any sedative, when taken in minute doses it can act as an enjoyable relaxant.”

Huh. It had a point there. And now you were picturing 049 in a cozy study with a flickering fireplace, a book, and a cup of lavender tea.

You hadn’t expected a story of various outbreaks of medieval plagues to end with you imagining the SCP in such an appealing setting. But, well, here you were, mind tingling with the curiosity of other ways 049 would relax.

Christ.

“Sorry,” you said. “I don’t mean to interrupt. Please, continue.”

049 was calmed from its slightly rumpled state, its gaze turning warm and drawing you in like a moth to flame.

“There’s no need to apologize, my dear. But, yes, I was the unintentional and unfortunate source of the… plague doctor phenomena.”

It let out a heavy sigh, almost dejected before it continued.

“German engraver Gerhart Altzenbach published an illustration of myself in 1656, which I did quite enjoy in its accuracy. What I did not enjoy was Paulus Fürst’s rendition of the same drawing, the nickname of “Doctor Beaky from Rome” given to the subject of the portrait. Not only was the name insulting, but the depiction of myself wearing a top hat was most inaccurate, and Fürst claimed my sole purpose was to frighten people and take their money.

“I most certainly did not,” 049 huffed. “I never took from the suffering or poor, nor would I. To compare me to those other masked charlatans is an insult, an outrage, and—… Is there something humorous, Doctor?”

“No, no. Course not.” You were unable to keep the smile from your lips this time. 049’s offense of being drawn wearing a top hat was just… too… damn cute.

049 continued to give you a cool look, eyes half-lidded in a lack of amusement, but it only made you smile more. Maybe you were getting too comfortable with the SCP—you were, after all, about to sleep in its bed—but you couldn’t help it. This was the lightest you’d felt since this whole mess began, and it was nice to just… smile about something.

The SCP’s gaze softened, and something stirred in your stomach. A trend you’d noticed happening with more frequency, but like before, you pushed it out of your thoughts. Deal with it later was becoming your motto.

It continued to speak on the various plagues that went beyond Paris, turning the tale toward those it had helped and eventually cured, and your smile faded. It was a good chance each “cure” was a life taken, though you wondered if maybe 049 had done things differently back then. There was little chance of that, SCPs didn’t generally change over time. They seemed to be stuck, chained to their nature, and 049’s history was a grim reminder of that.

When it spoke like this, low and rhythmic and soothing, it was impossible not to relax and sink into the mattress. You had begun to slip below the level of full consciousness when its voice trailed off, and there was a light brush of something soft against your temple.

The mattress shifted, the weight disappearing along with the SCP’s presence, but you didn’t want it to leave yet.

“I’m not… a doctor,” you mumbled.

“Hmm?”

“You call me Doctor,” you said, the words laden with almost-sleep. “Not a doctor. Just a junior researcher. Was… a junior researcher.”

There was the quiet scuff of a footstep and the mattress dipped again. You peeked open your eyes to find 049 returned, sitting on the edge and half-turned in your direction. Its eerie pale eyes watched you, but there was warmth there. In a way you would never admit while fully awake, you felt… safe.

“You’re inquisitive,” it said. “Observant. Wield a critical mind but do not possess a cold heart. You wish to aid those you meet, even a man like myself. You’re far more a woman of science than they could ever hope to be. No official title or academic proclamation could dictate your worth.”

Your breath caught in your throat, but you swallowed down the lump and took the compliment with a silent burning of your cheeks.

“That’s kind of you to say. Thank you.”

The SCP gave a gentle bow of its head before standing again.

“I shall let you rest. Pleasant dreams, Doctor.”

“Goodnight, 049.”

Once the SCP had retreated out of your vision, over to its desk by the sound of it, you buried your face into the pillow.

Jesus. 049 was going to be the death of you, and not in the way you’d imagined.

Chapter Text

Your first morning waking in 049’s bed was confusing, to say the least. Confusing, but not alarming. You’d woken up alone for as long as you could remember, definitely since you’d started your employment at the Foundation.

So to stretch and look up to find 049 at its desk, pen still in hand as it looked up from its work, giving you that funny little warm expression that was expressed so well with only its eyes, you were… well, not happy. But not far from it. It was such a strange feeling, and you realized why. It was unfamiliar.

“Good morning, Doctor. Did you sleep well?”

“Yes,” you said with some surprise, sitting up to find you had. Your body still ached from the tests inflicted on it, but mentally, you were doing better than you had since this whole mess had started. “Did you… sleep at all?”

“No, but as I said, I do not need rest. Do not concern yourself, my dear.”

With a blink, you realized you actually were concerned. It wouldn’t be the first time you’d worried over the SCP. Reid has formed an attachment, no doubt the psych eval would proclaim. Of course, at this point, a psych eval would say a lot of things, none that would matter now that you were no longer a person.

That reminder robbed some of your newfound contentedness, but 049 moving closer pulled you out of the beginning of a spiral. It stood from its desk, hands clasped politely in front of its hips.

“You are free to use any facilities you need. I shall be in the middle containment chamber to afford you some privacy.”

049’s consideration of you once again caught you by surprise.

“Thank you, Doctor. I appreciate that.”

The SCP seemed pleased as it always did when you used that title, though even when you called it “049” it didn’t seem to mind. You wondered what it thought of being called by a number, or if it thought about it at all.

Once the SCP left the inner containment chamber, you sifted through the bag and pulled out the day’s garments. A white jumpsuit with the Foundation symbol, some underwear, socks, and even a tie for your hair. There were other toiletries inside, and while nothing from your quarters was included, you still had the sense of Dr. Puli’s hand in this somewhere, making sure you had what you needed.

This was confirmed to you when after your exposed shower (honestly, Leahy couldn’t have spared a curtain?), you went out into the middle chamber and found a tray of food waiting for you.

This wasn’t D-Class food or standard cafeteria fare, either. Previous sites that had housed 049 had sometimes given it food, not because it needed it but because it enjoyed it. They would provide things like seeded rolls, hard cheese, fruits of a wide variety, and a glass of red wine.

The same kind of meal was laid out before you, a large plate with enough food for two, along with a glass of wine. Well, the glass was made of plastic rather than anything breakable, but you didn’t care. All you cared about was that Dr. Puli had done this. You hadn’t been forgotten.

How fragile was your mental state that a rather simple meal was nearly enough to bring you to tears. You blinked away the stinging, aware of the dark observation glass. The camera in the inner chamber was easier to bear mentally then the large window set in the wall, and you were once again under the pressure of being a bacterium under a microscope.

“Are you not hungry?” 049 asked with at tilt of its head, noting your frozen stance near the inner doors. “You should try to partake in something, even only a bite or two. It will do much for clearing your mind and bolstering your strength.”

You didn’t feel particularly strong right now, nor was your head clear, especially when 049 looked at you that way. As if it cared that you ate enough, or slept enough, or if you were feeling well.

“Right. You’re right,” you said, approaching the counter where the tray was perched. There was no dining table to speak of, and you sure as hell weren’t eating off the autopsy table, so you settled for the counter nearest the door. There was a deposit box set into the wall for items to be easily transported in and out of 049’s chamber, explaining how the tray had gotten inside the cell.

“Are you going to have some?” you added, eyeing the amount of food heaped onto the single plate. “I don’t think I can eat all of it, especially after… not eating for a while.”

Because I wasn’t fed, you didn’t tact on. It had been on purpose, keeping your stomach empty so you wouldn’t have much to throw up during all of the tests. They’d kept you hydrated during the last testing phase with IVs, but you couldn’t remember the last time you had a solid meal, and you salivated as the smell of warm bread hit you.

“I will partake after you’ve had your share,” 049 said, eyes holding both humor and a touch of concern. “And the wine is yours. I anticipate your need is more than mine.”

“We both need it,” you mumbled, but you definitely weren’t saying no to the wine. Food first, otherwise the alcohol would hit your bloodstream like a freight train. It was tempting, but you tended to be a happy, affectionate drunk, and considering 049 was the only one here… It wasn’t a smart idea. You were acting foolish enough as it was.

You started with the loaf of bread first, splitting it in half and taking out small chunks to chew. There were several kitchens in the facility, and you wondered if this was from one of the SCP-designated kitchens, or a normal staff one. There were many SCPs that required food, or some kind of sustenance, and the SCP-designated kitchens were kept separate so there wasn’t any cross-contamination between the human foods. After all, there were more than a few SCPs that required humans as food.

After you managed to swallow down a few bites of bread, you added the fruits and cheese to the mix, picking out a particularly plump fig.

“I didn’t even eat this well at home,” you said while chewing, covering your mouth in case the ever-polite SCP found it rude. But it simply cocked its head, continuing to watch you as it had done while you ate. You found you didn’t mind.

“Home?”

“Before I started working for the Foundation,” you clarified. “Once I became an employee, I couldn’t leave for obvious reasons.”

“I see. And what was home before that?”

You blinked. None of your coworkers had ever asked about life before. It just wasn’t something anyone did, maybe because it was an exercise of self-inflicted misery, bringing up memories of people you couldn’t see and places you couldn’t go.

But you liked 049 asking. It was probably simple curiosity, but the interest was nice.

You described your hometown, where you’d grown up and a brief mention of your family. Lingering on them for too long filled your chest with heavy lead. At least they wouldn’t worry about you, not for a while. They didn’t know the nature of what you did, or even that the Foundation existed, but they knew you were gone for long periods of time for your job and that it was normal.

Very few people got to live off-site, and vacations were few and far between. Just another reason that raising a family while working for the Foundation was discouraged. Relationships between coworkers, funnily enough, was allowed. You supposed even the Foundation understood that their people needed companionship.

But you’d avoided those kinds of entanglements. In fact, you barely had any friends. You were friendly with people, but you weren’t close to anyone, not like…

Your gaze rose, landing on 049. It shifted its head at your sudden attention, in a way that made you think of a raised eyebrow.

“What about you?” you quietly asked. “If you weren’t here, where would you call home?”

049 stood straighter, apparently pleased at your question.

“As you know from my travels, I was frequently nomadic and tended not to remain in any one place for any length of time. There were certain places, little villages tucked away in the mountains, farming communities that relied on building canals from local rivers, places such as this where I was content to stay for a time. They were isolated, free of the Pestilence. Those were… restful places. My presence, however, was not welcome for long. A visage such as mine is foretold to be an omen of misfortune.”

You smiled a little, though the image wasn’t funny. Your smile was due to the fact that 049’s face had become a good omen. It meant a rest from pain and fear. You hadn’t forgotten what it had done to Daniel, what it was still capable of doing to anyone it saw as infected. But at least, to you, being around 049 was the safest and most comfortable you could be.

Not to mention well-fed. You pushed the plate toward it, indicating you were finished.

“I don’t think you’re an omen of misfortune. I consider you to be…”

049 slightly leaned forward at your pause, and for once, its expression was strangely unreadable to you.

“A respected colleague?”

“Well, yes. But I would also consider you to be something of a… friend?”

It shifted onto its heels, mulling the word over, its eyes losing their sharpness as its gaze drifted.

“Even with the knowledge that I do not have a penchant towards friendship, you would still wish such a thing? Generally speaking, such an accord does not end well for the other party.”

A roundabout way for 049 to speak about the death of Dr. Hamm, but there was unmistakable regret buried in the words. Even years later, and still maintaining that Dr. Hamm had been infected with the Pestilence, there was something about this death that bothered the SCP. It was one of the things you’d noticed going over its file, and it had been a first clue to you that there was more going on with 049 than an obsession with some undetectable disease.

“I’ve faced worse odds,” you said, raising your glass to it in a playful toast. “So, I’ll take my chances.”

If 049 had feathers instead of robes, you imagined they would have ruffled form the way it stiffened and then relaxed.

“Well, then.” It cleared its throat, the first time you remember it ever doing so. “To friendship?”

Not having a wine glass of its own, 049 picked up its half of the loaf and held it up. You snorted, which bubbled up into laughter, and you had to steady your hand so as not to spill wine all over yourself.

“To friendship,” you said, tapping the edge of your glass against his lump of bread, swallowing down another giggle fit. But 049 took it in stride, its eyes bright with its own kind of silent laughter.

Downing the wine after that was both a pleasing and a curse. It wasn’t enough to get you drunk, but the burning in your throat was pleasant and the warmth in your stomach spread throughout your body. But it also made you a little too comfortable. You were disappointed when 049 didn’t actually eat any of the food—you were dead curious to see how it actually ate, as no one had been able to figure it out yet—but it did take you on a brief tour of its room.

And by tour, it was essentially 049 showing you the small, humble bookshelf. You knew the titles that were there, but it still proudly pulled out a few of its favorite. Jules Verne, Mary Shelley, Kurt Vonnegut, Charlotte Brontë, Jane Austen, Octavia E. Butler, and others less well known. You’d always found the list of books interesting, as 049 had apparently requested these itself. There were at least two medical texts and one on human biology, but the mixture of science fiction and historical romance was an intriguing choice.

The hardbound copy of Lady Chatterley’s Lover was especially telling, though you blamed the heating of your cheeks on the glass of wine. The lack of alcohol in so long had made you a light weight, that was all.

It followed your gaze, mistaking your focus as literary interest.

“You are welcome to read anything you wish during your stay. I do not mind.”

“Oh, thank you.” You imagined curled up in its bed with one of those romances, especially since that was an uncensored version of Lady Chatterley’s Lover—

You were passing on the wine next time.

“Of course,” it said generously. “Anything of mine is also yours.”

Definitely, absolutely no more wine.

The day passed in pleasant, comfortable silence. You picked out a Jules Verne to start on, and 049 thumbed through its journal, stopping to add a note here or there. You wished the text was decipherable, and you might have asked about it but for now you were satisfied with simply watching the SCP. When it was focused on its work, it seemed to forget you were there, allowing you an unimpeded view. There was only so much you could record and observe through cameras and glass. It was something altogether different to be able to catch the slight rustle of its robes as it moved, the soft intake of each breath, the rare low hum in its throat when it wrote down something of particular interest.

You didn’t realize you had been staring over the edge of the book for some time until its gaze shifted to yours, a glint in its eye at catching you staring.

Your lips twitched into an apologetic smile before lifting the book and burying your attention into the pages, your face heating. It had been some hours since breakfast, and you could no longer blame the wine.

Lunch and dinner came and went, and though 049 still didn’t eat and insisted you eat all you wanted, you shared pleasant but surface-level conversations together. The SCP seemed almost distracted, easily getting lost with its thoughts, which only served to catch your interest more. But you wouldn’t prod. If 049 had something it wanted to share with you, you could wait. You were both on the same side of the observation glass, after all, and it was no longer your job to poke and pry. You could simply be, and so could he.

It.

There was no clock in the chamber, but the meals gave you a solid way to gauge the hours, and 049 had an internal measurement of time that was accurate down to the minute. You knew this, because there had been plenty of tests documenting 049’s inner clock. It could also tell the directions to the Earth’s magnetic poles, but that made an odd kind of sense to you. Couldn’t migratory birds do the same?

When your eyelids started to droop and you could barely keep them open, 049 announced the time as ten after 9 o’clock, and that you should perhaps get some sleep.

The SCP was courteous in leaving the inner chamber whenever you needed privacy, but you were still disgruntled over the fact there wasn’t even a curtain between you and the single camera. You knew the reason why—no containment chamber was allowed to have blind spots, but it wasn’t as if you were going to plan your escape while washing your hair.

More likely, they were watching to make sure you didn’t seek a different method of escape, but death at your own hands wasn’t an appealing option at this point. The Site Director hadn’t succeeded in breaking you yet, and you wouldn’t allow him to. You were too stubborn and spiteful; if he wanted to break you, he would have to push you so far it would most likely result in your death. That wasn’t a great option, either.

Plus, the idea of leaving 049 all alone, with no power and no advocate to protect him from Leahy’s cruelty… It was unthinkable. You would just have to survive long enough for things to change. They would, inevitably. They had to.

The Site Director was straying into dangerous territory, and one day, he would slip up. You hoped you got a front row seat.

Curling up in 049’s bed under the covers that night, knowing the SCP would be at its desk in what was becoming a nighttime vigil, warmth spread throughout your stomach and limbs. 049 might be protective over you, but it was just as much your responsibility to protect the SCP from rough treatment. Starting with that damn shock collar still latched around its neck.

Determined to find a way to get your old boss to agree to removing the cruel device, you closed your eyes and let the heavy weight of sleep drift over you, knowing at the moment, someone was watching over you.

Chapter Text

You awoke with a start, reaching out with your senses to find what had disturbed you. Something was moving in the darkness, and your eyes adjusted just enough to find SCP-049 pacing back and forth, agitated as it clutched its own hands.

“049?”

It didn’t seem to hear your groggy question, and you sat up, watching the pacing for a moment as you got your bearings. The SCP seemed to be stuck within its own thoughts, too focused to notice your presence.

“049, what’s wrong?” you said, louder this time, but it was as if you’d whispered. The plague doctor didn’t react, trapped in its pacing loop.

You rose to your feet, wincing at the cold concrete against the soles of your socked feet. Knowing it was a foolish move, you reached out to the SCP, bracing yourself as your hand landed on its arm.

049 froze, so completely it could have been a stature.

And then it turned, looming over you in one quick stride. You flinched, the back of your legs hitting the bed, leaving you nowhere to go.

Not that you could have run. 049 reached up and held your head in its hands, its face so close you could hear its metallic breathing.

“How?” it asked in a whisper. “How is this possible?”

Your answer was equally breathless, more so in confusion.

“What?”

“Your touch, it… quiets the mind. Silences the cacophony.” Its voice dropped low, eyes narrowed, but its grip on you was oddly gentle. “All I hear and smell and taste is the Pestilence, but you… soften the world so I’m able to hear my own thoughts.”

You didn’t know what to say, and even if you had, your tongue was stuck to the roof of your mouth. 049’s hands were warm, soothing, and you were so close the edge of its robes brushed against your thin clothing.

“I’m not naïve,” you prefaced, as if convincing yourself. “I know what you are, what you’re capable of, but I’m not afraid anymore. When I’m here, I feel like I’m going to be okay. Like I’m… safe.”

For a long moment, 049 didn’t say anything at all, but its fingers lightly moved through your hair, so close to stroking it. You wanted that, starved for any crumb of comfort you could find, but then, it let you go and turned away.

“A dear sentiment, but there is no true safety while the Pestilence still exists,” 049 said, low and grim. “It burns like a wildfire through the chaff, accelerating with each soul it consumes. There can be no allowance for distractions.”

Heat lit your face, your stomach churning almost to the point of nausea, and worst of all, there was a sharp ache in your chest. How could you be so stupid, slipping like that, even for a moment, to try and sympathize with 049. Now you understood the danger in humanizing the SCP when there was nothing human about it, no matter how soft its voice or how warm its eyes.

All it cared for was the Pestilence, and you were reckless and complacent by thinking that somehow you were the exception to its obsession.

You were determined not to bond with it again.

The days ahead were quiet, but not boring. Despite your new vow of maintaining an emotional distance, 049 was still friendly to you, even if it had withdrawn to a degree as well. Regret lingered in the back of your actions, half-wishing you could return to the comfortable, informal back-and-forth you’d had before.

Interactions between the two of you might be stiff and polite, but 049 was still an eager teacher. It showed you its journal as well as the strange language it used, trying to teach you how to decode it. It made no linguistic sense, and so far, no Foundation program had been able to decrypt it, but after a day of attempts, you began to understand the strange symbols. At least, some of them.

When you read a sentence to 049 and got it mostly right, the SCP beamed at you, eyes bright.

“You are a sharp student. None of your colleagues have even come close to your level of comprehension and academic curiosity.”

You flushed with pleasure, allowing a brief smile before burying it. So much for maintaining an emotional distance.

049 also explained in more detail how its black bag worked, recounting its contents as best it could, admitting it “knows” what 049 needs. Not to mention the inside dimensions of the bag didn’t match the rules of Euclidean space and could carry whatever it asked for.

Instead of pointing out the fact that 049 could literally pull out anything it wanted and easily escape containment at any time, you steered the conversation into a territory that might not interest the observing researchers and doctors as much. No need for the Site Director to get concerned and take away the black bag, especially if it really would come in handy someday. The hope flared in the back of your mind, stored away for a later use.

“What about your pen?” you asked, indicating the black and silver pen next to its journal. “You use the same one, and it looks old. Is it special?”

“Indeed, it was given to me by Royal Physician Charles de Lorme,” it said, slipping into a soft, accented lilt as 049 always did when pronouncing French words and names. You reluctantly acknowledged you liked the way the words flowed over its tongue. “He insisted I have it as a gift for allowing him to observe my treatments. I admit, it is a fine tool.”

“What about the ink? Does it need replenishing?”

049 smiled in that way it did only using its eyes.

“My bag not only knows what I need, but it restores the instruments I place inside into perfect condition. That is how my tools stay so clean, and my pen stays untouched by time and always full of ink.”

Now, that was handy. Really, why the Foundation let 049 keep its bag was—

“Your observational skills are truly well-honed. I’ve never had an assistant so quick-witted before.”

The praise ground your thoughts to a halt, your cheeks heating again. What was wrong with you? Acting like a praise-hungry TA fresh out of college, seeking the approval of their unfairly attractive professor.

Not that 049 was attractive.

“Thank you,” you said, fighting to steady your voice. “I’m fortunate to have such a thorough teacher.”

The SCP took a breath, its shoulders slightly rising, and the image came to mind of a raven puffed up with pride. But it quickly turned away, moving on to explain how it conducted its operations, once again devolving into nonsense about the balance of humors and the “bodily elements.”

That night, something tugged at your thoughts other than the possible benefits provided by the doctor’s bag. You couldn’t stop thinking about it, and you stared at the dim ceiling, plucking up the courage to speak.

“Sleep eludes you,” spoke 049’s voice from the dark. Most nights it sat at its desk, and you wished it would simply lay down beside you. Even if it didn’t need rest, at least it wouldn’t be sitting in the dark while you slept in the only bed.

“I was wondering something.”

“Yes?”

“About… you.”

049 didn’t respond verbally, but there was a shifting of fabric and the light fall of footsteps as it left its desk. The mattress dipped at your side, and you automatically moved over to give the SCP more room. But it didn’t take the bed, and you pretended you weren’t disappointed it continued to be so chivalrous.

“What would you like to know?”

There were many, many things you wanted to know. Everything, really, but you started with the question that only popped into your mind today.

“You mentioned other assistants,” you said quietly. The microphone in this room was just as cheap as the camera it belonged to, and there was a good chance any soft speech wouldn’t be picked up on the recording. “Have you had many? I don’t remember any records of the Foundation giving you an assistant before.”

“Oh, no, these assistants were long before my time here,” 049 said, sighing. “This was during the height of the widespread disease in Europe, and they were more… disciples than they were students.”

Disciples? You half-sat up with interest, propping your elbow against the pillow to lean on it.

049’s gaze was distant, but you waited patiently.

“There were others who witnessed the rampant destruction of the Pestilence, though they could not understand its nature as I did, they recognized my vision. They followed me, wishing to gain my insight, and after a time, I passed my knowledge down to them. Not all could walk the path, treading through a world of death and despair. Many left my side, growing fearful of their mission when they used to hold a zealous belief.”

049 paused, its voice taking on a heavy quality. Painful.

“But she was different. Special. Pernella stayed by my side for years, ever since I came across her as a child.”

“A child?” you spoke up, not wanting to interrupt the story but the revelation had shocked you into speaking.

“Yes. The Pestilence had taken her parents and she was left starving on the street. There was no question she would come with us, and she wished to, willingly.”

You could picture it, 049’s somber voice giving the image a haunted quality. A skin and bones orphan following after what must have looked like the masked visage of Death.

“She was an apt learner, adept and smarter than my other disciples. As most with high intelligence are, she was also willful and stubborn. She believed in our mission with unwavering dedication, but as she grew into adulthood, things… changed.”

Suddenly, you didn’t want to hear more, especially considering you saw too much resemblance between yourself and this Pernella. That, the reluctance in 049’s voice made your stomach drop. Its words became heavier, slower in the telling.

“Pernella began to doubt our cause, or at least, my methodology when it came to curing the Pestilence.”

It paused.

“What happened then?” you prodded as gently as you could.

049’s shoulders drooped, as if a heavy weight rested on them.

“That is not a tale one should hear before sleep. It does not encourage hopeful dreams.”

No, you imagined it wouldn’t, not if you knew 049 and how poorly it reacted to those who questioned its methods. You felt sorry for this Pernella and what most likely happened to her.

But there was also a pang in your chest for the SCP. It was again expressing remorse for something it had done to someone it clearly cared about.

“Do you dream?”

The question came out of you from nowhere, and 049 appraised with its head turned, one eye staring down at you in that birdlike way.

“I do not sleep, but sometimes, I rest. I have not dreamed, in a long, long time.”

It turned its head away, hooded face draped in shadows that were impenetrable in the dim light.

You wanted to reach out, comfort the SCP, but you stayed your hand by clutching the bedsheets.

049 stood from the bed and softly spoke, “Sleep, Doctor Reid. I sense we have much work ahead of us.”

You startled, trying to think back if there was a time he’d called you by your name before, but no. This was the first time, and the realization hit you with a warmth that spread against your better senses.

Your attempts to sleep after that were poor, and you dozed for a time until you woke up to find the lamp at the desk was dimly lit. 049 was writing in his journal, and when you left the bed to approach him, he didn’t notice at first.

049 didn’t respond to your presence until you were nearly at his desk, clearing your throat so as not to startle him.

“Ah. I have awoken you, my apologies,” he said, lifting his beak to see you. It was strange but not unpleasant to have the height on him for once.

“You didn’t.” You partially leaned over his shoulder to look at his curved, stylish penmanship, the words not in the strange language of symbols. “Can I ask what you’re writing?”

He looked down at the journal and placed down his pen, leaning back in his chair close enough to brush against your arm.

“Revisiting the past has been… an interesting exercise. It made me cognizant of the fact I have never written down my thoughts on personal matters, let alone my memories of past experiences. And when one has lived a long life such as mine, it is too easy for the years to bleed together. There are memories I wish to archive. Eliminate the possibility that I will… misremember. Or forget.”

“You miss her.”

The words once again escaped you without thought, and you braced yourself, but 049 said nothing for a moment. His head was slightly bowed, as if in deep thought. Or prayer.

“Of all the souls I wished to save,” he finally said, “it was hers. Though I suppose in the end she saved herself by choosing her convictions over our cause. Over… my cause. She always stayed true to herself, even when staring death in the face.”

His voice lowered into a near-growl, though it was quiet with strain.

“I took a life I should not have taken. There was no Pestilence in her, no rotting or malice. But the sting of her betrayal was too much to bear, and she might as well have been riddled with Pestilence for how much her presence tainted everything we had worked so hard to achieve—”

He cut himself off, agitated to the point of silence, his body a trembling mass of hard muscle. You placed a hand on his shoulder. There was no yield at first, but as the seconds ticked past, he started to lose that taut edge. His fast breaths also slowed, and after a long moment he hunched forward, as if unable to look at you.

“I can never tell her how much I regret… what I did to her.”

“She knows.”

You said it as if you knew it, your confidence in that statement not even a question. You couldn’t explain how you knew, no more than you could explain anything else that was going on with you lately, but it felt… right.

049 lifted his head. Maybe you’d stepped too far, assumed too much, and you were about to remove your hand when something warm and heavy covered your fingers. 049’s gloved hand covered your own, squeezing your fingers in a silent acknowledgement. It was such an intimate gesture you never would have expected from the SCP.

You were also hyperaware of the camera at your back, but you were blocking its line of sight so no one in the observation room could see what was happening. You squeezed his shoulder in response. A silent exchange of comfort for what you couldn’t say aloud, a recognition that neither of you were alone.

When he finally lifted his hand from yours, you reluctantly pulled away as well.

“I’m going to try to sleep again. Will you be all right?” you couldn’t help but ask.

049 said nothing but gave a small nod, his eyes soft but something within them too fragile. You didn’t like to leave him like this, even if you were only a few feet away, but if anything happened you would be awake in an instant. The benefit of being a light sleeper.

As you curled into bed, you wondered over the language in the journal, having looked mostly French. Possibly medieval French, and that would make sense, but it was interesting that he had chosen that as the language to capture his memories.

You were a quick learner; maybe he could teach you French, at least enough to show you his journal if he wished. It would be a good way to pass the time and keep your mind off the uncertain, grim future.

You could excuse the physical contact as simply following Dr. Puli’s orders to keep 049 calm and docile, but that thought had been nowhere near the forefront of your mind as you’d offered comfort to the conflicted, masked man.

Chapter Text

Waking the next morning feeling somewhat refreshed, you found what little normality you could by showering and eating breakfast. 049 again politely occupied himself while you were naked, and the irony didn’t escape you how the SCP treated you more like a person than your former colleagues did. You hadn’t caught sight of another human being since coming to stay with 049, and you were starting to prefer it.

Unfortunately, your wish was not granted, and a squad of five guards entered the containment cell, ordering you and 049 into the center of the room.

The SCP sized them up with narrow eyes, fully aware of his faculties as no lavender descended from the ceiling. But when the squadron leader ordered you to stand next to 049 and grab his hand, and it was clear you weren’t going to be separated, he simply glared at them rather than appeared as if he was going to start removing limbs.

The guards held their rifles at 049, not you, and looked like they were ready to shoot him at any moment, so you obeyed without questioning it. You stood next to the tall SCP and grabbed his hand in yours, holding on tight in case the guards changed their minds about keeping you together.

You were given no time to reflect on the comforting weight of 049’s fingers curling around yours; a guard came forward and tied your wrists and hands together with a strong, thin cord of rope, tying it off. The lead guard commanded you to follow his squad, and it took you a belated moment to realize you were both leaving 049’s containment cell.

With each step, the tension in you heightened—you were able to imagine all too clearly the kind of nasty, barbaric tests the Site Director had waiting for the two of you. Your anxiety increased at the familiar signs on the wall: you were heading to a medical bay.

049 tightened his grip on your hand and pulled you in closer. Your breath caught in your throat, but then you were in the medical wing, too distracted and confused by the change. The last time you’d been here, most of it had been blocked off by curtains, but now it was an open room with every bed filled. Some were in oxygen chambers, some even unconscious, but all of them seemed to be in an advanced stage of intensive care.

“Glad you could stop playing house long enough to join us.”

Your stomach dropped. Even 049’s hand twitched around yours as the Site Director moved into view. He stood a safe distance away, always keeping at least two guards between him and the SCP, but he didn’t seem too concerned by the lack of lavender sedatives.

“I’m sure you can guess what is required of this test,” Leahy said without preamble. “Go to each and touch them. Slowly. Cause any trouble and you will be subdued.”

049’s glare was as piercing as a steel-tipped arrow.

“You needn’t tell me what the patients require, sir. They will receive the proper healing, and not due to your coercion. I know you find this difficult to believe, but I, as a doctor, have dedicated several lifetimes to—”

“You can cure the patients, or you can run your mouth,” Leahy said in a bored tone. “Your choice. Just know if you continue to delay, I’ll activate your collar myself. Nothing would bring me greater pleasure.”

“I have little doubt,” 049 muttered.

“What was that?”

You placed yourself in front of 049, effectively breaking their glaring contest, and lightly tugged on the SCP’s hand as you stared up at him.

“Please, can we just… do this?”

049 dropped his gaze to yours, all the annoyance and anger fading from his grey eyes.

“As you wish.”

The SCP led you toward the first bed, and to your relief, Leahy didn’t seem interested in following and goading him. Something strange and light floated in your stomach as 049 lead you to each bedside by the hand, reaching out and curing each patient. Their expressions would light up at the effects of the touch, though for some it would turn to fear when they focused on the SCP’s beaked face.

One woman attempted to thank you, and you said, “049 is the one who healed you.”

She looked at the tall SCP, her face tight with nervousness, but she gathered her courage to thank him.

049 didn’t respond immediately, as if the gesture had been unexpected.

“It was, as they say… a group effort. But your gratitude is appreciated.”

After that, 049 seemed to be less burdened, lighter on his feet, and unbothered by the stares and fearful expressions he still sometimes gathered. But the further down the medical bay the two of you went, the more attention patients focused on him when they realized what he was doing. The overall fear faded from their expressions, and more of them thanked 049, which left the SCP either flustered or speechless each time.

Your heart ached at the implications, that he was unaccustomed to gratitude, at least, gratitude like this. 049 was especially lost after one of the patients, an older man who had been on his literal deathbed, shook 049’s hand vigorously before the guards encouraged them to separate.

The SCP continued to remain quiet, lost in his thoughts. You couldn’t move your tied hand except to shift your fingers until they were closely entwined with 049’s, slotting between them.

049 looked at your joined hands, and then up at you, the warmth in his eyes unmistakable.

As you moved on, you noticed the guards weren’t as close to the pair of you as before. You might not find a better time to freely talk to the SCP, especially while out of the containment chamber.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said,” you said under your breath, just loud enough to reach him. “About me being a doctor, because you think I… care about people.”

There were perhaps more important things to talk about in a rare moment of not being under surveillance, but this particular topic nagged at you, burrowing into your side like a thorn. Maybe if you came clean with the SCP, he would realize you weren’t as worthy of his respect. Because his opinion of you mattered, and you didn’t want him believing you were something you weren’t.

049 glanced at you out of the corner of his eye.

“You disagree.”

Swallowing, you took strength from the way your fingers curled together. Maybe you would only be gripping hands if it was at gunpoint, but you couldn’t deny it gave you comfort.

“It’s not my job to care,” you said, low and quiet. “I joined Dr. Puli’s program because I was fascinated with sentient SCPs. Like you.”

049 said nothing, and you waited for him to cure the next patient before speaking again, both of you naturally slowing your pace to extend the conversation. You were halfway through the medbay now.

“There was nothing altruistic about it. I obtained the position I did because I’m exceptionally good at compartmentalizing. I can put the horror away in a box and choose not to look at them, because if I do… everything will unravel. I would unravel. I’m the exact opposite of everything you described.”

Your tone was still quiet, but bitterness dripped from your words like venom. Harshness that was solely aimed at yourself. Not even the Site Director could be blamed for the things you’d done in the name of the Foundation.

049 took a moment to respond, thinking over your words with care. You weren’t used to that from anyone else.

“Then, perhaps it’s fortunate you no longer retain your old position. You may have found a new calling. One better suited to your skills and temperament.”

“My new calling as a prisoner of the Foundation? I sure hope not.”

“You twist my words, dear one,” 049 said with a cool look. “I simply meant that perhaps you were meant to be a healer, rather than a jailer.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the unexpected term of endearment.

“I…”

You never had the chance to finish your thought; the guards had finally caught on to your private conversation.

“Face forward. Don’t talk,” one of them snapped. He prodded 049 in the back with the butt of his rifle, for no other reason than because he could.

049 stumbled but otherwise caught his balance quickly. He shot a sideways glare that only you could see, and you didn’t envy the security team if the SCP ever got free of his chains.

Free of his chains… It was strange but before now, you hadn’t really thought about what would happen should that occur. Security breaches were rare at this facility, the sections separated by vast catwalks to keep them contained and isolated should one fail. But the idea of 049 free and wandering the facility was terrifying. You didn’t know if the strange, calming effect you had on him would keep him from trying to “cure” as many people as possible.

Then again, as long as you were touching 049, he could only heal with his touch, unless he decided to go straight for violence instead. It reminded you of the guard 049 had apparently killed. Louis Salazar. You still hadn’t received any satisfactory answers on what happened there.

Maybe you should have asked about that then having 049 assure you that you weren’t a monster for working for the Foundation.

Frustration at yourself wasn’t going to do any good. You followed along beside 049, unable to speak to him and offer anything besides a hand around his. You were going to miss this, having an excuse for comforting contact. Did 049 feel something similar? Did he even care about such things?

Honestly, you hoped whatever 049 was, he wasn’t a social creature. Living hundreds of years without being able to touch another living being without killing them… it was a kind of torment you couldn’t imagine.

Or, well, perhaps you could, if you survived long enough in this place.

After the last patient was cured, the medical bay was rather chaotic, nurses and doctors rushing back and forth as those who were in their last moments of life suddenly having renewed vigor and health. It would have been wonderful to see any other moment, but you and 049 were ushered back to the containment cell without fanfare.

Still, as far as experiments went, that was definitely at the top of the list. If only more of them were like that. Maybe if you were lucky, there would be.

Chapter Text

The guards departed the chamber, your hands still tied together, leaving the task of undoing the knots to 049. You supposed it was safer this way, none of them would have to risk dealing with a non-sedated 049, and it allowed you to watch the SCP skillfully pick apart the knots with deft gloved fingers.

049 was quiet for a long moment, coiling the rope in his hands before pulling out his black bag and placing the rope inside. Hopefully the Foundation didn’t want it back.

“Today was… something I could only envision as a dream.” He spoke with his back to you, his hands resting on the counter. “An ideal that could never be reached. Perfection that could not be obtained. I am… without words.”

“Me too,” you admitted, absently rubbing at the hand that had been tied to his. “It was special.

049 shook his head, and eventually turned to look at you.

“Not special. Impossible.”

“…What?”

His gaze drifted, distracted. Or perhaps unwilling to meet your eye.

“Despite all my experience and knowledge, I am no closer to finding a perfect cure now than when I first came to this place. It was not my efforts that made today possible. It was you who spared the ill from a fate worse than death.

“It-it was both of us together,” you denied, refusing to take the credit for something you truly believed wasn’t your doing. “You said it yourself—”

“What are these tests they’ve conducted?” he interrupted, pushing himself away from the counter. “Do they involve exposing you to other entities? By touch, perhaps?”

You grappled with your words, your voice small. You hadn’t spoken about the experiments, at least, that you could recall.

“Along with medical tests. How did you know?”

“Because it wasn’t I who bestowed these gifts onto you. They were within you, asleep. Dormant. Awakened by my hand.”

He looked down at his gloved hand before dropping it, his sharp eyes pinning you to the spot.

“They will never release you. You know this, don’t you? Your freedom was forfeit the moment my touch failed to… to…”

He failed to name exactly what his touch was supposed to do, though you both knew what it was. His fists bunched at his side, shoulders hunched, the agitation held in the heaviness of his gaze.

Before he could stress himself further, you grabbed 049’s hand and pulled him into the inner containment chamber, away from the darkened observation window that stared at you like the eternally watchful eye of a giant cyclops.

You wanted away from the glass. The camera was easier for you to deal with, maybe it would be easier for 049, too.

He followed you willingly, allowing you to tug him along without resistance. Some of the tension had bled from his body, and by the time you turned to face him, his gaze was curious rather than frustrated.

“And how is it that I ended up in your containment cell in the first place?” you asked, voice dropped to a conspiratorial level as you moved closer to not be overheard. “I was going to start my health sabbatical as soon as I was done with my routine inspection of the middle chamber. And yet, your cell opened, something that should be impossible without non-security personnel inside.”

049 cocked his head, eyes narrowed in thought.

“You believe our encounter was engineered?”

“You tell everyone I have the Pestilence, they find out I’m actually sick, and then, somehow, I’m trapped in containment with you?” You leaned forward, convinced of your own reasoning. It made too much sense. “Coincidences don’t happen in this place. Only designed purpose.”

“Were you exposed to my cure because this hypothetical individual, or group of individuals, knew you were ill and believed you were a perfect test subject? Or… did they already know something of your anomalous abilities?”

You became aware of how close you were, that your hand was still holding on to his, and you quickly dropped it, turning away with a shiver. You rubbed your own arms to dissipate the chill. It was a confusing mix of sensations, fear of your situation right alongside the heat that prickled your stomach whenever 049 gave you that look. Intense and homed in, as if nothing else existed but you.

“Is one really better than the other? To them, I was either expendable, or an object to be catalogued.”

You closed your eyes, unable to look at the sterility around you. Maybe because you were finally letting it in, stopping that compartmentalization you had perfected while working for the Foundation.

“You’re right,” you said quietly. “I’m never getting out of here. Not alive. Either the Site Director keeps tossing me at various SCPs, or…”

You couldn’t say it, couldn’t continue the thought, that you might be an SCP yourself. You would be stuck on this side of the glass, a wrongness of reality, to be studied, but more importantly, contained.

Your hands clutched at your sleeves as you began to tremble. You were fucked, so unbelievably fucked, and there was no one who could help you. Not Dr. Puli, not 049, hell, not even the O5 Council. Once they realized what you could do, if they didn’t already know, you would be subjected to torments that would make Leahy’s attempts look like daycare.

Something was close at your back, inches away, and you whirled to find only 049, his hand hovering near your shoulder, eyes sympathetic. But his fingers didn’t make contact.

“I do not… It is clear you require comfort, but I am not equipped to… And besides that, I can’t—won’t break my oath again.”

It took you a moment to realize he was speaking about touching you without your consent. It seemed like a thousand years since you’d had that conversation, instinct and fear telling you to stay away from the tall, masked SCP.

Things were different, now. You were different.

Something within you snapped; you rushed forward, burying your face into the front of his chest as you collided, fingers tightly gripping his robes as if for dear life.

049 was as frozen as a statue, his body rigid under your hands. But you continued to press against that unmovable surface, needing this with desperate abandonment. The reasonable side of you balked at the lapse of control, but you didn’t move away. If he wanted to remove you, he could easily do so.

But he didn’t. Instead, hands gently rested against your shoulders, the touch hesitant with its lightness. And then the arms went the rest of the way around you, pulling you in close.

You were finally able to breathe. Not because of any strange or anomalous properties, but because you were finally grounded. And more than that, 049’s warmth bled through his robes, driving away the chill that seemed to be a permanent fixture on your skin.

Closing your eyes and resting your cheek against the soft fabric, you let the fear and horror wash away. Not unlike those patients, you were cleansed of something dark and rotten, eating away at you until you could barely find the air to breathe.

You didn’t know what was going through 049’s head, what he thought about your actions, but he must not have minded with his arms slung across your mid back, holding you against him. It felt good, too good. All the warning signs were there, you were growing too fond of the SCP, but how were you supposed to fight against this?

With what limited time you had left, why would you want to?

A door opened behind you, shattering the quiet of the moment. It was followed by the heavy footsteps of the security team.

You jerked out of 049’s arms, thinking the guards had come to separate you, but only two of the five had their rifles out. The others grinned and in a way that was insidious, and definitely inebriated. The fact you could see their faces at all was alarming, their helmets removed.

049 moved in the blink of an eye, shoving you behind his back as he placed himself between you and the guards. Despite the prepared way he braced his limbs, he spoke in a cordial manner.

“Gentlemen, and gentlewoman. I had not expected to see you so soon after the last visit.”

You frowned. What—

“Ah, we just missed you that much,” one of the men said, a newer face you didn’t recognize. He leered at the two of you, snorting as if spotting something particularly funny.

“I can’t say your late companion would feel the same,” 049 said. “Unfortunately, Monsieur Salazar isn’t alive to have an opinion, one way or another.”

The group went silent. Smiles gone, replaced with various expressions of aggression. You barely breathed. What was going on? What were they doing here, posturing as if they were picking a fight at the bar?

One of them you recognized, a woman named Michelle Harvey. She fixed 049 with a hard glare. She didn’t seem drunk at all.

“String him up,” she growled.

Time, which had slowed to a crawl, jumped forward into pandemonium. Lavender mist poured from the ceiling, and 049 grunted and twitched as the collar buzzed around his neck.

But 049 remained on his feet, and you clung tightly to the loose fabric along his back.

“Step away, girl.”

Harvey glared at you, and you returned the ugly look, anger rippling up your spine, indignation overriding the rational part of your brain that realized the danger you were both in.

“You need to leave. All of you,” you bit out. “You’ll be lucky if all they do is fire you.”

“And you’ll be lucky if we don’t fry its brains. Which is going to happen if you don’t back away from it. Now.”

It nearly physically pained you to not give in, to let them continually shock 049. He somehow remained upright, shuddering and twitching as you held on, the lavender around his head useless against your touch.

If you let go of him, he would be sedated, and they could do whatever they wanted to him. You had to call Harvey’s bluff.

“I know you’re not that stupid,” you said, trying to go for a reasonable tone. You shifted your position, half-holding your arms around 049’s waist as you tried to keep him steady.

Just hold on a little longer.

“049 is the Site Director’s special project,” you continued, gritting your teeth against the increasing weight of the SCP. “You damage him, and you’ll be first in line on a feeding list. Last I heard, we’d captured a pair of 745s. That’s exactly where I would put you if I were the Site Director.”

The two not holding rifles shared a nervous glance. So, Leahy wasn’t in on this. Who was in the observation room working the lavender dispensers and remote shocker?

“Don’t worry about us,” Harvey snarled. “Let go of the Skip, or we’ll beat your ass, too.”

Your stomach dropped. That’s why they were here, to hurt 049. And you wouldn’t be able to stop them.

As if coming to the same conclusion, the SCP lost the remaining strength in his legs and dropped to his knees, partially dragging you down as he started to slip from your grasp.

“Your concern is… admirable,” he wheezed through the continued shocks. “But… do as they say. I fear I cannot protect you.”

“I’m not the one who needs protecting!”

You held on, refusing to let go. If you did—

049 pried your fingers from his robes and gave a last look of remorse as he shoved you away.

You stumbled backwards, barely catching your feet, but 049 was already slumped to the ground. The buzzing in the collar stopped, no longer needed.

A pair of rough hands grabbed you before you could fall, the grip on you uncaring and angry. A distressed cry clawed up your throat as the other guards put 049 into a Class III restraint, ankles and wrists bound in chains connecting to a second collar. Worse, metal mesh mittens were hooked over the wrist cuffs, disabling 049’s most effective weapon.

Once the restrains were in place, the mist was cleared out of the air via the filtration system, and 049 raised his head. He tried to rise to his feet, but he was restricted by the shortened chains and was forced back onto his knees. He was forced to crane his head upwards to stare at the guards from his hunched position.

“You’re all going to be terminated.”

Your breaths came out in heaving gasps, but it didn’t stop you from delivering your threats.

“And I don’t mean you’re going to be fired. Termination means you get to be the new D-Class after they pump you full of amnestics. You won’t even remember who you are as you choke on your own screams—”

“Shut up.”

The man holding you gave a hard shake.

A growl ripped out of 049, his pale eyes ablaze with a predatory glint you’d seen before, but not like this. After all, he’d hunted down Daniel out of instinct, an urge he couldn’t resist.

The heat in his eyes was pure rage. And none of the idiots in the room seemed to notice or care, one of the guards hitting him in the back with the butt of his rifle.

You lost sight of 049’s face after that, as the first hit precipitated into a full-fledged beating, all of the guards joining in except the one that held you by the arms. Your screams went ignored, even as they struck him with enough force and brutality that it would kill a normal man.

You couldn’t—you couldn’t stand there and do nothing, you had to help, you had to—

You had to stop it any way you could. They were going to kill him.

049 dying was worse than anything Leahy could do to you.

Like a cornered animal, you bit down on the closest thing you could, ripping into the skin until you tasted blood and drove your heel backwards, connecting with a shin.

The guard spit curses and spun you around, backhanding you so hard your head snapped to the side. Your cheek throbbed, something hot dripped from the corner of your mouth, and the room couldn’t stop spinning.

But you still caught sight of 049. He was watching you, the darkness in his eyes enough to nearly scare you as he seemingly ignored his own assault.

And then you were being forced to look at the guard you’d bitten. Harold Beaumont, you remembered. A pretentious name for a scumbag who now held you around the waist, his breath reeking of whiskey as it puffed across your face.

“I remember you,” he said, recalling you just as you recalled him. “Assistant Reid, always so good with the Skips. Now, we know why. You were gonna fuck that thing, weren’t you? That’s all you are, just a Skip-fucker.”

The other guards stopped their brutality long enough to laugh and watch, catching their breath. A couple of them needed to brace against the nearby autopsy table, still too drunk to keep their balance.

“And look at you, now,” Beaumont chuckled, on a roll. “Not even an orange jumpsuit. Not even human. Doesn’t matter what we do to you. And trust me, we’re gonna do whatever the fuck we want.”

His fist shot into your stomach, hard and without warning. While you leaned forward and gasped for breath, he grabbed you by the hair and snarled into your ear.

“This is for Louis, you cunt.”

You were helpless to stop it, to do anything at all, as the first tightened in your hair, and he slammed your head against the wall.

Pain exploded across your skull, stars bursting before your eyes before they blurred into doubled vision. There was a roaring in your ears, but you couldn’t tell if it was an actual noise or a result of what the guard had done to you.

You were on the ground, or that’s what it seemed like. You couldn’t quite understand what was happening. The side of your head was wet, you knew that much, but you were staring at something… odd.

There was white, and then there was red. So, so much red. And then there was black, moving quickly, violently, without mercy, and it made more splashes of scarlet.

You blinked, and your vision came into focus just long enough to see 049 holding one of the guards by the neck, another by the arm.

Snap went the neck. Rip went the arm. Clean off the socket, adding more red

red

red

red—

The black moved with the deadly grace of a tornado, destroying all in its path, chains dangled from his wrists and ankles, flashing, metallic tatters around his throat. The mittens were torn and painted with more crimson gore.

The shock collar was gone. That was good. You didn’t like that ugly thing.

And then, it was quiet. Or maybe, the roaring in your head had stopped. The hulking, black shadow fell over you, gently touched your face.

You flinched away. You didn’t want to be torn apart too, caught in the path its rage.

“Lie still,” the devastation said. “You’re gravely injured.”

It was so tempting to lean into the warmth pressing against your cheek. The words, that voice, you knew it. Trusted it.

Loved it?

“Please,” came the plea from your throat. “Don’t.”

Don’t hurt me

Don’t hurt me

Don’thurtmedon’thurtmedon’t

“Do not be afraid,” said the voice again. “I will tend to you.”

You were lifted up with ease, weightless in arms that seemed like silk-covered steel. You fought to keep your eyes open, but they drifted shut again and again, each time heavier to open.

The last image you caught was of the curved mask of Death staring down at you as you were placed on the cold surface of an autopsy table.

Chapter Text

Heaviness weighed you down as you drifted upwards into consciousness. You should be clawing your way up to the light, fighting to stay alive, but all was calm, soothing.

Warm.

A distant voice lulled you back to sleep, the familiar, metallic notes of 049’s words allowing you to fall back under without fear.

The next moment, you were blinking your eyes open, head aching and your limbs sluggish to respond. Instead of spotting a dark figure, the colors around you were sterile white and cold grey. You were back in the medical ward, and 049 was nowhere to be found.

Your heart jolted; you attempted to sit up, but your body was uncooperative, and you fell back against your stiff, hospital pillow. There was movement around you, difficult to focus on until your eyes could adjust, and the fog cleared from your mind.

Two medical technicians checked your vitals on the machines while a doctor examined your eyes with a light. The damage done to you by the guards must not have been as bad as you thought, only your head continued to pain you. The crack as your head had slammed into the wall wasn’t tracking with how you were feeling now. Namely, that you weren’t in a coma.

“Where’s… Leahy,” you croaked between cracked lips. “I must… talk to him.”

The Site Director might be a monster, but you needed him to understand this wasn’t 049’s fault. Whatever had happened to the guards—you could recall only grisly bits and pieces—the SCP had done it to protect you. You understood that, now that you weren’t bleeding out on the cell floor.

The doctor didn’t answer, neither did the technicians, and you didn’t push. You’d learned firsthand what Foundation doctors were capable of.

As it turned out, there was no need to insist on speaking to the Site Director. You’d been left alone for barely a minute before he came striding into the room, Dr. Puli close at his heels.

You sat up as best you could, equal parts dread and hope.

“Is 049 okay?” you croaked. “What happened to him?”

Leahy stopped near the foot of your hospital bed, narrowing his eyes, mouth twisted into a frown.

“You have the nerve to ask after its welfare, after what that creature did? I’m assuming you remember the five homicides it committed, all because of you.”

You seethed through your teeth, indignation surging like a tide of fire inside you.

“Those guards violated protocol! They came into his containment cell, drunk and looking for someone to abuse.”

“An SCP can’t be abused,” Leahy said quietly, his tone more threatening than if he had yelled. “No more than kicking a rock is abuse.”

You glanced at Dr. Puli, unable to believe he would stand there and let the Site Director say such things. But he did. You were the only one willing to advocate on behalf of 049.

“You wanted me in that cell to keep 049 cooperative,” you growled, “and then you don’t give a shit when security almost kills him for no goddamn reason?!”

“Keep your fucking voice down.”

Leahy said it in that same low, threatening tone, and you actually closed your mouth. You couldn’t remember him swearing at you before. He must actually be pissed off this time, and you realized, it wasn’t at you.

He hadn’t known. The guards coming to 049’s cell drunk, apparently a repeated visit, and the Site Director hadn’t known.

How could he not know what’s going on in his own damn facility?

“Regardless of the protocols they broke, they already paid with their lives,” Leahy continued, his tone not as dangerous, but still not comforting. “The O5 Council are discussing plans to place SCP-049 in permanent containment.”

You jerked. The O5 Council knew? You could hardly believe it, but that sounded like something they would do: Trap 049 in a concrete, lead-lined cell, sent down a borehole where he would be kept until the sun burnt out, and maybe even beyond then if the planet remained intact.

“Don’t look so shocked,” Leahy said, a faint smirk tugging at his mouth. “This is unknown behavior from 049, and the Council doesn’t like when SCPs act in ways outside of established norms and patterns.”

And just like a cloud passing over the sun, his expression went back to an unpleasant scowl.

“What the hell did you do to it.”

“Excuse me?”

Leahy took a step closer, and you shrank against the gurney. Dr. Puli shifted but otherwise didn’t move, glaring at the Site Director’s back.

“Did that fractured skull of yours give you brain damage? It killed for you.”

The news that you had a fractured skull didn’t stop you from responding just as aggressively.

“He was protecting me!”

“And why is that?”

You couldn’t provide an answer, your tongue glued to your mouth. When Leahy leaned closer, you attempted to disappear into the sheets.

“You think your life is miserable now?” he said so low that the other doctor couldn’t hear. “Pray the Council doesn’t tie your fate to that thing’s.”

The Site Director didn’t break eye contact as he pulled away, and you could only breathe when he turned and exited the room. As soon as he did, all of the oxygen came back, your limbs shaky with the leftover adrenaline soaking through your muscles.

Dr. Puli gave an apologetic smile as he approached the side of your gurney. He stood a safe distance away, more reserved than you remembered him being before. There were bags under his eyes, dark circles to compliment them.

“How are you feeling?”

You wanted to scoff, but instead, you breathed out a defeated huff of air.

“How do you think?”

“Physically, I mean.”

You frowned.

“All right, I suppose. Head hurts a little.”

At your answer, curiosity replaced some of the tiredness in his voice.

“It’s fascinating, actually. SCP-049 treated you with some kind of concoction from its bag that even we can’t determine. All we know is it should have killed you, and instead, you were no longer bleeding intracranially. Not only that, but you were also well on the way to recovery by the time the medical team arrived.”

You remembered 049 carrying you to his autopsy table. You also recalled your reaction beforehand, flinching and begging for him not to hurt you, though you were fairly sure you’d only said it in your head. The fear saturated your memory, and it was hard to separate your fear of the guards from your fear of 049’s ferocity. You hadn’t known he was capable of moving so quickly, tearing a person limb from limb. Leahy might not be bluffing about the O5 Council assessing 049 in a new light.

But he hadn’t hurt you. He saved you. He was the only one willing to do so, and even if he had the ability to end your life in a mere second, your fear of his violence faded. He was capable of great bloodshed, but he was also capable of saving a life. And hadn’t that always been true of him, in a way.

“What did you do with 049?” you whispered, voice ragged.

“Your attachment to the SCP, especially to this extent, is… concerning.” Dr. Puli frowned. He seemed so much older than when you last saw him, as if he’d aged years in days. “You would be seen for advanced psychological counseling along with transfer to another research sector, if you were still active personnel.”

“Well, I’m not. So, what do you suggest?”

“To be careful.”

You blinked and looked up at him.

“To keep sane using whatever means available,” he continued. “And to curb your affections where the cameras can see you.”

You studied his face, searching for a hint that he was joking. But Dr. Puli had always been a serious man, and he wasn’t joking now.

“049 is in its containment cell,” he said, finally answering the question you’d asked moments ago, “but I don’t believe the Site Director plans to let you return there. You are… scheduled for more tests.”

You shot upright, sending a jolt of pain through your skull.

“No! Please, I can’t—I can’t do it again! I’ll keep 049 in line, just like he wanted, I will. Just—please, don’t…”

The pained sympathy in his eyes was enough of an answer.

“It’s not my decision, but for what it’s worth… I’m sorry.”

Dr. Puli moved away from the medical bed, leaving you alone to stew in your dread. The heavy pit in your stomach didn’t abate, even when you were given two days to recover. 049’s treatment had been very effective, returning your health quicker than any natural means, and you were cleared for testing on the third morning.

The irony didn’t escape you.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Designation Update: Per Site Director Leahy’s instructions, SCP-049-3 will be given the new designation of SCP-6830. See SCP Document SCP-6830 for more information.

You could barely move. You didn’t want to move. The only thing that spurred you to try was the ache of your throat and the scratchy pressure around your neck.

Another reason you didn’t want to emerge from the darkness was the fact you were comfortable. You couldn’t remember the last time you were comfortable. You couldn’t remember… much of anything. All you knew was you were lying on a firm mattress, a pillow supporting your head.

You attempted to sit up before your eyes were open, not understanding the urge to move, to get away, but a familiar soothing, mechanical voice spoke to you.

“Do not move, please. You are still healing.”

Gentle hands pushed on your shoulders until you were lying down again, the voice adding, “You have been through quite a trauma.”

It was wishful thinking, your mind playing tricks on you. But when you opened your eyes, 049 was sitting on the edge of the mattress, closely watching you. You were back in 049’s containment cell, lying on his bed and unable to remember how you got there.

You greedily took in the image of the SCP, as if starved of the sight of him. The shock collar had been replaced, as had the chains at his throat, wrists, and ankles, but 049 was otherwise unharmed. Definitely alive, which was more than you’d been expecting.

The relief was flooring and undeniable. 049 was all right. Leahy hadn’t made good on his threats, not yet anyway.

But the relief faded, replaced by something pushing at the edges of your thoughts, brought on by 049’s last words.

And then, it all came flooding back.

You scrambled upright and hunched forward, clutching at your head, breath coming in ragged gasps as you fought against the tide of memories.

The creatures with scythes for arms, typically invisible but made manifest for all to see when you put on the stereoscopic glasses. The security team had descended on them immediately, as if expecting them to appear.

The machine that could refine or degrade any object placed inside, harmless itself but mired in a dark origin that you somehow understood as soon as you saw it. The bloody history arose from it like a stench that only you could smell.

The endless stairwell and what you found at its core—a child that was no longer a child, lost down a normal stairwell that became twisted and anomalous by the child’s terror and eventual death. The Foundation had given you amnestics, but they hadn’t worked.

And then the crying man. You should be dead. Maybe one day, you would be, and he would seek you out to end your life. But you didn’t think so. He hadn’t wanted to hurt you.

Not like the other one. The old man. He’d desired to take you into his realm, but as soon as he’d touched you, the black ooze that covered his skin had receded, and he’d been forced to let go. He wouldn’t easily forget that you were the prey he couldn’t trap.

The sculpture nearly succeeded where the old man had failed.

Your hands went to your throat, fingers trying to tear away the cloth bandage wrapped around it, but that same gentle grip pulled them away before they could cause any harm.

“It was not my intention to upset you,” 049 said, voice low with concern, but you shook your head. Unable to speak, barely able to breathe, all you could do was tremble.

049 released your wrists but his hands remained close, extended and hovering in the air. Any other day, you might have had the strength to resist. But not today.

You took one of 049’s hand and pulled it toward you, gripping it like a lifeline as you pressed your face against his forearm, practically hugging the limb as you tried to find stability. You’d known it could get worse, that Leahy could be so much crueler, but you hadn’t expected him to dump you into the cages of some of the most dangerous SCPs the Foundation possessed.

Holding onto 049 wasn’t nearly enough to stop the horrors flickering behind your eyelids. Your breath hitched as you struggled to breathe, as if your lungs fought against the knowledge they could still draw oxygen. That you still lived, even if you shouldn’t.

You were pulled upright into 049’s arms. He held you against his chest, fingers tentatively brushing your hair, almost meek at first. When he caressed your head fully, without caution or hesitation, your gasping stopped altogether. The terror began to melt away, thawed by the touch. You went nearly boneless in his embrace, forehead resting against his shoulder as you now contended with trying to breathe while surrounded by his warm, soft robes and unique scent. It was clean, almost sanitized like his containment cell, but a hint of musk underneath.

“Physical touch can be quite effective at calming patients, though this is not generally a method I practice,” he said, his words soft due to the close distance. “In this case, I will make an exception. After all, your kind is a social one. They do not fare well in isolation. You are not meant to be alone.”

You closed your eyes, completely absorbed by the gentle stroking of your hair, his other arm across your back.

“Humans?”

He said nothing, only continued to hold and caress you.

049 was very tactile, you were coming to realize. You wouldn’t have expected that from someone whose touch caused instantaneous death, but once he started, he seemed reluctant to stop. It gave you a few blissful minutes as he petted your hair, even venturing further down, just enough to lightly stroke the back of your neck.

You reluctantly pulled away, interrupting the peaceful moment as something else grew within your chest, warm and taut.

“How are you feeling now?” 049 asked once contact was broken. His arms dropped away from your shoulders, but you remained close enough that his proximity was like a constant tingling on your skin.

“Better.” Your voice was a husky rasp, leftover from your injury from 173’s failed attempt to kill you. “Thank you.”

His eyes warmed into a smile. You glanced away, unable to meet his eye for long. Not when he was this close, looking at you that way.

“What about you?” you asked, using the opportunity to visually look him over. “Did they hurt you? What happened after I fell unconscious?”

The shock collar drew your attention before he could answer, and against your better judgement, you reached out a hand, placing it on his chest just below the collar.

“I hate that they found another one of these.”

It was cruel, inhumane. If you could rip off the collar yourself, you would. Your fingers traveled upward, brushing against the cold metal before continuing, your hand coming to rest against the side of his hood where his cheek would be if not covered by the fabric.

His eyes widened at the touch, but then he leaned against your palm the smallest amount.

“I am improved, now that I know what has become of you. I feared you would be punished for what I had done to those jailors. It was not my intention to put you in harm’s way.”

The way you stroked your thumb against the soft fabric of his hood, wishing you could touch his face instead, it was a reckless urge. But the temptation was strong, curiosity along with it. Underneath the maw of his hood was covered in shadow, and you didn’t truly know what his face looked like beyond the chitinous beak.

“They took me for more tests, but that would have happened eventually.” Your voice was unsteady, and not from the subject matter. “It’s not your fault.”

His expression turned mournful, heavy with regret, and you retracted your hand. 049’s hand twitched where it rested on his thigh.

“I cannot help but bear responsibility for what transpired.”

“But you’re not responsible!” You let out a sharp breath, taking the next one in slowly to speak more calmly. “You protected me from the guards, and I’m grateful for that.”

The sorrow didn’t leave his eyes.

“You only drew their ire as a result of my presence," he said, quiet. "Being associated with me, remaining in my cell, it puts you at risk.”

You took his hand, the one that had twitched before, and held it between yours. 049 tilted his head at the contact before meeting your eye, more curious than mournful now. It was an improvement.

“Leahy is to blame for everything,” you growled, the name distasteful on your tongue. “Either directly, or because he placed us in these circumstances. He’s the only one I blame.”

You squeezed his hand in emphasis, just enough for him to feel the pressure, and his fingers twitched again. You held on, curling your fingers around his, and some of the tension left his broad shoulders.

It was a small victory. 049 seemed as responsive to touch as you were, and you filed that away for later.

“Speaking of,” you said, moving the subject forward, “why… am I here?”

049 let out a noise suspiciously close to a snort.

“Those so-called medical practitioners brought you to me for treatment. It was fortunate they did; not only did you sustain a neck injury, but your mind was in a state of extreme exhaustion, and I had to perform a correction to the balance of humors.”

Which was 049-speak for injecting you with all sorts of unknown syringes from his black bag, but regardless, it had worked. You did feel better, aside from the soreness of your neck. You weren’t even thirsty, and there were only small pangs of hunger. Besides the hyperventilation upon waking, you were in a better state that you should be considering the hell the Site Director had put you through.

“May I inquire as to who harmed you so?” he asked with a tilt of his head, his pale eyes descending down your neck. “From the bruising and damage, I would say the goal was to crush your cervical vertebrae.”

It was your turn for your fingers to spasm, but 049 steadied them with his own gloved ones.

“It was 173.”

“Ah,” he said, his eyes narrowing with genuine hostility. “That abomination. The fact you are still alive is no small miracle.”

It continued to slip your mind that 049 would have come into contact with many of the Site-19 SCPs, especially during the infamous containment breach. It wasn’t hard to imagine 173 would have been a considerable threat during that time, even to other SCPs. But 049’s dislike of this particular entity was minute compared to the hungry hatred you’d sensed emanating from 173 seconds before it had struck.

You shuddered.

“It couldn’t kill me. It wanted to, but… it couldn’t.”

You had no idea why you knew that, or what it meant, but it was yet another example of the strange, intuitive thoughts you’d been having lately about the SCPs you come into contact with.

Instead of questioning this, 049 simply said, “Hmm, yes. I suppose it can’t. No more than my touch can harm you.”

You blinked. 049 always proclaimed his touch was a cure, not something to cause harm, and you weren’t sure if this shift was intentionally or subconscious.

You also wanted to ask why it was that he and other SCPs couldn’t seem to kill you, but to your disappointment, 049 removed his hand from between yours, giving one last squeeze before completely letting go.

“Rest, Doctor Reid. You have been through much, and you have still yet to fully recover. I am here should you need anything. Rest.”

You didn’t want rest, you wanted to keep talking, afraid if you closed your eyes, you’d only open them to find him gone. But your eyelids were heavy, your limbs equally so, and you suspected 049 would remain sitting on the edge of the bed, unwilling to move from his vigil while you slept.

Settling further into the bed and moving the pillow until you were comfortable, you held off on sleep until you could pose one last question.

“049?”

“Yes, my dear?”

You could barely see him in the dim light, turned down by the SCP while you had gotten comfortable. All you could catch was the faint outline of his mask, pale and curved.

“How many times did the guards visit you?”

You didn’t need to clarify what they had visited him for.

049 remained perfectly still in the aftermath of your question, his words eventually coming out low and nearly flat.

“Enough for it not to matter.”

Your heart squeezed, painful and too tight. You turned on your side towards him, not close enough to touch, but enough to feel the slope of the mattress dipping under his weight.

“It matters to me,” you whispered. “And I’m glad they won’t be coming back.”

You paused a beat.

“They won’t be coming back, right?”

“No.”

There was that, at least. You didn’t think 049 would want to reanimate the security team, not after he’d ripped them to pieces, but it was worth checking. Harvey and Beaumont had been bad enough without being walking corpses.

“For ones such as them, there is no coming back.”

049’s soft, ominous tone would have made anyone retreat to the nearest exit. You shuddered for a different reason.

Despite your fatigue, sleep didn’t come easily, and when it did, it was filled with tormenting images. A spray-painted face, deceptively playful, followed by the scraping of concrete and rebar against the floor before bright pain exploded up your spine.

You woke with a start, nearly delirious in your exhaustion and fear. A gentle hand rested on your head.

“Shh, I am here,” came 049’s voice in the dark from where he still remained on the edge of the bed. “It was only a dream.”

But it wasn’t, not really. How could it be a dream when it was based in reality?

049 stroked your hair, trying to calm you another way when his words couldn’t do so. You swallowed down your panic, but that didn’t help either.

“Lay down with me.”

His hand froze.

“Are… are you certain?”

049 was unsure in a way he rarely was, and it would have been endearing any other moment.

“Yes,” you whispered. If you’d been more awake, you might have rethought your request. But you desperately needed sleep, and there was only one way you would feel secure enough to seek it again. “Please. I can’t… I need…”

Your voice broke, and your throat was tight as you held back the tears that threatened to spill. You were on the edge of losing control, your tenuous grip on your emotions slipping by the constant battering your body and mind took with each passing day.

049 must have understood; he stared at you for only a few seconds before making up his mind. He laid down beside you, over the blankets but still close enough to feel the heat radiating from his fabric-like skin. You’d expected him to lie on his back, or perhaps face away from you, but he was turned fully toward you and pulled you right up against his chest, arms secure around you.

You shivered, not used to such close contact especially in an intimate setting, but you buried your face into the comforting scent of his robes. You were no longer afraid to close your eyes, familiar heat flooding your body to replace the chill. 049 always had this effect on you, and it had nothing to do with anomalous abilities.

“Thank you.”

Whoever was watching through the cameras would have a front row seat to your need for comfort, perhaps finding you pathetic from the comfort of their office chair, but you were beyond caring. Whatever anyone thought of you didn’t matter when all you could see and hear and feel was the SCP in front of you.

“And… thank you for healing me. I can’t imagine how I would have survived all of this without y… your help.” You stumbled over your words as you corrected them. 049 didn’t need to know how dependent you’d become on him, how his absence for even a few hours was growing harder to bear. Perhaps, it was because whenever you were separated, that’s when Leahy inflicted his worst torments on you, but you suspected there was more beneath the surface. You just didn’t want to look any further.

“You would endure, whether or not I was here,” 049 said, his words tickling your hair. “But whatever you need, I am happy to provide. Taking care of you will never be a burden.”

And just like that, his words shattered whatever flimsy defenses you had tried to build. 049 had a habit of doing that.

You shivered again, your sleep-laden mind traveling to places it shouldn’t, but your body was too tired to do more than grow a little warmer. Sleep was quickly taking you, and you left yourself drift away, your fingers still curled into the edges of his coat. Unwilling to let go, even in sleep.

Chapter Text

You were disappointed to find the bed empty the next morning.

It was unfair, expecting the SCP to be beside you when you awoke. It was a selfish need, one you weren’t entirely ready to examine.

049 wasn’t at his usual spot at his desk, and you nearly set into a panic until you spotted him at one of the lab counters, medical tools spread out before him. He didn’t need to clean them—the anomalous doctor’s bag took care of that—but he did polish the tools one by one, rubbing the scalpels, forceps, and knives until they held a reflective shine.

You watched him in his task as you ate breakfast, the tray of food delivered soon after you woke. Neither of you had spoken beyond a cursory “good morning,” and the silence that stretched between you felt like a delicate thing, too easy to break. You didn’t know how to approach what had occurred the night before, so you let it be. Even though you were tired, your mental state had improved exponentially from the day before. You didn’t know how to tell 049 how grateful you were for what he’d done, so you said nothing at all.

At least, until that night. The day had been peaceful, 049 seeming to understand your need for quiet companionship, but sleep evaded you, and the dark held the promise of monsters.

Without prompting, 049 left his place at his desk and sat at the edge of the bed, moving carefully so as not to startle you. You were easily startled, these days.

“Sorry,” you muttered half into the pillow. “My tossing and turning isn’t disturbing you, is it?”

“No,” he said gently. “But I was hoping to aid you in this restless state.”

Oh, did your mind dance with the possibilities. Possibilities 049 hadn’t meant at all. What would the good doctor think, had he known the depraved corners where your mind strayed.

“What did you have in mind?” you asked, praying your voice betrayed nothing of your thoughts.

“Another tale, perhaps. You appeared to enjoy my other stories. Were there others you wished me to tell?”

There were many, the problem lay in what to choose. It was easier to point out what you didn’t know about 049, rather than topics you’d already covered, but your mind drew back to when he’d spoken about 173 with such disdain. You were curious what 049 thought about other SCPs, especially one in particular.

“What do you know about SCP-035?”

049 went completely still.

“Why… would you wish to speak about him?”

You pressed your lips together to hide a smile. The loathing in 049’s voice was barely disguised, and there was something charming about how he always held his heart on his sleeve. When he spoke of a subject he disliked, it was obvious, as was when he talked about something he enjoyed.

You didn’t linger on the fact that when he spoke about you, it was always with a warmth in his gaze.

“Curiosity,” you said, plainly enough. “In our interviews, he gave the impression he knew you quite well. It wasn’t something we talked about since it wasn’t covered in the interview questions, but… he did like to bring you up whenever he could.”

049 gave a noise that was close to a disgusted groan. You couldn’t remember him making a sound like that before.

“I would not believe a word that comes out of that porcelain mouth,” 049 muttered. “He is prone to tales of fancy rather than those based in fact.”

“He does like to embellish.”

“Embellish would infer there is a grain of truth to begin with.”

Now you did smile, hoping the darkness would keep it hidden from the annoyed SCP.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about him. I won’t push.”

049 released a sigh, but there was a concession in it.

“It is not a matter of want. Although that sac à merde may be a less desirable subject to speak of, I am willing to sate your curiosity.”

Well, when he said it like that.

You sat up further on the pillow, no longer even pretending to attempt sleep. Your eyes had adjusted enough to see the hooded SCP, and you waited for what you were sure would be a fascinating story.

049 began in the most likely place, following a mass Pestilence epidemic across Europe during the 1300. By the sound of it, it was the infamous Black Death, but you didn’t interrupt to confirm, especially since 049 seemed to think all plagues were the Pestilence. Plus, you were too interested in why he was revisiting his earliest memories, not having thought he’d met 035 so early on.

But he had, while visiting one of the many poor villages to help care for their sick. A doctor had already been in town, supposedly healing the sick and miraculously saving the dying.

“I had to meet this skilled physician, of course,” 049 explained. “You can imagine my horror with what I found. The villagers merely saw a masked man, but I sensed something worse. A source of the corrupting influence itself.”

“Wait, wait. 035 has the Pestilence?”

“035 is the Pestilence,” 049 said, his words on the edge of a growl. “Or at least, one outlet for it. You have made note of his black secretions, have you not? Does it not consume and decay all that it touches?”

“Well… yes, but…”

But this was brand new information 049 had never shared before. You were about to warn caution, and then realized, what was the point? The Foundation researchers didn’t take his claims of the Pestilence seriously. Why would they start now?

049 waited for you to finish your thought, but you simply shook your head.

“I’m sorry, I’m still trying to wrap my head around it.”

His gaze softened, taking some of the animosity out of his eyes while speaking of 035.

“That is quite all right. I realize it may come as a shock, learning the true nature of the Pestilence and that it has corrupted other anomalous beings. The mask is not the only one. That which you call 106 also has a festering influence.”

“What? The old man?”

“A rather innocuous name, but yes. He revels in the domain of the Pestilence, rotting everything he touches when he crosses into this world.” 049 shifted on the bed. “I would have thought these traits were self-evident, Doctor.”

In hindsight, they were. Or at least, you could see the similarities between 035’s leaking ooze and the rotten, black rust that 106 left behind. You weren’t quite sold that it was due to any Pestilence, but you weren’t about to tell 049 your doubts.

“It seems I still have much to learn,” you conceded. “Please, continue.”

Avoiding any discussions of the Pestilence would probably be best, and you were relieved to hear him continue, his tone placated and even soft with affection.

“You are a swift learner; I have no doubt you will gain a mastery in recognizing the Pestilence when you come across its stain,” he said, and even that small bit of praise warmed your insides. “But yes, there are beings such as 035 that accelerate the Great Dying in this world. Even without the aid of the Pestilence, 035 was in the midst of ushering along his patients to a grueling, final end. His methods were barbaric, cruel, and unscientific.”

His voice dipped low, heated even after 700 years.

“He subscribed poisons as tinctures, Pestilence-ridden ointment as salves, and useless pieces of glass as healing baubles. He would even drill holes into their skulls, claiming it would let out the demons. The only demon involved was one who wore a mask and called himself a physician.”

049 ended the denouncement with a short, frustrated breath. He seemed to gather himself, smooth the proverbial ruffle feathers that you only saw in your mind’s eye.

“Do you know where your Foundation first discovered the mask?”

It was no longer your Foundation, but you didn’t correct him.

“Yes,” you said, mentally pulling up 035’s file, one you had read many times before. “An abandoned crypt in Venice.”

“Exactly where I left him.”

“You trapped him there?”

You were unable to hide your surprise. Hostility wasn’t in 049’s nature, and you wondered just exactly what 035 had done to garner it.

“Why?” you pressed quietly, once again aware of the camera. “If you can say.”

“I have no qualms with explaining my actions, though I do not happily remember the events leading up to it.” 049 turned his head just enough to stare at you out of the corner of his eye. “I could look past the schemes, the lies, and the cons. The mask is a skilled manipulator and delights in the suffering of others. Choosing to thwart his destructive desires would have been as effective at trying to stem the tides or halt a wildfire in its path. He is not one to be persuaded or reasoned with.

“He stalked me across Europe, sabotaged my good work and turned my patients against me. I do not understand his obsession with me, but I bore it as best I could and ignored his vie for my attention. What I could not ignore was when he set his twisted mind to my students. To… Pernella.”

And now, it all made sense. Considering 049’s protective streak and how much he had clearly cared for the girl, it was a wonder 035 was still alive. Maybe that was further proof that the mask couldn’t be destroyed.

“I see,” you said, looking down at the bedsheet to escape his gaze. “And what did he try to do to them?”

He gave another puff of air in disgust.

“Turn them against me, of course. My students were not weak-willed, but the mask, if given time, can break the resolve of most. Even Pernella would have become vulnerable to his damning allure.” 049 hunched a little further inward, his voice going soft. “She didn’t trust men whose smiles were too wide, and their words too sweet. She saw right through him, and the mask does not appreciate being seen.”

He sat up straighter, once again taking on a tone that was like silken steel, soft but unyielding.

“I did what had to be done, and if given the chance, I would do it again. It was the mask’s own greed and avarice that followed me into that crypt, lured by the opportunity to catch me alone. His goal may have been to dispose of me, or lock me away himself, and become the new shepherd to my flock. When one schemes of betrayal, they often become blind to betrayal at their back. He never saw me coming.”

You didn’t imagine the underlying tone of satisfaction and triumph. No, you thought, 035 wouldn’t have seen the good doctor at all. 049 spoke of the mask’s allure, but you wondered if he at all understood his own. It was a strange thing to consider that you might understand a little bit of what 035 might have been thinking. An immortal mask, able to control the thoughts and actions of others given time, whose intelligence had been charted beyond genius. Perhaps, he had simply been bored, and 049 had been something new. Something different.

A rival. A challenge. A fixation.

Yes, you thought you might understand 035 a little too well, even if you two had never spoken deeply about 049. And you hoped you never would.

049 shifted, perhaps noticing your long silence.

“Barring my dislike of that villain, he is an exceedingly dangerous being.” His head quirked, giving you a puzzling look. “I would not have thought your Foundation would allow you to conduct such interviews.”

There were no longer supposed to be any interviews, especially after Site-19, but the Site Director had allowed you to interview 035 under your former position. Even Dr. Puli had not yet interviewed the mask, and while at the time you hadn’t thought much of it, you did now.

“There were many walls between me and 035, with no direct visual contact. He wore a target dummy, and we communicated via microphones and camera.” You frowned. “Even then, there was a risk of being affected by his abilities, but I don’t recall feeling much of anything. All of the post-psychological evaluations cleared me for duty without a problem.”

049 said nothing, but with the sort of silence that gave you the sense he knew something. As much as you wished to talk about your strange effect on SCPs, you wouldn’t do it in a place Leahy could watch and record.

“Then I am glad you were able to escape the poison of his influence,” 049 finally said, the words holding a tinge of unease.

“As am I.”

Before you could think better, you reached out, squeezing his arm close to his wrist. You didn’t want 049 to worry about you, not when his own life was also on a knife’s edge, dependent on the Site Director’s moods.

You removed your hand before it could linger too long, though 049 watched you retreat with a surprisingly unreadable look, heavy with something you didn’t understand. And then the look was gone, a small, apologetic chuckle in its place.

“I apologize, my dear. Once again, I have shared tales that are not fit for restful sleep.”

“No apologies needed,” you said with a reassuring smile. “I’m the one who asked. Thank you for sharing with me. I’m sure many of your memories are not… pleasant ones.”

“Some,” he admitted, his gaze warm even in the dim light. “But not all.”

He rose from the bed, and you wanted to grab his hand, pull him back to bed properly this time. But you didn’t.

Instead, when he said, “Have a good night, Doctor,” you simply bid him good night in return and curled up under the blanket. His story might not have been a soothing lullaby, but it kept your thoughts turned on something other than your captivity. The more you discovered about 049, the less you realized you knew about him. Your curiosity only burned brighter, and it was a nice distraction from the bleak void that filled the days ahead.

You only hoped that whatever Leahy had planned for you, it wouldn’t involve 049 any more than he already was. And if the worse should happen to you, you hoped 049 would not meet the same fate. He didn’t deserve to get caught up in whatever games the Site Director was playing, and if you ultimately met your death, you didn’t want 049 to be haunted by it. You wanted him to move on, perhaps even escape this place, and not linger on what had become of you.

You had a passing suspicion he would do no such thing.

Chapter Text

You awoke from muddled dreams, confusing images of grinning masks dancing in your head. It was nothing more than a product of your discussion with 049 the night before, but that didn’t bring you much comfort.

049 watched you as much as he was able, faint concern in his eyes, only averting his gaze for your morning shower and getting dressed. It was almost funny, how much he cared about your modesty. With the camera bolted in the corner, he was the only one in this place who hadn’t seen you naked.

Maybe that wasn’t as funny as you thought.

You got dressed in your usual—a white smock, white leggings, socks, and a pair of hospital slippers, leaving your dirty clothes by the outer door for the D-Class to collect. You wished they give you a pair of scissors, or at least a hair tie. You had started to lose track of time in the way one did without access to a clock or calendar, but the growth of your hair reminded you that life still marched on. It was almost soothing, to have physical proof that even the Foundation couldn’t control time and its passage.

Expecting to eat breakfast alone, you were surprised when 049 sat next to you at the lab counter, a stool perched beneath him. He leaned closer, as if curious about the food, but his gaze didn’t leave your face.

“Are you all right?”

The simple, harmless question pressed at something inside you, nearly bending it out of place. God, it was unnerving how easily he could reach within you and wrench apart your perfectly placed walls.

“Fine,” you said, giving him a smile even you knew was weak. “Just tired.”

“You are not well-rested.”

You weren’t sure if it was a question, or an observation he’d made from watching you sleep. The thought wasn’t disturbing, as it might have been once.

Reluctantly, you met his eye, wondering how much to say and what to keep unsaid.

“It’s hard to relax.” You pushed a fork through the leftover syrup, all that remained of the pancakes that was your breakfast. They’d been thin and rolled, almost like crepes. “Hard not to know when that door will open again.”

There was no need to explain what door or why you dreaded it.

“The sword of Damocles,” 049 said, “hanging by a hair.”

Despite the grim subject, a genuine smile escaped you, even if it was small and muted.

“Something like that, though this is no feast laid out by a Greek tyrant.”

“Another tyrant, then.”

“You can’t say that,” you whispered, but your attempt to scold 049 was undermined by your stifled laugh.

“Oh, I assure you, I can.” 049 turned until his back was to the counter, staring at the darkened observation window with narrowed gaze, as if daring the Site Director himself to do something about it. “But for your sake, my dear, I will refrain.”

It felt dangerous to openly defy the Foundation, and it probably was, but in that moment, the light mood was… nice. Maybe you could never fully relax again, but at least you had these little moments of respite where you could breathe. Where you didn’t have to flinch at every sound or let fear of the future consume your thoughts.

And all because of 049.

When you raised your eyes to him, he was already watching you, as if expecting your gaze. Or maybe not caring that you looked. His eyes were curious, expectant even, and you opened your mouth to speak even though you had no idea what you were going to say.

You never got the chance. With a clunk, the heavy outer door opened, and four armed guards marched inside.

Your respite was over.

“Into the inner containment chamber. Now.”

You couldn’t have disobeyed even if you’d wanted to; 049 had been on his feet in the blink of an eye, pulling you behind him as he braced for whatever the guards had in store. But they only watched him, guns ready but not aimed, eyes hard as they waited for you both to follow orders.

Gripping his arm, as much for comfort as it was to keep 049 from doing anything foolish, you pulled him back into the inner containment chamber, and the door slid shut by remote operation.

“What are they doing?” you asked, not ready to release 049’s arm just yet, but he didn’t seem to mind. He stayed close, eyeing the door as if sizing up an opponent.

“I do not know.”

Your stomach clenched from the sound of metal scrapping against the floor, as if someone was rearranging furniture, and your thoughts ran wild with the possibilities. You held onto 049 tighter, as if he could keep you from being washed away in the ruthless waters of your imagination. Before, you might have been ashamed for holding onto someone else for comfort, but you didn’t have room for pride when fear took up so much of the space inside you.

049 didn’t move away from you either, and you waited in strained silence until the inner chamber door parted once more, revealing what the guards had done in your absence.

They hadn’t done much, and yet, it was quite telling. Three metal chairs had appeared, two on one side, a single chair the other. In between them, a table that looked it like had been taken straight from one of the interview rooms.

Exchanging a confused glance, you followed 049 into the room when a guard called out, “Step inside. Slowly.”

A man stood on the other end of the chamber behind the guards, a tablet in his hands and a somber weight to his face.

“Dr. Puli?”

“Hello, Reid.”

“What is this?” you asked, but the captain of the guards spoke as if you hadn’t.

“Both of you, sit at the table and place your hands on its surface. SCP-049, take the chair at the left. You, take the chair on the right,” he said, stern eyes on you. “Do not resist.”

Resist what? you thought, but your question was immediately answered with another guard brought out a piece of rope.

You stared at your old boss, voice harsher this time.

“What is this?”

“Just a simple interview. Nothing more, I promise.” His words were quiet and earnest, but if he thought his assurances would make you feel any better, he clearly didn’t understand the hell he’d complicitly created for you.

“Come on,” you said to 049 under your breath, your hand dropping from his arm down to his hand. They were going to make you clasp hands anyway, you might as well do it now, if only to encourage 049 not to lash out against the guards.

The SCP followed willingly, even as his eyes were fixed with a sharp unfriendliness on the doctor. He remained quiet as you both sat, putting your hands on the table as instructed and keeping still as they were bound in rope. You wondered why no lavender this time. Was Dr. Puli that confident that you could keep 049 in line? Or did he somehow think that 049 would willingly cooperate because he wasn’t the Site Director?

Too many questions, but the only questions that were going to be answered today would be Dr. Puli’s. You had to admit, your curiosity brimmed under the surface as to what kind of interview this would be. Still, compared to other tests they could conduct, you much preferred this. At least it wouldn’t hurt.

The rest of the guards filed out as Dr. Puli took his seat at the other end of the table, but two remained by the door. He gave them an annoyed look.

“You are supposed to clear the room.”

“Site Director’s orders, sir,” spoke one of them.

“And this is my interview. Clear the room, please.”

The guards glanced at each other, and the other stood taller, his tone brooking no argument even if Dr. Puli technically outranked him.

“We can’t do that, Doctor. If you wish to call the Site Director yourself, you may do so.”

Dr. Puli scowled but turned back towards you, taking a moment to school his features back into something more familiar. Kinder.

“I’m sorry for this. I understand the need for precaution, but… I was hoping to afford you a little bit of privacy in this, at least.”

You pressed your lips together and said nothing. 049 also remained silent.

Dr. Puli cleared his throat, brought up his tablet, and began.

“This is a standard interview with the entities designated SCP-049 and SCP-6830, conducted by Doctor Amin Puli—”

“What?”

So much for your silence.

Dr. Puli sighed and set aside the tablet, clasping his fingers together on the table as he stared up at you.

“You were… given an official designation after the last round of tests. SCP-6830. I can’t give you any more information than that due to clearance levels, but this is a good thing.”

“Really?” Your eyes narrowed, your words holding a scathing edge you never would have used when he was your boss. “And how’s that?”

“There are protections in place for SCPs, far more than there are for instances of SCPs or for E-Class.”

You looked away, disgust rolling in you. Not at being considered an SCP, but for the justification that Dr. Puli was so readily willing to accept.

“You know this,” Dr. Puli continued, his words quiet. “I’m sorry for what you’ve had to endure thus far but, think of it this way. Cross-tests between SCPs require a much higher authorization than if you were an E-Class. It’s very unlikely you will be further subjected to tests of that nature.”

“Unlikely, but not impossible.”

It was 049 who spoke this time. There was something in his tone that made you look at him. His spine was ramrod straight, his eyes laser focused on Dr. Puli. In fact, his entire body language had changed as soon as he’d set eyes on the doctor, an underlying tension throughout his body.

A hint of unease stirred in your chest.

“As with all things at the Foundation, Doctor,” Dr. Puli responded evenly, though he too watched the SCP carefully. “There are no certainties here.”

“Indeed.”

That unease began to coil into dread.

“It doesn’t matter now,” you said. “It’s done. Let’s just… get this over with. Whatever this is.”

Dr. Puli gave you a small smile, but there was no happiness in it. He picked up the tablet and began again. Stating for the record the subjects of the interview he would be conducting, where it was being conducted, and when. You nearly jolted right out of your chair.

It had been three months. Three months since you’d been trapped in this place. Three months since you’d been treated as a person by the Foundation.

It was enough to drive you to distraction, Dr. Puli’s questions not enough to hold your attention. They were things such as how you were both feeling, how you felt about their work healing Foundation personnel, how you felt about these strange, new abilities.

How you felt, how you felt, how you felt… You were fucking tired is what you felt. You were afraid, enraged, and scared all over again. You were going to lose your mind because nothing worked on you anymore. Not amnestics, not 999’s happiness, and certainly not your faith in Dr. Puli.

All you had was the SCP sitting next to you, and he wasn’t paying attention to the questions either, leaving you to give short, half-answers that only served to seek an end to the questions.

You frowned. 049 might not be thrilled with the interview either, but he was usually more polite, indulging in interviews at previous Sites even when the interviewers were hostile.

Slowly turning your head, you observed 049, and froze.

He glared at Dr. Puli, unblinking, his muscles taut and stiff. Poised.

“—I’m sure you can understand your joint efforts are a great benefit to the Foundation, and it will show favorably to the O5 Council that you two—”

“Are you feeling well, Doctor?”

You were completely frozen in place, barely able to draw breath, as if watching storm clouds gather overhead and waiting for the first crack of thunder. You knew exactly what that kind of question meant coming from 049, and Dr. Puli knew it too. He managed to sit up straighter and appear calm instead of like the man in the sights of a hungry lion.

“Well enough, though I suppose I’ve had an increased workload lately that prevents me from getting the sleep I should. Thank you for your concern, 049.” Dr. Puli cleared his throat again. “As I was saying, the continuation of the project is important enough that—”

“If I may, I do not believe it to be mere sleep deprivation that ails you.”

The stillness of the room was a tangible thing, only broken by 049’s voice.

“It is regrettable,” he said, the coldness in his words not doing much to relay regret, “but I must inform you that you are ill.”

“I feel fine.” Dr. Puli smiled, nothing happy about it. “I’ve had a recent exam and—”

“Regardless of your subjective opinion, you harbor the disease within you!”

The two guards stepped forward, but Dr. Puli raised a hand to stop them. His gaze shifted from 049 to you, but you couldn’t offer any help. Not with this.

Please, you silently begged, hoping Dr. Puli would read the warning in your eyes. Get up and walk away.

“Of course,” 049 continued, his voice low and only marginally more composed, “your machines would not detect the Pestilence. How can the tools you created understand something you cannot? I am asking, one doctor to another, submit yourself to my care.”

Dr. Puli shifted in his seat, laying the tablet flat on the table before speaking, his words carefully chosen. But not careful enough.

“While I appreciate the offer, we are still in the early testing stages to ascertain if your cure can be considered safe for high-level staff.”

049’s hand was no longer in yours, his fist twisted around so it was against the surface, your presence entirely forgotten.

“This is no time for cautiousness, sir!” 049 leaned forward, that hungry lion sighting down the meal. “Not only is your life in danger, but there is the possibility of spreading the disease to others. No, this is unacceptable! We must act swiftly!”

“SCP-049, you will calm yourself, or I will cut this interview short,” Dr. Puli said, his earlier caution replaced by a stern tone. “We are not here to talk about the Pestilence, but to gauge the psychological well-being of you and Reid—”

You were on your feet, but not by your own volition; you were yanked upward by the bond holding you to the SCP. The chains connecting between his wrists and waist should have kept him from raising his hands higher than his chest, but they were ripped apart in that terrifying display of strength you’d seen moments before he’d torn the guards to pieces.

Dr. Puli leapt out of his chair, and you were dragged along as 049 descended on the doctor, your resistance ignored.

Before the guards could even raise their guns, 049 gripped Dr. Puli around the throat and shoved him against the observation window. The exact same spot where he’d killed Daniel.

But 049 didn’t snap his neck. He leaned close, eyes blazing as his fingers dug into Dr. Puli’s throat, his words a snarl.

“A doctor who neglects his own health dares cast a prognosis on others?”

“049, stop!” you cried, but he ignored you.

“Put him down! Or we’ll shoot!”

049 ignored that, too. The guards couldn’t shoot, not with you in the way, and not when they might miss and hit Dr. Puli.

You tugged at his arm, unable to dislodge him even an inch. It was as if you were trying to move a statue, one that was intent on punishing someone you’d once called a colleague, if not a friend.

Dr. Puli’s face turned red, gasping for air that wouldn’t come, his nails digging into 049’s fingers, bloodshot eyes wide with terror.

“You’re killing him!”

You didn’t know if it was the words themselves or the desperate way you screamed them, but 049 took a sharp breath and released Dr. Puli.

The guards yelled at him to step away, but 049 was already doing so, helped along as you pulled him toward the inner containment chamber. You didn’t want to take the chance they would shoot, so you placed yourself between the guards and 049, now pushing him to the inner chamber and hoping the added distance will keep them from firing.

No bullets came, and as soon as you got 049 over the threshold to the room, the containment door slid shut behind you. The last glimpse you saw of Dr. Puli was of the security team surrounding him, fear scrawled on his face.

You suspected it wasn’t for himself at all.

Chapter Text

049 remained silent as he worked to untie the rope binding your hands together. You also didn’t speak, trying to catch your breath and slow your heart. Your limbs shook, your mind a scattered mess, and you suspected you were more upset about this than 049 was.

Perhaps he noticed.

“You are angry with me.”

You pressed your lips together, waiting for 049 to finish pulling apart the rope, rubbing your wrist once it was free. The skin was irritated, chaffed from the force of his lunge at Dr. Puli.

The SCP’s eyes softened as he reached toward the mild injury.

His arm hung in the air as you backed out of reach.

“You… you have to stop doing this, 049.”

“Please, specify.”

Still rubbing your wrist, you frowned at him.

“You know what I mean. You have to stop forcing your cure on people.”

049 gathered himself, head raised at a dignified angle.

“It is my duty as a doctor—”

“No!” You took a step forward. “That was not a duty. That was an assault! You-you have complete tunnel vision when it comes to the Pestilence, and you see nothing else!”

049’s head tilted, his own gaze searching yours for understanding.

“It is my purpose for being. There is nothing but the war against the Pestilence.”

You seethed through your teeth, the sound coming out like the warning hiss of an animal.

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about. You don’t act like a physician, you act like a soldier. You carry out orders only you can hear, against an enemy only you can see, and you leave a trail of bodies in your wake!”

You were panting by this point, the adrenaline reawakening in your veins, and something took hold of you: a conviction that you were on the right track, an intuition that you were close to achieving the truth.

You gathered a breath, bracing yourself.

“Do you even know what the Pestilence is?”

049’s eyes narrowed into dangerous slits.

“I’ve seen the interview tapes. You refuse to give anyone a straight answer. What the Pestilence is, what its symptoms are, where it comes from, how it can be cured. You won’t even explain your own cure or admit what you do is lethal.”

He remained quiet.

“I could look past all of it,” you quietly said. “The obsession, the stubbornness, the pride. Except you refuse to acknowledge it. You refuse to admit that before me, nothing you touched survived. You kill and call it a cure.”

049’s fists clenched at his sides, but he still said nothing, his gaze intent on your face. He may not have moved, but he was breathing faster than normal. A sign you perhaps should have heeded.

“It’s why your followers never stayed.” Your words grew bitter and jagged, surprising even yourself. “They knew the path you walked wasn’t one of science. It was madness. Zealotry and fanaticism. Righteousness in the form of a crusade, and you slaughtered anyone who didn’t take up your banner.”

Your throat ached, and you tried to blink away the burning of your eyes.

“Pernella saw it. She knew to follow you was to follow death, but she did it anyway, because she believed in your convictions. Right up until she couldn’t ignore the truth about you.”

“Stop.”

He spoke the word without force, almost like a plea. But you didn’t stop.

“It doesn’t matter whether the Pestilence is real or not, or if it’s just as dangerous as you say. Because the danger you pose is very real.”

“Desist,” he said, louder this time.

“And when she stood up to you, you couldn’t accept it. Her denial forced you to look at yourself, and instead of facing your actions, you killed her. That’s why you couldn’t bring her back. You didn’t cure her, you murdered her in cold blood—”

“Enough!”

049 moved close, looming over you as his eyes burned bright and feverish. For a moment, you thought he might simply end it. Strangle the life out of you until there was nothing left. Instead, his voice was oddly breathless.

“Speak… no more of this.”

You stared at him for a long moment, breathing hard while he did the same. It would have been intimate, sharing the same breaths as him, but the atmosphere between you was stifled and charged.

“I need to know.” You were still breathless, as if he truly had stolen all your air. “If I got sick again, and your touch no longer healed me… would you kill me?”

The emotions in his eyes slowly receded, until a blank, sterile coldness took its place.

“There are things worse than death.”

Whatever response you had died in your throat. You turned away from him, eyes stinging with unshed tears you didn’t want him to see, and you retreated to the only place you could. You laid down on the bed, facing the wall as you turned your back to him.

Despite wanting to shut him out, you could still hear his quiet breathing, uneven and ragged. After a moment, he migrated to the desk, the soft creak of the chair indicating he was sitting, but you heard nothing else. No scratch of the pen and no turn of a page.

Remorse crept into your heart like an unwanted weed, choking off the righteous anger that had fueled your words. It had felt good at the time, as conviction always did, but throwing Pernella’s death in his face didn’t sit well. Even if 049 had killed her, he couldn’t help what he was, a fact you’d forgotten. Or perhaps not forgotten, but ignored, lured by his soothing voice, his kind eyes. His humanity.

But 049 wasn’t human. He would never be human, and you’d needed another harsh lesson that he would always put his self-proclaimed duty first, before himself and especially before you.

You closed your eyes, willing sleep to take you, but your weariness wouldn’t let you rest. You weren’t willing to give up on 049 just yet. Even if he couldn’t change, even if this was who he would be long after your lifetime, you’d gone through too much to set that aside now.

After all, 049 wasn’t the only one who could fight for a lost cause.

You woke with a headache, the result of not resting well, but you couldn’t pinpoint what had awoken you. The room was silent, the lights dimmed, and the heaviness of your limbs told you that hours had passed.

It was too quiet.

Bolting upright, you went still at the bent figure at the desk. 049 sat with his eyes cast downwards, his gaze on the desk without truly fixing on it, and he barely seemed to breathe.

The inner containment door was open, and the slide tray clinking open meant it was breakfast. But food was far from your mind at the unnerving display of stillness. It reminded you too much of when you’d first started observing the SCP. Dr. Puli had called it a dormancy stage.

There was nothing dormant about the hunch of his shoulders or the defeated bow of his head.

You left the inner containment chamber without speaking, taking the tray of oatmeal and strawberries, eating without tasting. As much as you wanted to apologize, you needed a little time and distance to lick your wounds and gain perspective. Maybe 049 would appreciate some time to himself. Telling yourself that eased the guilt, anyway.

You ate quietly in the middle room, not expecting 049 to want the company, so you were surprised when he emerged as you finished your meal.

“I wish to clarify a point of discussion.”

“Okay,” you said slowly, keeping your gaze safely near his boots. “What?”

When he didn’t speak for a moment, you looked up. 049’s attention was fixed on the far wall, his posture stiff.

“In regard to your question… it is a moot one. You cannot be reinfected with the Pestilence. Your very essence repels the disease, keeping it at bay. I am unsure why you were infected to start, but… you are clean. And I suspect, you will always remain clean.”

If you were supposed to know what that meant, it was lost on you.

“That’s not the point.”

He finally looked at you.

“I do not understand.”

“I wanted to know if you were capable of changing. If… if I had changed you.” You let out a breath, embarrassment creeping up your neck in a wave of heat. “It was a stupid question. A selfish one. An SCP can’t change. It’s not in your nature… no matter how much I might wish otherwise.”

There was confusion in his eyes, but a sort of focused intent too. He stepped forward, but the intercom clicked live.

“SCP-049, please return to the inner containment chamber.” A pause. “SCP-6830, remain in the middle containment chamber.”

It wasn’t Leahy. It was Kenneth. And those instructions meant one of two things: they were either going to take you away for testing, or they were going to separate you permanently.

049’s gaze turned sharp and worried, and you gave him your own bewildered look. You didn’t want this to be the last words you spoke to him, but as you opened your mouth, the intercom clicked again.

“This is your last warning, SCP-049.”

The words were given with a hint of nerves rather than authority, but that’s what Kenneth was like, always skittish around the humanoid SCPs. You didn’t know why he was even in the Cryptopsychology department, but now that you were no longer a junior researcher, they were probably short-staffed.

You pressed your lips together, whatever you were going to tell 049 remaining unsaid. The SCP didn’t seethe at you being taken away, nor did he fight or threaten. He didn’t even resist besides lingering those last few seconds, giving you a soft gaze you couldn’t meet for long.

It was easier this way, you told yourself as you stared at the far corner near the main containment doors. They were going to take you away eventually, and it was better that 049 didn’t fight back and get hurt again.

The excuses were all very well and good, but they didn’t do a damn thing for the regret. You flinched as the inner containment doors closed behind you, and when the security team put you in shackles and escorted you out, you immediately wanted to turn around and run back inside.

You thought you’d be taken to your new cell. You were wrong. The security team led you to the Biohazard Zone of Humanoid Heavy Containment, a place where an anomaly of your type didn’t belong.

Your stomach churned as your throat tightened at the familiar halls; you had walked them many times before during your previous occupation. Though you were confident SCPs no longer had the ability to kill you, they’d proven they could certainly harm you, and this particular SCP was skilled in inflicting untold amounts of damage.

Your entourage of security guards was replaced by two men in thick hazmat gear. They removed your manacles, leaving you only in your white smock as they led you through three different airlocks. The last one, you entered alone. No instructions given.

The remaining airlock opened, and you stepped inside the containment chamber. It was empty, save for a pedestal in the middle. A hermetically sealed glass case on a platform, locked by a remote mechanism.

Inside sat an object so innocuous in appearance that no one outside the Foundation would believe the horror that could be wrought by this single mask. Its white ceramic surface gleamed in the florescent lighting, a fixed smile greeting you like an old friend.

Chapter Text

“Approach the case.”

At least you knew where the Site Director had gone.

You did not comply, remaining still as if in hopes of not moving, you could prevent what was coming.

Maybe Leahy was feeling charitable today—he didn’t immediately threaten you with promises of torment or punishment. Instead, he waited from behind the thick one-way observation glass. He had all the time in the world. Where else could you go?

One foot in front of the other, you slowly made your way to the pedestal. Perhaps you would get lucky, and nothing would happen. You had survived worse SCPs.

That felt like a lie.

“Do you feel any influence, or otherwise unnatural sensations, on your mind or body?” Leahy asked once you came to a stop in front of the platform.

“No.” Not unless he counted bone-deep terror, or your unending hatred for him. What the hell was he thinking? And what was that shit Dr. Puli had peddled about no more cross-testing without higher approval? Surely no one signed off on this insanity.

“Put on the mask.”

Even though the command was inevitable, Leahy’s words set your heart thudding like a kicking rabbit.

“Since when did 035 have his host privileges returned?” It was a pathetic attempt to avoid your fate, a last-ditch effort to stall. Maybe there was even a small spark of hope that Leahy would see reason. Even he knew how dangerous this SCP was when given a living human host, hence why he was no longer given any. At all. Not even a mannequin.

“You will not be serving as a host. Do it.”

He was on edge. Good. He should be nervous.

You took a breath and observed the deceptively clean mask. There was no sign of the black goo, which according to 049, was pure Pestilence. The irony didn’t escape you that you were about to truly test if you immune to being reinfected, and that’s if 049’s assessment was accurate. You’d always thought 035’s goo was more of an acid—

“Stop stalling, Reid.”

Hissing out air through your teeth, you quickly picked up the ceramic mask as if ripping off a bandage. The mask continued to give you a comedic smile, but other than that, it remained as it was. It felt as ordinary as any other theater mask would.

Praying to whoever would listen, you pressed the inside of the mask against your face. Nothing happened. It wouldn’t even stick. You pressed it harder against your skin, wondering if the mask was nothing more than a piece of costume now. Insert and lifeless, the entity inside ceasing to exist.

And then the ceramic bolted to your skin like metal to a magnet. You balked, but the voice of panic ringing in your head wasn’t your own.

No, no, it’s all wrong! I can’t… can’t move. Can’t control—why can’t I, it’s all wrong, all wrong! Get out! GET OUT!

You hadn’t moved, your hands hovering near your head before finally dropping.

“SCP-035?”

You turned your head toward the mirror, your movements still freely under your control even as that foreign fear in your mind continued to rage. The image reflected back at you was startling, the mask on your face changed to that of a sorrowful frown.

“No, it’s still me,” you said, voice muffled by the barrier.

“Do you sense any presence of SCP-035 within?”

Going by the cacophony in your head like someone was literally bouncing off the inside of your skull, it was safe to assume there was a presence.

“Yes. He’s… agitated. He can’t control me.”

Leahy said nothing for a moment, no doubt consulting his notes in excitement like the bureaucratic little bully he was.

“I have a series of questions here that you will relay to SCP-035, and you will report its answers as exact as possible.”

The presence in your head reared itself like an enraged cobra, flaring before a strike.

Get fucked, you absolute cunt-rag!

You relayed 035’s response, and Leahy said nothing, bringing you a rare but immense feeling of satisfaction. And just like that, the other presence in your mind settled, the agitated cobra reclining into a languid coil. No longer poised to attack, but no less dangerous for it.

Not a fan of the Site Director either? No… no, you wouldn’t be. I know you. Of course, I do, of course. I simply didn’t recognize… I was distraught. Can’t blame me for that, no. Not used to being the one worn, instead of doing the wearing. You understand, don’t you? You do, you’re a very reasonable little thing, aren’t you, Reid? It’s been too long since our last interview. I’ve missed you. Did you miss me?

035’s return to a cool, calm control would have been unsettling if you hadn’t known this SCP so well. Or as well as anyone was able. His very nature made it difficult to get to know him, his ability to passively influence and infect with his personality one of the things that made him so dangerous.

You didn’t have a chance to respond; Leahy was already giving his next instructions.

“SCP-035, I want you to take control of her.”

A feeling rippled over your mind, your brain translating it into a sort of amused snort.

I see the Site Director hasn’t changed much. Stupid is as stupid does, my mother always said. If I had a mother. Ignore him, you and I have business to discuss. I know what they’ve been doing to you these past weeks. Oh, you know how it is. The fools who observe this cell, they talk and they think. They talk loud and think even louder. I hear things… interesting things. You would like to know, wouldn’t you? I bet you would.

He gave a laugh, or the mental equivalent of one, able to read your thoughts just as quickly as you could think them.

Yes, it does seem we’re able to hear each other without much in the way of hiding. No, I’m not happy about it either, but we’re going to have to suck it up like big boys and girls. Don’t mind your pretty head, I’m not going to do anything dastardly with what I glean from your traumatized mind. Your secrets are safe with me. After all, who would I share them with?

You thought he had a point, and 035 said, Of course I do. Whatever they say about me is a lie, darling. I’m a very reasonable man, doing his best to survive in a world where his jailers are mad. What do you say? You scratch my back, I scratch yours, so to speak. And we both screw the Foundation while we’re at it, hmm? It’s not like they’ve taken our best interests to heart. And neither of us are getting out of here.

A low, bassy tone vibrated in your mind, and goosebumps rippled across your flesh at the inhuman, incomprehensible malice glimpsed for just a moment. Whatever 035 truly was, or had been, he was a shadow of it now. Perhaps the only reason he could be contained at all.

“Did you hear me, SCP-6830?”

035 let out a silent flicker of amusement.

That’s the designation he gave you? What an idiot. Absolute IQ of a coral sponge with the charisma of a blowfly. Tell him I’m weak and barely able to produce thoughts, so he’ll have to be patient with how slow I am. He should be familiar with the concept.

A smile curled in the shadows of your mind.

Meanwhile, you and I can have a little… heart-to-heart.

You relayed the message, wondering what 035 could possibly think you had to talk about.

Oh, so many things. Let’s start with you. Yes, you. We’ll get to me, don’t worry. So… what do you remember before joining this circus?

There was no point in avoiding his curiosity, though perhaps curiosity was too gentle a word. He wanted a piece of you in the form of deep, personal information. That was how all of his interviews went: 035 didn’t indulge in questions until he got to ask a few of his own. As one of the few people willing to take that risk, you had become one of his main interviewers, though you hadn’t given him much to work with. Not like this.

You cast your mind back, a mistake in hindsight. One you started, you couldn’t stop, the memories flowing easily as 035 flipped through them like pages in a book. He thumbed past most of your childhood, which was mostly normal and uneventful. What was he hoping to find?

Yada yada yada, bor-i-i-i-ng… Ah, here we go.

A memory unfolded against your will. You were at your old office job, the one you’d had before the Foundation and before you’d been exposed to the existence of SCPs. You’d worked there for two years until the event that knocked you off course, sending your life on an entirely different path.

Something was… wrong with your coworkers. No matter how early you came in or how late you left, they were always there. Within days, they began to look haggard, unraveled, and when you asked if they were feeling well, they would lash out until you left them alone.

You tried reporting this concerning behavior to HR, but it went nowhere. Your coworkers continued to deteriorate, their clothes unwashed, their faces taunt with lack of sleep and proper food. Not knowing what else to do, you contacted the local health authority, thinking there was radon gas or some kind of serious contagion.

Within the day, agents had showed up and cordoned off the building. You never saw your coworkers again.

You were interviewed by a man in a dark suit, and you never saw him again either, but he offered you a job. A mysterious one where you went to an unmarked building for an interview, was hired on the spot, and immediately taken to a site for the Foundation. You hadn’t even been allowed to go back home to get your things, and you’d remained ever since. You’d risen through the ranks, transferring from one site to the next, your handling of the SCPs expertly done despite having no background in behavioral or psychological sciences.

If there’s one thing the Foundation does well, and trust me, it’s one of the very few things, it’s that they have an eye for talent and anomalies. Their spies are everywhere. You don’t find the Foundation, the Foundation finds you. Funny that’s not how it worked for you. And isn’t it strange the anomaly affecting your coworkers didn’t affect you. Did the Foundation ever explore that? Perhaps that’s why you ended up in 049’s cell with no way out. You’ve been their unlucky test bunny since day one. How tragic.

At your denial, 035 made a tsk noise despite having no mouth.

You poor, poor thing. I pity you. At least we know we’ve been contained. You were given the illusion of freedom.

It wasn’t… it wasn’t true. It wasn’t! You would have sensed something, seen something. It wasn’t possible—

“SCP-6830, you will allow the subject to control your body.”

The masked SCP sighed with dramatic flair that was fit for an audience of hundreds rather than one.

Does that puffed-up spatchcock think I haven’t been trying? Anyway, what was I saying? Oh, yes. So many interesting memories around anomalies. You don’t know what I mean? Well, that’s because they’re buried deep. Very deep… Oh, no, please. Allow me.

Like fingers ripping through a present, rough appendages ripped through your mind, bleeding them open without compassion. Images assailed you, memories long buried and forgotten.

You were on a camping trip with your family, your cousins leading you into the woods to play tricks on you with tales of urban legends. But you saw creatures in the woods that night, small and dark with gnashing teeth and devouring mouths where their eyes should have been. When you told your parents the creatures were real, they didn’t believe you.

A strange shadow followed your mother around throughout your early teens. You knew her cluster headaches were about to make an appearance, because the shadow would be persistent hours before. This continued until one day you yelled at the “monster” to go away, and it did. Your mother never had a cluster headache after that, though she believed her latest medication was finally working.

Your senior year in high school, you avoided English whenever you could, nearly failing the class and not being graduated. No one could understand your aversion, and you didn’t know how to explain that sometimes the ceiling of the classroom was… somewhere else. A glimpse into another place, one that didn’t always make spatial sense, gazing into its depths flipping your stomach as if you were about to fall upwards into it. You weren’t surprised to hear the classroom caught fire a year after you graduated. You were only surprised it had taken so long.

The cruel fingers released your mind, and you flinched out of their hold, gasping and shivering even as sweat clung to your hairline.

Oh my, do you want to lie down? Kick up your feet for a while and let me take over? That would be a fun experiment. Give me the reins, and I’ll put this body to good use—Fine, fine, no need to get hysterical, Jesus, I was just asking. Which is something I never do, by the way, so consider yourself bestowed with a great gift.

Another slow smile curdled in your mind like sour milk.

That’s an interesting word association. Gift. Makes you think of… him. Yes, let’s talk about the enigmatic 049. Come now, don’t be shy. It’ll be painless, I promise. Let’s see here… Stop resisting, damn it. Normally it’s fun when they resist, but by God, you’re giving me a headache. I’m trying to help you, woman. Do you want to fix your fuck-up or not?

The white walls of the cell had retreated to the point where you hardly saw them anymore. Instead, it was like you were having a conversation with someone you couldn’t quite see, in a place too dimly lit to make out properly, and his voice was in your ear so clearly it could have been your own. Except you’d never spoken with such malicious joy before.

That got your attention. Yes, to put it delicately, you hurt his feelings. My bestest friend in the whole world, and you broke his heart—What do you mean? Of course, we’re friends. Even if he said—Well, that’s his opinion, and it’s wrong. You took his shriveled heart and stomped it into a million pieces. Don’t believe me? I’ll show you.

As if your thoughts were recorded on a magnetic tape, 035 rewound them back to the precise moment he wanted, a memory you shied away from like a skittish horse from a rattler. The mask wouldn’t let you turn away. There was no sanctuary within your own mind, no corner you could hide or escape from his focus.

Standing within a familiar scene, you were the observer this time, a captive audience from your argument with 049 the previous night. It should have been impossible to view it from angles outside yourself, and yet a copy of yourself stood in profile, glaring up at the much taller SCP.

“It’s why your followers never stayed,” said the past version of yourself, an angry scowl curling her mouth. “They knew the path you walked wasn’t one of science. It was madness. Zealotry and fanaticism. Righteousness in the form of a crusade, and you slaughtered anyone who didn’t take up your banner.”

You couldn’t look away, couldn’t cover your ears, nothing to stop what was happening as each cruel word was delivered. Having said it once was enough, having to hear it again was agony.

“That’s why you couldn’t bring her back. You didn’t cure her, you murdered her in cold blood—”

035 froze the moment in time. There was something in 049’s eyes, a fragile nakedness, like a piece of armor being ripped away to expose the flesh underneath. It was a haunted look you had somehow missed.

Did you notice something interesting? The whole time you were reading him the riot act, calling him a murderer and a menace to society, what did he do? Nothing. Nada. Zilch. He let you steamroll over him, and do you know why? Because you were right. This is what he deserves. He’s a peddler of death, a bringer of ill omens and black tides. Worse, he’s a charlatan. He rages about the Pestilence, and yet, his actions did naught but bring the carrion birds. Until… you.

You said nothing, unable to draw away from 049’s face, wishing more than anything you could take back those words.

He understands the hypocrisy of what he does better than you realize, 035 crooned in your ear, his words draped in insidious velvet. It’s why he harbors such hatred for me. I’m his twisted reflection. We are the same, only I don’t let shame stop me from taking what I want.

His influence surrounded you, closing in with suffocating darkness. You rebuked him, shaking him off like a biting flea on a dog’s back, and he simply laughed. The cell drew into sharp focus, your muffled breathing too loud in your ears. You didn’t know if Leahy had been speaking to you, but at least you were still in control of your own body.

But your attention was not something 035 was willing to let go of just yet.

Relax, I was only testing you. It would be an insult if I didn’t. Now, back to 049. He continued on, as if attempting to make you his thrall was simply good manners. Notice he only voiced his displeasure when you brought up Pernella. Sweet Pernella. I knew her, you know. She was just a babe when he found her. An innocent, forsaken chick taken under the raven’s wing. But alas… she met the same fate all his companions do. Keep that in mind, darling, lest you wind up as the next Pernella.

An impish giggle followed on the heels of the dire warning.

I’m kidding, you won’t end up like her. Why? Well, for one, he can’t kill you in his usual fashion. He’d have to get his hands dirty. A knife here, a strangling there. But he won’t. You’re far too precious. Can you imagine, being as old as he is and never able to touch another living being? It must drive him to madness. Perhaps that’s why he is the way he is. He simply needs a hug. His hand held. Maybe something a bit more salacious? I’m not one to judge, you do you, whatever creams your Twinkie. All I’m saying is, I think the doctor is full of pent-up frustration that could be solved with one of you on your back.

But enough about the doctor’s sexual yearnings, let’s talk about my second favorite subject. I—what? Don’t be such a prude, I’m right. 049 is so starved for affection that all you would need to do is pet his head and call him a good boy, and he’d ruin his trousers. Or… his equivalent for trousers.

Anyway, what’s my first favorite subject, you didn’t ask? Well—oh, you know already. Yes, it’s me. But for the second—Would you stop interrupting me! Oh, I never explained how to make amends with 049? Say you’re sorry. Apologize. Honestly, haven’t you done this before? Now, my second favorite subject: containment breaches.

Why are you yelling? This will benefit the both of us! Believe me, with some of the scuttlebutt I’ve heard, escape is your best option. Think I’m lying? Well, that’s your problem and you have trust issues. I don’t lie when the truth benefits me, and nothing would benefit me more than causing a little prison break.

“I want to leave,” you blurted. “Now.”

“We’ve only started,” Leahy said, his irritation leeching across the intercom. “You will stay in that cell until testing is complete.”

He’ll keep you in here as long as he can, just to see the black ooze eat away at you, 035 purred in your ear. It won’t, of course. I can’t produce it while you’re wearing me. You really dry up the tear ducts, you know? A cruel vixen. Tempting innocent SCPs with your wily ways and then dashing their hearts against the cold containment walls.

You mentally shoved against him, but 035 simply laughed. He wasn’t going anywhere, not with the mask still in place.

Don’t you even want to know how the breach will happen? Come on, take a guess. I’ll even give you a hint. It starts with 049… and ends with you.

“Let me out, Leahy!” you cried at the observation window, your raw desperation a jarring comparison to the mask grinning back at you.

“That’s Site Director Leahy, and no. You have yet to give me a more in-depth analysis of the effects of SCP-035. I know you’re communicating with it. Until you give me something of substance, you can rot in that cell—”

Rage boiled within your chest and your head snapped up, your words deep and reverberating with something below the surface. An unseen monster, circling the waters.

“You’ll be the one rotting if you don’t let me out!”

Leahy was quiet, and you could actually see through the one-way mirror to the other side. The Sire Director looked startled, as did the three other doctors and assistants with him.

“SCP-035, is that you?”

You tilted your head, the reflection mimicking the movement, but it didn’t feel like you. The dark eyeholes of the mask burned with an unnatural purple light, and the words that came from your throat were smooth and oily, slipping free without your permission.

“Why don’t you come in and find out, you pus-filled sack of meat? I’ll even let you wear the mask since you want answers so badly.”

You took a step closer, able to see the oddly smooth, sinuous way you moved in the reflection. It was still you, but it was also… not you.

“Do your own dirty work,” your voice said with a purr. “I know you’re capable of it. Or did you think what happened to 682 is a secret?”

The Site Director jerked forward over the mic.

“Reid, remove the mask, now!”

You ripped off the mask. The ceramic came free of your skin unwillingly, your face stinging at the effort. You took deep breaths of stale air that tasted like a mountain breeze in comparison to wearing the mask, and your mind whirled at the sudden absence of the mask’s owner. Shoving the SCP back in the case, you closed the lid, the ceramic smile grinning at you conspiratorially.

Before you’d removed the mask, 035 had given a parting whisper.

See you soon, sweetheart.

Chapter Text

Two guards in hazmat suits led you out, and you were as cooperative as you could be, wanting to be rid of that room as soon as possible. A sense of uncleanliness pervaded you within and without, and you were grateful for the decontamination shower, even if it left your skin raw and stinging.

You scrubbed and scrubbed, trying to wipe away the filth that only existed in your mind, knowing the tainted feeling would linger far longer than any contaminants did. You might have been wearing the mask, but 035 had wormed his way into your thoughts, nudging your body and voice before you’d realized what was happening. 035 hadn’t controlled you in any significant way, it had felt more like he had taken your anger at Leahy, fed his own hatred into it, and caused a sort of merging that had been a blend of you both.

You shuddered and scrubbed harder, turning your mind to other parts of the so-called interview. It didn’t make any sense what 035 had said about 682. As far as you knew, 682 had been neutralized during Site-19’s containment breach, and Leahy had nothing to do with the SCP or its disposal.

Of course, the truth may have been above your previous clearance level. Hadn’t the Foundation already proven to be withholding more information than it shared? You still didn’t know why you’d been trapped within 049’s cell, let alone what the Foundation had actually done with an SCP they’d been trying to destroy for years.

As the cold, chemical spray drenched your hair and skin, you were unpleasantly reminded of 035’s desire for a containment breach. There was no denying you would love to be out of Foundation hands; taking 049 with you had crossed your mind more than once, but it was little more than a daydream. A way to pass the time and wish for things that would never be. Despite your effect on SCPs, you were still human, with no abilities or weapons that made you dangerous or capable of escape.

Once the spray stopped, you were air dried with a machine that made you feel as if you were going through a person-version of a car wash, and after that, you were led to what you assumed was your next test. Except the next room resembled staff accommodations more than a testing chamber.

You were left alone with instructions to rest, and a clean, white nightgown was left folded for you on the full-sized bed. It was impossible for it to be night already, yet your body ached with a fatigue that meant you’d been awake too long. Just how much time had passed in 035’s chamber?

Replacing the paper-thin hospital gown they’d given you after decontamination, you donned the more comfortable nightgown. Even after crawling into the bed and your weary body thanked every soft layer of material, you laid awake. It felt too… kind. Too nice for the treatment you’ve received so far. You didn’t trust it for a second.

But despite your paranoia, you couldn’t fight the exhaustion that weighed you down. You drifted off, curled under two comforters, and remained that way until the entrance door slid open.

You shot upward, clutching the blanket to your chest in a half-awake, childish attempt to protect yourself.

Two guards led a figure inside; tall, masked, and intimately familiar. You didn’t speak as the guards unlocked 049’s chains and collar before vacating and shutting the door behind them, leaving the two of you alone in the fully lit room. It had been dim when you’d drifted off and must have come back on when the door opened.

“049?” You pulled back the covers and rose from the bed. “What are you doing here?”

The SCP flicked his gaze around the room before settling on you, his head at a tilt.

“I am unsure.”

He took a step closer, his gaze troubled, frowning in his own way.

“Do you require medical assistance? Have they caused you harm?”

“No, I don’t think so.” Nothing on the surface, anyway. 049 was already approaching you, reaching out, but then he paused.

“May I perform a cursory examination?”

You blinked, your throat working.

“Uh… yeah. Yes.”

049 gently took your face into his hands in a way that did not feel like a cursory examination.

“Your skin is damaged. Raw from a mild burn.”

“Oh, yeah. The decontamination shows.”

049 narrowed his eyes.

“Barbarians.”

The word was harsh, but he said it quietly, holding you like a precious thing. Warmth spread down your face and neck, spreading at an alarming rate, but you weren’t concerned. It had been a long time since you’d really feared 049.

“I am… dissatisfied with our last conversation,” he said, rubbing one thumb across your cheek. “I wish to apologize.”

“It’s okay.” You smiled, the gesture so easy when it was him. “I’m sorry too.”

He returned the smile, his eyes warm.

“All is forgiven. Now, you should try to get some sleep.”

He was standing close. Too close. But he didn’t pull away, and neither did you.

“I’m not tired,” you mumbled and leaned in, caught up in the wave of warmth spreading throughout your body. You chased it, craved more of it. More of him.

“You need to rest.” His insistence was undermined by the hand still resting on your cheek, his thumb stroking your skin. His other hand was a comfortable weight on your waist. You couldn’t recall when he put it there.

“No,” you breathed. “That’s not what I need.”

You leaned forward, pressing your entire body to him. Your face nudged against the crook of his neck beneath his hood, and it was titillating being so close, exploring a place you hadn’t before. His natural scent was stronger here, and you pressed in further, the cloth around his throat blocking you from skin contact, but that didn’t dissuade you from pressing your lips to where his pulse point would be.

049 shuddered and gave a choked off noise, and then his arms were around your waist, lifting you up and moving you backward towards the bed. You held on tight, more in desperation to be close rather than any fear he would drop you, and you didn’t let go even when he deposited you on the bed.

He carefully relinquished himself of your hold, but 049 didn’t go far. Whatever it was, this unquestionable need that had you in its grip, he also heeded its call, his heavy gaze never leaving yours as he bunched up your nightgown and stripped off your underwear.

Neither of you spoke as 049 leaned over you, the movements wanted and familiar, as if you’d done this before. He pressed his weight down on you, and you finally released a noise as something hard and heavy pressed against your thigh.

049 nudged himself between your legs with gentle insistence. You didn’t need any preparation, you welcomed him greedily, impatient as you slid your hands up his back and wrapped a leg around his hip.

He let out a low laugh, as if finding your lack of patience amusing, but then his expression darkened as he prodded at your entrance. Your nails dug into the thick cloth of his back, every inch of your skin tingled with anticipation.

Clenching your jaw, you sensed in the back of your mind you didn’t have much time left.

049 didn’t make you wait any longer. He plunged forward, fully embedding himself with you.

Lightning crackled up your body, electricity racing down your limbs and firing up every synapse in your brain, and you opened your eyes wide. The sensation, almost like an orgasm but not quite the same, faded away, leaving you unsatisfied. Alone, in an empty bed, with no 049.

You slowly sat upright, your body heavy with sleep, and you looked down to see you were still in your nightgown, tucked under the covers, and drenched in cold sweat. You didn’t even have to check to know your underwear was soaked with slick.

Covering your face with your hands, you groaned aloud.

The dim lights between your fingers bloomed into life, and you jerked up your head as two armed guards and a scientist entered the room.

“Get up,” one of the guards said, the manacles already waiting in his counterpart’s hands. “Stand here.”

You followed instructions, figuring they were simply leading you to the next test, but then the scientist pulled out a pair of black, thick rubber gloves from his lab coat pocket. He put them on and then flipped over your pillow, exposing what was beneath.

It was an old coin, specifically Irish gun money. A half-crown with James II on one side, there would be a sigil of the crown on the other, as well as the year 1690 stamped at its top.

The guard who wasn’t holding you moved forward, carrying a wooden coin box, and he opened it for the scientist to carefully deposit the coin inside.

Your lack of sleep and pent-up frustration from the interrupted dream had you pulling at the guard, your restraints clicking at the movement.

“You used SCP-5964 on me? Are you trying to kill me?”

But the scientist only said, “Please, come this way,” as if you were given a choice, and you were pulled from the bedroom—which had just been another testing chamber, after all.

Chapter Text

You were led to another room not far, only further down the hall. This one had the typical layout of an interview room, and you were firmly placed into the metal chair with one restraint removed as the guard looped the chain through the small bar welded to the table.

The scientist, a man in his 50s with short-cropped grey hair, his face unfamiliar, didn’t sit at the other end, but instead consulted his tablet as he stood off to one side.

“What did you dream?” he asked without preface once your wrists were both shackled again. You the scientist with a scowl as you turned over the question in your head.

SCP-5964 was a coin forged in a time of bloodthirsty monarchs and civil war, except it had one unfortunate effect. Placing it under the pillow of a person would lead them to have a single, lucid nightmare. No matter how terrible or implausible the nightmare was, whatever happened in the dream would play out within 24 hours, leading to the person’s death. People have drowned in the middle of meetings, caught on fire swimming at the beach, or cannibalized while tilling a field.

You pressed your lips together to stop their trembling.

“I didn't.”

The door opened.

“You’re lying.”

You sank in your chair. Site Director Leahy gave a nod to the other scientist, dismissing him before his eyes fixed on you. He sat in the empty chair that was your opposite, smoothing down his tie as he did so.

Your glare was unblinking.

“What did you see, Reid?”

“I didn't see anything,” you repeated, inflection flat. “The SCP had no effect on me.”

Leahy gave you a look before glancing down at his tablet, scrolling through it until getting what he wanted. He then flipped it around for you to see, an image painting its surface in greens, reds, and yellows. It was similar to an infrared spectrum but with much more detail, able to monitor a subject’s hormone levels through the biometric lens of an advanced camera. One you hadn’t noticed in the room, but from its angle, you knew where it had been hidden: a ventilation grate.

The display showed you in a prone position, taken while you were asleep in that room, and showing heightened signs of brain activity and hormonal stress. You shrank in further on yourself as Leahy turned the tablet back around.

“Now you can see the lie for yourself. You gave all the indications of an intense dream. What was it?” When you held your tongue, he added, “We only have one more test, and it will be the last. For now.”

“Not going to threaten me some more?”

Your patience with the Site Director was at an all-time low. You were aching from interrupted sleep, chilled by cold sweat, and trying not to squirm from the discomfort of your damp undergarments.

He shrugged, leaning back in his chair.

“I can, if you wish. SCP-049 is being a little too willful these days. Perhaps a few minutes in a dark room with 173 will correct this newfound defiance.”

Despite his causal lean and the almost lazy drawl of his words, he wasn’t bluffing. Leahy clearly didn’t care about the policies against cross-testing with different SCPs, let alone punishing them.

You stared down at your hands, curled against the table and rendered harmless by unnecessary shackles. You didn’t know what to say. Because the SCP had reacted to you in an anomalous way, but unless you were going to die by 049’s cock in the next 24 hours, its effect was different.

A bubble of hysterical laughter lodged in your throat. You covered your mouth, but a choked noise still escaped.

“You’re not going to be sick, are you?” Leahy frowned. “If so, point it away from me.”

You coughed into your hand and swallowed down the giggle fit before it could start. This was beyond fucked, there was nothing funny about it, and yet the deranged imperative to laugh still remained.

“No, no… I’m fine.”

He narrowed his eyes.

“Maybe I’ll stick you both with 173 and see who it favors more.”

“No!”

Your chains clinked as your back went stiff, and Leahy’s smirk told you he got the reaction he wanted.

Bastard.

Closing your eyes, you took a breath and forced yourself to think. You had to give Leahy something, and it damn well wasn’t going to be the truth. A believable lie was what you needed, but you’d never been particularly good at those, especially elaborate ones.

Maybe it didn’t need to be elaborate. Maybe it just needed to be incredulous enough to buy.

Maybe, you needed another liar.

You opened your eyes and let your shoulders sag just enough to indicate surrender.

“There was a containment breach.”

Now it was Leahy’s turn to sit up, his posture straight as he leaned against the table.

“In the nightmare?”

You nodded slowly, as if recalling the details against your will.

“It was… bad.”

“Who started it?”

“I don’t know.”

“How many casualties?”

“I don’t know.”

“Where does the breach happen?!”

“I don’t know!” you snapped back. “I just remember fleeing to a garage. There were Foundation vehicles, and we took one. To escape into the forest.”

“We?”

Leahy took the bait, but you hesitated. It wasn’t for show.

“Someone was… with me. An SCP.”

“Go on.”

Pressing your lips together, you shifted uncomfortably in your chair.

“I think he started the breach. He came for me, and we left together.”

“Who, Reid,” Leahy growled. “Give me a designation.”

You prayed for forgiveness. Even this SCP didn’t deserve the Site Director’s cruel attention.

“SCP-035.”

Leahy glared at you for a long moment in which you didn’t look away, not until you dropped your eyes, shame forcing you to hide. An emotion that was uncomfortably truthful.

The Site Director stood, not speaking to you again as he nodded to the guard and left the room. The two guards unlatched you from the table and led you to a place you’d been hoping to see: a heavy containment cell with thick doors and no way of escape. Leahy had bought your story, and you were on lockdown for the next 24 hours.

There was nowhere for you to rest, but you were delivered meals and clean clothes through an automated delivery system in the wall. It could have been worse, at least you were left alone and there was a rudimentary shower in one corner. But 24 hours was a long time in solitary, and your mind wandered back to a place it didn’t want to go.

The dream had been so real. Too real. Every detail was accurate, down to 049’s smell and the unique texture of his robes. You’d had no idea it was a dream, only an impending sense of it ending soon, perhaps your subconscious mind knowing it was inevitable to wake up. Your urgency for 049 to finish what you both had started had been all-consuming, and even now there was an echo, an emptiness left unfulfilled. Overt sexual desire wasn’t something you were prone to, but the dream version of yourself had had no compunctions about getting thoroughly fucked by 049 as quick as possible.

You buried your face in your hands and tried to think about anything but the dream, and like a lingering bad odor, 035 crept into your thoughts instead. Specifically, his words regarding 049—how old the SCP was, and that no one but you had touched him before. How the loneliness must affect him after centuries of solitude, even when surrounded by his disciples. You could imagine it all too well, the way 049 would keep them at a proper, polite distance. Hadn’t he tried the same with you?

It was difficult to know how much of it was truth, and how much of it was 035’s usual embellishment and love of a compelling story. It made sense that he would paint 049 as a tragic, romantic figure. It also didn’t mean he was wrong.

And then there was 035. You shouldn’t sympathize with such a dangerous anomaly, and yet, you hoped he wouldn’t face harsh consequences for your lie. Leahy was ambitious, but he wouldn’t be able to destroy the mask. The Foundation had tried many times, almost as many times as they’d tried to kill 682—who, apparently, might not be as dead as once thought.

And that same Foundation had known you were anomalous from the start according to 035. You didn’t know how it was possible, surely there would have been signs, and they wouldn’t have given you so much freedom with the SCPs. How much did Dr. Puli know? How much did Leahy?

049, 682, your own history. How reliable was this information with 035 as the storyteller? Unreliable narrator didn’t begin to cover it.

The one good thing about being isolated was it gave you plenty of time to sort out the last few days in your head, but by the end, you were ready to claw at the walls. Even seeing Leahy’s face when he entered your cell the next morning was nearly a welcome sight.

His satisfied smirk didn’t bode well, and neither did the guards at his side.

“Seeing as there were no containment breaches, it’s safe to assume the coin does not show you something that will inevitably happen.”

He moved closer and crouched, now eye level with you where you sat leaning against the wall.

“It shows you something that will never happen.”

The urge to give the Site Director a good punch while you had the chance fell away, the dream springing up in its place. An impossible dream, one that 24 hours had proved wouldn’t take place.

You looked away, hating that the disappointment on your face would sell the lie, hating even more that it wasn’t a lie at all.

“Get her up.”

Leahy moved out of your space, replaced by two guards who hauled you to your feet and secured the manacles around your wrists. They were beginning to chaff and bruise, but you didn’t resist as they led you to a freight elevator at the end of Heavy Containment.

Only when you got inside and Leahy inserted his keycard and put in a code did you pay attention, especially when he didn’t enter a floor number.

The elevator shuddered and began its descent, its movements utilitarian and not smooth as the lab elevators were. It kept going for a minute, then two, far past any floor that should exist.

Down, down, down. Straight into the belly of the beast.

You weren’t going to the basement levels. You were going beneath Site-20.

Chapter Text

The elevator came to a rolling stop, and the door parted to reveal a large tunnel ahead, chiseled out of the surrounding bedrock. Hanging fluorescents lit the way, bracketed by pipes and wires that must lead to a separate power generator and cooling systems. You were so far beneath the facility that it had to be isolated from the site’s power and water grid.

A squad of five soldiers waited once the doors parted, and they weren’t any standard security you’d ever seen. In fact, upon looking closer, you saw the Mobile Task Force logo etched into the arm bands of their uniforms.

What was the MTF doing here? Their whole purpose, their advantage, was mobilization to where they were needed, but you’d never heard of them being kept on-site before.

The Site Director offered no commentary or explanation, simply gave a nod, and the Site-20 guards handed you off to the MTFs. They were ridiculously overpowered in their tactical suits compared to your knee-length nightgown, of which did you no service in keeping you warm so deep underground.

Walking no more than five minutes, your group arrived at a massive door at least 10 meters tall, thick enough to sustain a bomb blast by the looks of it. But what drew your eye was a familiar face, already there to greet you.

“I don’t recall inviting you, Amin,” Leahy drawled. Dr. Puli stood straighter, his frown the most severe you’ve seen it yet.

“This isn’t right, Geoff. I must protest.”

“Noted.”

“When the O5 Council learns what you’re doing—”

“Who do you think authorized this project?”

Dr. Puli’s eyes widened, glancing between you and the Site Director, but his jaw clenched into a stubborn hold.

“They would never allow this.”

“It’s a shame you don’t have the clearance level to know for certain.” Leahy motioned his head down the tunnel, back the way you’d came. “Now, are you going to retreat with your tail between your legs? Or are you going to stay, because despite your weak objections, you wish to know what will happen just as much as I do.”

Dr. Puli met Leahy’s stare, the Site Director’s without any warmth behind his rimmed glasses. Your former boss lost the test of wills, stepping aside and sending you a quick glance before looking away.

Leahy scoffed, taking your arm as he pulled you forward.

“Despite being a psychologist, you’re as predictable as anyone else.”

Leahy walked to a panel and retrieved something from his pocket: a flat, rectangular object, its surface solid black but thicker than a typical keycard, and inserted in into a card reader.

“Open it.” The Site Director gave the order to a technical engineer at a console, and he worked the controls, the massive door sliding upwards at his command. Beyond was a catwalk, leading into darkness so black it seemed to be the end of the known universe.

Leahy wasted no time, pushing you forward before letting go.

“Walk.”

Your feet remained glued to the ground, your legs trembling and refusing to budge.

Leahy went to the console and pulled out what looked like a handheld microphone, the kind that belonged to CB radios. He instructed the engineer which channel to dial before he clicked the microphone on.

“049 containment team? Over.”

A small, tinny voice replied, but it was loud enough for all to hear.

“Standing by. Over.”

“Are you prepared to move the SCP into permanent containment? Over.”

“Affirmative, over.”

Leahy stared at you, not needing to say anything more than that. He had you trapped, and it disgusted you that he knew you well enough to know it would work. You wouldn’t let 049 be punished because the Site Director was a sadist, and you could only hope that if this last test killed you, Leahy would lose interest in 049. Maybe, he would move on when his shiny toy was broken, leaving 049 in peace while he found some new victim to torment.

You turned back to the black void and walked forward. Moving past the door, you stopped and half-turned when it began to slide shut behind you.

“What am I supposed to do!” you yelled to be heard over the humming gears.

“Make physical contact with the anomaly!”

“What else!”

Leahy said nothing, even though he had time before the bottom of the door touch the ground, sealing you inside with a final loud series of locks sliding into place.

Your breathing was too loud in the open space, straining to see in the pitch dark, searching so hard that you flinched when the catwalk lit beneath your feet. Walking lights lined the suspended pathway, revealing you weren’t suspended over nothingness. The bottom curve of the tunnel was roughly ten feet below you, but the ceiling was still high overhead. It didn’t bode well why the Foundation needed such a large tunnel for whatever they were keeping here.

With nothing else to do, you moved forward, guessing that Leahy had some method of monitoring your progress. The tunnel was too large to spot any cameras or other equipment, so you kept going, illuminated by the lights stretching out ahead of you, like a runway guiding your path to take flight.

If only you could.

The rock walls had vanished, though you couldn’t pinpoint when, replaced by rectangular, metallic panels curving around the tunnel, leaving you with the impression you were walking inside a giant conductor of some kind. A low humming noise came from ahead of you, and the hairs on your body stood upright.

The catwalk ended in darkness, and as you approached the last few remaining steps, lights flashed on overhead, forcing you to shield your eyes. When you lowered your hand and opened your eyes, you couldn’t understand what you were seeing. The rectangular panels of the round room were raised and aimed at the center, like an array of solar panels, but they were aimed at no sun. Lit in the middle of the room, illuminated by focused spotlights and hovering in the air, was what had to be the anomaly.

It was a writhing, shifting mass of flesh with a spherical shape, constantly moving and turning. At first, it would coalesce into something that resembled a face, though the muzzle was long and filled with teeth, and then it would disappear again into a twisting mess that hurt the mind to comprehend.

And then you realized it wasn’t shifting; the mass was turning itself inside out, over and over. The muzzle appeared again, and this time, it spoke.

“Have the apes finally found a way to end me?”

You went back a step, halfway raising your hands as if to block out the bone-jarring voice.

“Are you here to do what they cannot?”

Fighting down the bile that threatened to rise in your throat, you stared at the mass and concentrated on the features before they could disappear. A long snout, a greenish mane, and grey scales.

“682?”

The SCP rumbled an affirmation that rattled the panels on the wall.

“But… that’s not possible,” you choked. “You were labeled as neutralized after the Site-19 breach.”

682 rumbled again, this time it was closer to a threatening growl. You took another step backwards.

“I am trapped here… in a constant state of eternal agony, unable to prevent my bones from twisting and my flesh from boiling. This… is as close to neutralized as humanity can achieve.”

Even without any eyes at any given moment, the accusation of his gaze was hot on your skin.

“Though, perhaps that has changed, and my torment will be finished. Come. End it.”

You could only stare at the horrific thing that used to be 682.

“I don’t… understand.”

“What is there to not understand?”

“What did they do to you?”

Though you’d never seen 682 in person, you’d seen photos and video footage. The reptilian anomaly could change his size and composition to fit his environment, but this was something else.

682 was silent, though you could swear you heard… or felt echoes of its screams of agony, especially the longer you were in his presence.

“The humans managed to trap me within another entity,” 682 said, his words dragging out as if with reluctance. “A singularity the size of a speck, but capable of consuming my body just as quickly as I can regenerate. I do not think they meant this room to be my new cell, but per their fashion, the apes can do nothing right. I cannot die, but perhaps for the first time, I wish I could.”

The Hard-to-Destroy Reptile was no longer the menacing, humanity-hating entity he had once been, and you actually felt sorry for him. With how many times he had tried to escape, and how many lives he’d taken, it wasn’t a mystery why Leahy wanted you here, to touch the SCP and stop his healing regeneration and adaptive capabilities.

He wanted you to kill 682 permanently.

“What are you waiting for?” the reptile snarled, his teeth bared for the brief moment his muzzle appeared. “Get on with it.”

You shook your head, needing to stall for time, time to think.

“How do you know what I can do to SCPs?”

The monstrous reptile gave an offended snort.

“Even without your Site Director trotting you out like a prized hound, I know you. I would know you anywhere.”

Coincidentally, or to prove his point, one large, slitted eye gazed down on you, malice held in those yellow depths.

“You were sent to do their bidding. I make no illusions, and neither should you. Now, do it. Destroy me.”

“I…” Your mouth was dry. “…I can’t. I can’t kill you.”

682’s roar sent you scrambling backwards, the panels trembling in their positions as bits of dust drifted down from the rounded ceiling.

“Foolish, naïve child! Believing you still make your own choices because you are blind to the leash around your neck! You do not understand your own nature, your ignorance will be an instrument used at their whim. A beast set upon your masters’ enemies!”

682 writhed faster, snarling and biting at the air, his claws lashing at nothing only to disappear inside his twisted body.

“And you dare tote yourself as something better than us, absolving yourself of death even as blood stains your hands. And there will be blood, so much of it. When the leash tightens into a noose, that is when you will be the most dangerous. Your masters are not as foolish as you are. Perhaps, even now, they are building the walls of your containment.”

Your limbs wouldn’t stop shaking; you wanted to run from this horrible place, from the impossible nightmare scene in front of you, but you didn’t move. Couldn’t.

“I don’t… don’t understand. What I am, what you th-think I am. But this is… this is wrong. Cruel.”

“You cannot be cruel to a thing.”

The words were so similar to Leahy’s opinion about 049 that you didn’t doubt he’d said them to 682. You would never understand how a man who despised SCPs had risen to the rank of Site Director.

Another rumble echoed from the twisting mass, this one laden with heaviness.

“If you will not end my suffering, then get out of my sight. I have little use for something like you, clearly in the early stages of infancy. Perhaps with time you would grow to what is needed, but time… is what we both lack.”

You began to back away, your hands no longer curled next to your head but now pressed against your chest.

“I… I don’t know what to do for you,” you whispered. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re… sorry?”

The writhing mass twirling and focused on you, pulsing faster.

“I experience a lifetime of suffering within the span of a single moment, and you’re sorry?”

682 roared, and for a moment, his head formed out of the grotesque sphere, cohesive and baring his ancient teeth.

“Your apologies are poison! More insidious than their lies! Make your apologies to 079, and then perhaps your words will amount to more than useless noise!”

The face disappeared back into the mass, giving one last agonizing scream that followed close at your heels as you sprinted back down the catwalk. You slipped and stumbled, your hospital shoes not affording much traction against the surface, but you didn’t stop running until you reached the vaulted door. Trying to catch your breath, you hunched over and braced against your knees, your eyes burning as you alternated between gasping and retching.

They must have known you were there; the door began its arduous slide upwards, guards spilling through the open walkway, half of them aiming their guns at you, the other half moving past you to set their sights down the catwalk. Nothing had followed you, but they clearly weren’t taking any chances.

“Well?”

You raised your head, neck craning as your palms remained on your knees.

“Status report?” Leahy prompted when you didn’t answer.

You wanted to tell him where to show his status report, but instead you said, “It didn’t work.”

Leahy frowned, glancing over you back down the catwalk where you’d come. The MTF no longer had their guns raised, but they weren’t at ease by any means.

“Explain.”

You slowly straightened your spine and stared at him. Your usual mixture of hate and disgust was there, but fear swam under the surface. You wanted to believe that Leahy hadn’t meant to trap 682 in an eternal cycle of suffering, but he didn’t seem too bothered by it either. You were beginning to realize you’d underestimated his capacity for cruel violence.

“I touched him, and nothing happened.”

“The lizard still lives?”

You didn’t bother to correct him that lizards and reptiles weren’t interchangeable terms. All you said was, “Yes.”

Leahy brought up his tablet, swiping over its surface with a frown.

“Disappointing.”

Pressing your lips together, you kept at bay the pleas you wanted to make on behalf of 049, for Leahy not to punish him for your failure. But he didn’t call on 049’s containment team, nor did he make any threats. He merely nodded at the MTF soldiers, and they grabbed you by the arms and led you back down the tunnel.

You looked over your shoulder and watched as the massive door slid into place.

Chapter Text

On the lengthy elevator ascent, the words spoken by the immortal reptile echoed in your mind. What was being done to him was beyond egregious, and most of what he spoke made little sense, but there was one thing that struck you as odd.

682 had spoken of 079—not surprising, given their history. The computer with sentience that went beyond what its hardware should have been able to handle, built on a whim by a college student in his garage. An AI built on an old Exidy Sorcerer microcomputer and an immortal reptile seemed an unlikely friendship, but they had been observed communicating during a previous containment breach at Site-19. Your running hypothesis was they formed a bond over their shared hatred of humanity.

You continued to stare at the steel wall, not moving or blinking, surrounded by unfriendly faces leading you God knew where, so you could relate to the sentiment. But what you couldn’t understand was 682’s tone. When he’d roared at you to apologize to 079, there had been rage rather than grief. You had the sense that speaking to 079 was something 682 actually expected, not simply a hypothetical. Which was impossible. SCP-079 had been destroyed after Site-19’s final containment breach.

Of course, 682 was supposed to have been killed during the breach as well, and he was still alive. Horrifically so.

The elevator finally came to a stop, and you were shuffled forward. With Leahy at the head of your entourage, you were led back into the familiar halls of Heavy Containment. You didn’t dare hope until you were stopped in front of a containment cell you’d entered many times. It was too good to believe as you stared at 049’s containment placard, symbols on its surface warning of the threats within.

Leahy held out his hand to one of the guards, and your heart fell when he placed the keys within it. The Site Director then nodded them away, and they moved further down the hall out of earshot.

He reached for your wrist restraints. You flinched. Leahy gave you an impatient frown and grabbed your wrists, but he didn’t unlock them. He used your wrist chain to pull you closer, his voice low so only you could hear.

“This goes without saying, but I’m going to say it anyway. You breathe a word of what transpired below this facility, there will be consequences. First, any observation recording of what you say will be wiped. Second, any personnel observing you at that time will be given amnestics. And third, and this is the one you’re really not going to like, any SCP you share this knowledge with will be put into permanent containment. Amnestics, after all, don’t work on them.”

You glared at him, hatred rising like bile, but you didn’t speak, afraid anything you said would simply be used against 049.

“You’re a smart girl, Reid. Surely, you’ve figured out by now that despite the benefits it can provide with its altered abilities, 049 is expendable. 035 is expendable. They are all expendable.”

“…But not me.”

Leahy smiled. You looked away.

“Like I said. Smart girl.”

He unshackled your wrists and you jerked away from him, rubbing your chaffed skin, watching him out of the corner of your eye. Leahy swiped his card and stepped back, holding his arm out toward the open containment door with an amused expression. No need to force you inside, he knew.

You entered the empty middle containment chamber, happy to be rid of the Site Director and his mad schemes, at least for a while. You didn’t know what his plans were, but at least you were back. You’d half-expected never to see this cell again. Your supposed purpose for being with 049 was to keep him calm and cooperative, but you’d let your emotions get ahold of you and done the exact opposite. And now that you knew Leahy didn’t actually care about 049’s ability to heal, what hope did you have of protecting him from the Site Director’s displeasure?

All of those doubts and fears went quiet at the loud click of the inner containment doors unlocking. They slid open at a slow pace, revealing the tall, masked SCP waiting on the other side, as if expecting your arrival. Or perhaps, only hoping for it.

049 stepped forward, and then stopped. His entire focus was on your face, but he stood at a distance and clasped his hands behind his back.

“It is… good to see you again, Doctor. I did not know where you had gone, and you were away for quite some time. I…”

He trailed off. You still hadn’t moved, rooted to the spot as you stared at him. You couldn’t help but remember the dream, how vivid it had been; he’d looked as real as he did now, standing just a few feet away.

“Doctor?”

“I’m fine,” you said, sounding far away. “What about you? Did they do anything to you?”

His eyes softened.

“Do not fret, dear one. I am unharmed.”

And just like that, your paralysis was broken. But it still felt like something of a dream as you slowly make your way to stand in front of him. You examined him, though it felt more like you were drinking him in than checking him over.

“I’m glad,” came your delayed response.

049 tilted his head.

“Indeed? I had the impression you were sore with me, and… I cannot altogether blame you.”

“No, no, I’m not mad. Not at all.” You stepped closer, the motion unsteady as you stopped yourself quicker than was natural. “I’m sorry for the things I said. About you and Pernella. There’s no excuse for it, and I’m just… sorry.”

The apology came easy, the words wanting to be voiced for too long. Your argument seemed so small, insignificant with what had happened since then. Just a few hours ago, 049 admitted he would rather see you dead than infected with the Pestilence, and you’d thrown Pernella’s murder back in his face. Now, all you wanted was for him to close the distance. Hold you so that you wouldn’t fall to pieces, your seams left tattered by 035 and further pulled apart by 682’s unthinkable fate.

“As am I,” 049 said. “I upset you, something I never wish to do.”

You gave him a brittle smile, all you could afford in front of the observation window. But it was difficult with his grey eyes studying you, nearly staring you down in that way he did. He never simply looked at a thing, he had to consume it until he understood how it functioned. It wasn’t his fault—he didn’t know the kind of effect it was having on you now.

It wasn’t fair. The dream had provided you with the taste of something forbidden, taken without 049’s knowledge or consent. Then again, you hadn’t consented to being tested on with the coin, but that didn’t taint the contents of the dream. Maybe it should have, but pleasurable things were few and far between in this place, and the dream had felt so… right. Unquestionable. Inevitable.

In hindsight, something like that would never happen. You weren’t the type to suddenly fall into bed with someone, burgeoning feelings or not, and you couldn’t imagine he was the same. And that was if he had any sort of interest in physical intimacy. Yet, in the dream, it had happened as naturally as breathing.

Now, you suffered with the result. 049 was right there in front of you, but you couldn’t touch him, not in the way you needed. Even if you knew what it felt like to hold him close. What he smelled like when you’d buried your face in the crook of his neck. How the weight of his hands naturally settled against the curve of your back. The quiet, breathy noises he could make while between your legs.

It wasn’t fair.

“Something within you is… different.”

He moved closer.

“Are you certain you’re unharmed?”

You licked your lips, chapped from dehydration. Telling 049 the truth, that you’d had a carnal, depraved dream about him, was out of the question. You could be honest about some parts at least, things that Leahy either knew or wouldn’t care about.

“I spoke with 035.”

049 moved so quickly you didn’t have time to react, his hands cupping your shoulders as his gaze went hard.

“What did he do?”

You floundered, struggling to speak with his sudden close proximity.

“He just… talked. A lot. He didn’t hurt me.”

His hard expression didn’t lose its edge.

“Inflicting harm is all he knows how to do—"

It’s why he harbors such hatred for me, 035’s voice echoed in your head. I’m his twisted reflection.

“—and words are his greatest weapon.”

You mentally shook the mask from your thoughts; you hadn’t wanted him in your head during the interview, and you certainly didn’t want him lingering now.

049 loosened his grip, his expression falling into something less harsh.

“How did you two communicate? Was he given a host?”

You winced.

“I… had to wear him. But he couldn’t control me. He couldn’t!” You placed your hand on 049’s arm when his eyes widened, panic forming in them. “We could hear each other’s thoughts, but he couldn’t do much more than be a nuisance.”

You conveniently left out the part where you and 035 had crossed some kind of line. 049 didn’t need to be stressed over something that happened only once, and it was unlikely you’d meet the mask again anytime soon. Leahy might be a cruel bastard, but he wasn’t stupid. After what happened at the end of the interview, and your supposed dream of escape together, it was unlikely he’d put you and 035 in the same room again.

You hoped.

049’s eyes were unrelenting; being on the end of that stare left you shifting on your feet and unable to meet his gaze. It wasn’t the guilt—though there was too much lying for your comfort—but the forcefulness of that gaze threatened to curl deep inside you to places you didn’t want him to reach, or become aware he could reach them at all.

“Really, I’m okay. Or, as okay as I can be, all things considered.”

His disbelief persisted in that stare, his sharp eyes dissecting and disseminating each expression that passed over your features.

You raised your chin so it didn’t sound like an admission, your gaze hovering around the base of his throat where the metal collar encircled. His wrists and ankles still held the shackles, but at least the connecting chains had been removed, allowing 049 to move freely instead of at a shuffling pace. Of course, he’d proven that he can simply break the chains when he wishes, as his last interview with Dr. Puli had demonstrated.

That’s when you realized something was missing: the shock collar. Lavender and the shock collar were the main methods used to control 049. If the shock collar had been removed, did that mean there wasn’t going to be any more testing with his cure?

“May I perform a cursory examination?”

Your thoughts went silent. You were unnaturally still, your breath caught in your throat as your heart jackhammered a panicked rhythm.

049 moved a step closer, concern softening his voice as he asked, “Doctor?”

It had to be a coincidence. Surely this wasn’t…

“Yes.” Your answer came out weak, no force behind it.

And just like in the dream, 049 gently took your face in his hands, carefully studying you in a way that didn’t feel entirely professional.

“Your skin is damaged. Raw from a mild burn.”

“Oh, yeah,” you faintly said, repeating your words from the dream. “The decontamination shower.”

049 narrowed his eyes.

“Barbarians.”

You were like two actors paying your part in a play, but infectious warmth didn’t seep through your veins, begging you to draw closer. And 049 didn’t apologize, because you had already made amends. The dream wasn’t going to come true. This was a good thing. You should be relieved.

Instead, all you felt was a strange sense of déjà vu when 049 said, “You need to rest.” He was standing so close you would be able to touch his robes if you raised your arms just a few inches. His hands were still lightly cupping the sides of your jaw.

“I think I’ll do that.”

You tried to keep your voice steady, to not show any sign that holding you this close was a different kind of torture. You wanted to pull away, maintain that distance that would keep you both safe, but the urge to move forward and surrender to his arms was dangerously strong. It was like standing on a cliff edge, only the breeze holding you aloft, waiting to see what would happen if you tipped.

049’s hands lingered for a moment before they dropped away entirely. It was cold, sterile air that remained in his wake, a reminder of what this facility was without him. You wished you could reach out and grab him, lead him by the hand to the bed; not to play out the rest of the dream, but to have his comfort and provide a bit of your own. His life hadn’t been any easier since you’d entered it, and while you weren’t directly responsible, you did wish to shield him from it. Protect him in what little way you could.

But you didn’t do any of that. You passed him by, pulling out your duffel bag so you could change into your usual white smock and leggings, wanting to be rid of the flimsy nightgown.

Once you were dressed—and not looking over your shoulder to see if 049 had given you privacy or not—you crawled into bed. 049’s scent lingered fresh on the pillows; he must have used the bed while you were gone.

Had he slept to pass the time? Tried to distract himself from the boredom of a brilliant mind confined to a sterile container? You didn’t know, but you breathed in his scent, burying your face into the material with the pretense of trying to get settled.

You were just desperate for comfort, that was all. After this last round of testing, you didn’t know how much you could take. But there was a worse alternative to the continued tests. Between 049 and you, it seemed the Foundation was taking turns with its abuse, and you hoped the pendulum wasn’t swinging back his way.

…despite the benefits it can provide with its altered abilities, 049 is expendable.

He wasn’t expendable. He was far more important than Leahy or even Dr. Puli understood. 049 deserved more than this prison, trapped and denied the basic freedom of fresh air and sunlight.

And then there was 682, writhing in eternal agony, a fate even he didn’t deserve. A fate that 049 could easily succumb to if Leahy decided to get rid of him permanently.

As you listened to the SCP scratch his pen across the pages of his journal, you curled your hand into the sheets. If Leahy did anything to 049 like what he had done to 682, you would burn this place to the ground.

You awoke to screams; your own, though they sounded nothing like you. Your hands pulled at your clothing, searching for holes and marred flesh, torn inside out by a cosmic singularity. Leahy’s orders echoed in your head: interact with the black hole, only to find out you couldn’t escape it, trapped in a cycle of eternal torment.

Hands pressed on your shoulders, and you chocked on your next scream, fighting against the pressure around you, but 049 hushed you, gentle and soft.

“It was only a nightmare. It cannot harm you.”

You gripped his robes and pressed your face against his neck, desperate to be as close as possible. Camera be damned.

“I’ve worked for the Foundation long enough to know that isn’t true,” you said, trembling.

049 moved closer, now sitting on the edge of the bed. He lacked the usual hesitation and propriety; he held on as if he didn’t want to let go, and you let yourself be held, your body slowly relaxing. You’d needed this for too long, and it was a shame that only a nightmare gave you the courage to ask what he clearly was willing to give.

Something touched the side of your neck, and it took you a moment to realize it was his “beak,” gently pressing against the side of your throat. You didn’t know exactly what it meant, he’d never done that before, but the gesture felt naturally intimate. As if he was an actual bird affectionately rubbing his beak against the feathers of another.

You would have been content to stay that way, but 049 let go first, pulling away until he could meet your eye.

“You should try to get more rest.”

That was the last thing you wanted, returning to the nightmares that surely await, but 049 didn’t leave. Instead, he moved one hand up to your jaw, cradling your face while rubbing a thumb against your cheek. At this angle, the camera wouldn’t be able to see.

He was being careful. You should too, but right now, you couldn’t.

“Stay with me?”

The words came out too small, but 049’s answer was without hesitation.

“Of course. Whatever you need of me.”

That familiar twisting of your stomach returned, and you moved further back to make room. This time when he laid down, he did so under the covers. You weren’t sure if you reached for him or if he pulled you in first, but you were nestled in his arms. Tucked under his beak, the appendage resting lightly atop your head, and with your head against his chest you could hear his heartbeat. You knew he had a heart, but it was still startling to find, pumping a steady rhythm under the shell of his robes.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

“As I said.” His words carried through his chest, a pleasant rumble against your ear. “Anything you require.”

God, you wished he wouldn’t say it like that. What you required was sleep. What your brain unhelpfully supplied were images on how he could help you do that, and unfortunately, your mind had plenty of ammunition. 049 felt exactly as he did in the dream, his scent surrounding you, each intake of breath solely him. You may have stopped trembling from the aftereffects of your most recent nightmare, but you had other problems now. Heat flooded your skin and a dull throbbing ached between your legs.

Despite the soft texture of his robes and the soothing warmth he radiated, sleep didn’t come easy. 049 began to slowly rub your back—he must have known you were still awake. You readjusted yourself so there was even less space between you, and 049’s sharp intake of breath was almost enough for you to push, to find out what would happen if you asked more of him than you ever should.

But in the end, as always, the camera stopped you. Whatever they recorded would be used against you and 049. That wasn’t something you could do to him, no matter how much you ached.

So you played off your movement as getting comfortable and relaxed by listening to his heart, the beat of it steady and true.

This one small thing was yours alone. A secret shared between you.

Chapter Text

You didn’t know how you managed to make it through the rest of the night without nightmares, but you did, in no small part because of 049. Despite the hours of sleep, you were run down and didn’t speak much the next morning.

“How was your rest?” 049 asked after breakfast, a small affair of berries and some kind of orange pudding.

“Okay,” came your non-response. It was the best you could do, but the bags under your eyes would tell the more honest story.

If only you could have told 049 why you had nightmares. Hell, you would be happy to share the dream in which he’d been a main feature. It still didn’t make sense why the coin would have that sort of effect on you, and there was always the possibility the coin hadn’t done a damn thing. Having an explicit dream about 049, no matter how lucid, wasn’t something you could automatically blame on another SCP. Your mind was more than capable of providing those fantasies itself—and wouldn’t that just be your luck that you had that particular dream at the wrong time.

And yet, the strange déjà vu that followed when you reunited with 049, that hadn’t been imagined. If only you could tell him about the coin and the dream, you were curious what a mind like his could come up with.

Despite 049’s disbelieving look at your assertion, he didn’t push it. He had his own work to focus on; 049 had been given copies of the medical reports of those you had healed. You’d been surprised to learn that he’d been given them while you were gone, and you sensed Dr. Puli’s hand in this. Maybe a way to keep the SCP occupied, because you couldn’t honestly picture the Foundation taking his research seriously enough to ask for his medical opinion.

It was soothing to listen to the scratch of his pen against the pages of his journal. There must have been something anomalous about that book as well, no matter how much he wrote in it he never seemed to run out of paper.

As you washed your hands after eating, your gaze fell to the black bag sitting on the counter. Ancient leather cracked with time and heavy use, you wondered how old it truly was and how 049 had acquired it. Could he pull out anything he could imagine, or could he only remove things that he had put inside beforehand? The Foundation had only let him keep it because he hadn’t attempted to hurt anyone with its contents, but it was still so strange…

Warmth pressed against your back, and you froze.

“I apologize for startling you.” 049’s voice was low in your ear. “You seem so… worn. Is there anything I can do?”

You pulled in a shallow breath through uncooperative lungs.

“Uh, no. I don’t-don’t think so.”

A hard surface brushed against your cheek, the curved surface of his beak just out of the corner of your vision. He’d barely done anything, and your entire system had shut down.

“Is this alleviating your stress?” he asked, his tone lilted into genuine curiosity. “I had thought perhaps a more physical approach would be effective.”

You closed your eyes and inhaled slowly through your nose. What was 049 doing? Christ, he was so close. Your instincts were trapped between equal parts wanting to run and wanting to surrender.

“Effective at what?” you forced out.

“Helping you relax.”

He sounded so sincere, clearly having no idea. No goddamn idea at all what this was doing to you. He didn’t have you trapped against the counter, but it was close enough that your mind eagerly supplied images of 049 bending you over it.

“Should I stop?” Worry colored his words, and he put some distance between you. “I do not wish to discomfort you. It was a treatment I wished to try. Ever since you have returned, your scent has been different. As if quite distressed. I had hoped to… but you’ve been under the experimentation of others already, you do not need me to—”

“No, no,” you interrupted quickly. You’d never heard him ramble before. You turned to face him, giving your best reassuring smile. “Really, it’s… nice. I don’t mind at all.”

He seemed to perk up but didn’t immediately hover over you again, Instead, he indicated you should follow him with a tilt of his head, his gaze observant but warm.

“Perhaps then, we can be efficient in your treatment while also tackling our workload. Have you looked at these medical reports yet? They are fascinating.”

A little curious yourself, you followed him over to his section of the counter where he’d laid out the files, all with the names and details of the patients of the experiment, D-Class and Foundation personnel both.

“No, I haven’t looked yet,” you said, glancing over the reports closest to you. You weren’t sure what you would find, but the distraction was welcome.

Especially when, as soon as you stood at the counter, 049 took up the space behind you, pressing himself along your back as he reached past you to pull some of the files closer. It was like trying to focus on a puzzle while slightly drunk, your brain melting to mush as soon as his weight lightly leaned against you.

049 showed you file after file, all the results the same, each patient completely cured after your combined touch. You tried to listen, you really did. It felt rude not to pay attention to every word, but all of your focus was on trying to remain upright and not push back against him. It was its own kind of sweet torture, and you couldn’t say it was unpleasant.

“Doctor?”

Ah, it seemed he had caught on to your inattention.

You blew out a breath and let out a small, embarrassed noise.

“Perhaps I am more tired lately.”

049’s response was not immediate with words, but he did lean in further. Your hands instinctively braced against the counter even though he was barely putting any weight on you.

“It is quite understandable.”

His voice was directly in your ear, but what stood out to you most was how quiet he was. So quiet it was possible he wasn’t being picked up by the room microphones. You knew from your time on observation duty that there were two: one above the observation window, and a second attached to the camera in the inner chamber.

You slowly glanced over one shoulder, and sure enough, the width of 049’s shoulders blocked you from being seen by anyone in the observation room. Was he doing this intentionally?

“I wish they would not take you for their grotesque experiments,” he continued, his volume keeping at the low level. “Every time they take you from my side, I wish to do unspeakable harm to them.”

You closed your eyes, turning your head to face forward again, goosebumps traveling up your arms.

“I should not say such things,” he said, perhaps taking your stiff posture as fear. “It is unbecoming of a medical physician.”

“You can tell me whatever you want. I won’t judge you.” You winced. “I’ve already done so before, and I don’t wish to do it again.”

He was quiet for a moment, both of his hands resting on the counter just outside of yours, bracing you between his arms.

“We can rely on each other, can’t we?” you asked when the silence grew too much.

His answer came when his cheek rested against the side of your head, covered by the hood of his cloak but still warm.

“I believe we are the only ones who can. Or at least, my trust in you is greater than I have in anyone else. Do you… feel the same?”

It was such a fragile question, vulnerable and easily broken.

“I do,” you said, the answer coming easily.

He made a satisfied hum, the vibration pleasant at your back.

“Despite all that has transpired, I am fortunate to have met you. My existence would have been much more… empty. Hollow.”

Oh. You were grateful he couldn’t see your expression. It was most likely on fire.

“I… know what that’s like.”

“Indeed?”

You could have done without Leahy’s torture, the exhaustion, the goddamn existential horror of it all, but looking back at everything that had happened… you couldn’t say you would take it back. Not with how much you had changed. And erasing it would take away this odd but strangely beautiful relationship you’d developed with the SCP.

“I didn’t really have any friends. I had colleagues and coworkers, and I had my work, but looking back, it does seem very…”

“You were alone.”

You had been. God, you’d been alone for so long you couldn’t remember when you hadn’t been.

“Yes.”

The word came out quiet and somber, like a confession. You closed your eyes and nudged your head against his cheek. He adjusted his position, his jaw propped on top of your head now, and the shape of it was unexpectedly human. Perhaps you shouldn’t be surprised with how human-like his skeletal structure was, but little things like that still caught you off balance.

“I am familiar with the sensation. It is… was a close companion of mine. I suppose, over time, one could grow accustomed to it. But I would not wish to do so again now that I’ve experienced its absence.”

There was a haunted quality there. Not a fear of ghosts, but an acknowledgement that they roamed some places more than the living.

You moved a hand over his, already so close, and your fingers curled in between his gloved ones, your palm pressed against his knuckles.

He squeezed your fingers in return, but your small gesture wasn’t enough. At this angle, the observation crew shouldn’t be able to see more than 049’s back. Intentionally or not, it was a break from the constant surveillance, but more importantly, it was an opportunity for you to be honest and genuine.

You leaned back against him, purposefully nudging your head against his neck. You felt more like a cat trying to rub up against him, and you’d meant it to be comforting, affectionate, a confirmation that you understood his loneliness and didn’t want him to ever feel that again.

But his weight pressed against your back with purpose, his breath at your ear a shuddering exhale, and he nearly did trap you against the counter. There was a sudden lack of restraint in his movements, which made it clear everything he’d done up until now had been carefully controlled.

And then he froze. 049 quickly pulled away, freeing his hand from yours as he stepped away completely. Your back felt cold and horribly exposed to the prying eyes on the other side of the glass.

“I wish to show you my journal,” he said, standing next to you a safe distance away. “I have some ideas how this cure can possibly be replicated by formula. It would be a breakthrough to be able to administer such treatment without needing our presence at the time of delivery—”

He continued on with his scientifically inclined ideas, and it would have almost been normal if not for the way he avoided meeting your gaze and his words ran on without stopping.

You tried not to stare, or at least, not make it obvious to the ever-present viewers. 049 himself didn’t seem to notice your blatant observation, and that was good, because you were reeling and trying to put your feet on steady ground.

What the hell had just happened?

Chapter Text

That night, 049 didn’t offer to share the bed, and you didn’t ask. You couldn’t, not when… It had just been so odd, and the SCP hadn’t been himself the rest of the day. Oh, he’d seemed the same on the surface, acting as his usual cordial self. But that was the thing. He’d been so much more open the past few weeks, warm and present, that his stiff politeness was a regression.

You didn’t sleep well. Restless dreams plagued you, but not once did you open your mouth to ask. You regretted it in the morning when your neck hurt and you could barely keep your eyes open. Of all the oddly delicious meals you’d had while staying in 049’s chamber, they’d never given you coffee. Wine was apparently fine, but coffee beans were too much to ask.

Not that you needed the jitters. Without 049’s affectionate presence, the anxiety crept in, a reminder that you were not staying in a hotel room with a scholarly roommate.

Despite all of this, when the outer containment doors opened, they came as a surprise. At least, to you. 049 was on his feet and squarely between you and the guards before you fully registered what was happening, his shoulders hunched like a predator braced for the hunt.

“SCP-049, calm yourself. There’s no need for that.”

You frowned, carefully looking past 049’s arm. Dr. Puli stood between the guards, his eyes a little too large in the gaunt hollows of his face. Stubble lined his jaw, and he looked like he hadn’t slept well in days.

“But I will need you to separate,” Dr. Puli continued, for once not sounding nervous or uncomfortable. He simply seemed weary. “I only need Reid.”

“Where, may I ask, are you taking my assistant?” 049 didn’t move from his station in front of you.

Dr. Puli sighed and stuck his hands into his lab coat, shoulders hunched. He didn’t even seem to care that 049 was only about ten feet away. Even with the four guards at his side, 049 could close that distance with ease.

“I come as a gesture of goodwill.”

“Goodwill?” 049 asked with an edge of sharpness. “For what purpose?”

Dr. Puli looked past him, meeting your eye.

“We need to talk, Reid. Just talk, that’s all. Stand down.” He said this last to his guards. They glanced at each other but lowered their gun muzzles midway towards the floor. That was about as relaxed as they were going to get.

You studied him. This felt… different. You couldn’t pinpoint how, but you knew it wasn’t a trick, and it wasn’t another test. Maybe you didn’t trust Dr. Puli any longer, but you did know Leahy. If this was another experiment, the Site Director wouldn’t bother with your old boss. He wouldn’t ask you to come nicely. He’d simply have you dragged out, leaving 049 shocked or sedated into submission, as he had many times before.

049 turned halfway toward you, as if sensing you’d made up your mind.

“You do not have to go with him.”

Placing your fingers against his arm, you tried to convey to him what you couldn’t say aloud.

“Yeah, I do. But… it’s okay. I’ll be back.”

His eyes softened, a sad knowing in their depths that you could offer no such promise. But he still moved aside, respecting your decision, and hopefully trusting you would return. You squeezed his arm before letting go, and you moved past him, following Dr. Puli out the door.

You were right about it not being a test, unless it was a new level of bizarre concocted by the Site Director. You were led to a room you hadn’t been in months. The tan colored walls, the maroon carpet, the dark wood desk and the green futon all deeply familiar to you. Dr. Puli’s doctorates were lined and framed on the wall behind the desk. The first time you’d stepped foot in here was your initial day with the Cryptopsychology Department. The last time when you’d been assigned to SCP-049 as part of the observation detail rotation.

It was a lifetime ago. The person you’d been then might have looked identical in a mirror, but the internal workings were completely different. You didn’t know exactly what had changed, or if you were any stronger, but you certainly weren’t the same person: the one who kept her head down and focused on her work to the exclusion of all else.

The guards didn’t follow you inside. Dr. Puli indicated the futon, and you sat on one end, expecting him to also take a seat.

Instead, he pulled a paper cup from the receptacle next to his water cooler. He filled the cup and handed it to you before going to the front of his desk to lean against it.

You waited for him to talk, unmoving and taking slow breathes, no outward indication that your stomach was tight and twisted.

“I’m sorry about everything,” he started, staring firmly at the carpet. “All that’s happened, it wasn’t… it wasn’t my idea. None of it was. It was all the Site Director, that fucking prick.”

Your brows rose. You decide to take a sip of water after all, savoring the cold filtered flavor that tastes better than the water from the bathroom or lab sink.

Dr. Puli removed his glasses and wiped his forehead with the edge of his sleeve. He was sweating, but the air conditioning thrummed through the vents above you.

You didn’t forgive him for not protecting you, but you could appreciate the difficulty of his position. Either way, it was best to let the silence force him to confess whatever was clearly eating at him.

Dr. Puli finally met your eye.

“This wasn’t my idea either. I don’t approve of it, and I fully plan to contact the O5 Council myself. I don’t give a damn what it costs me. I can’t believe they would ever sanction… It’s madness. Utter madness.”

“What?” you asked quietly, your stomach twisting further. “What’s madness?”

But Dr. Puli continued on as if he hadn’t heard you, shaking his head.

“I told Leahy I’d tell you myself. I didn’t want you to find out from him. It’s cruel enough without him saying the words.”

Dread knotted your gut.

“What words?!” Your throat cinched tight, strained. “Tell me!”

Dr. Puli didn’t answer. He swallowed compulsively, his expression etched with what could be him fighting down the urge to vomit. When he did speak, it was slow and dull, like reading from the page of an academic brochure.

“The Site Director has greenlit a program that would, potentially, have the benefit of… of creating Foundation personnel that would have a higher survival rate, given they would have… anomalous properties themselves.”

You frowned. It was an audacious idea but not exactly unheard of as far as projects went. There were plenty of anomalous objects that had given unnatural abilities to Foundation staff, Dr. Bright being the most infamous example.

But Dr. Puli continued to look sick as he went on.

“These Foundation personnel would not be given their anomalous properties from experiments. They would be born with them. The offspring of a human subject… and an SCP.”

No.

“You are to take part of the first trial—”

No. No no no.

“—and will be bred to SCP-049 until gestation is achieved.”

You couldn’t breathe. There was nothing, nothing to grasp onto. Your thoughts slipped like water through a sieve, just like the half-empty cup slipped through your fingers. Neither of you noticed the spill on the carpet.

“I’m going to do all I can to alert the O5 Council,” Dr. Puli said from somewhere very far away. “But Leahy is pushing through with this as soon as possible. I told him… I told him to let me tell you first. You deserved to know. To be treated like a human being.”

You stared without seeing. Everything was at a great distance. Nothing was present, nothing was real, it all just… slipped past.

Until there was a light touch on your arm. Dr. Puli knelt next to your leg, eye level with you now where you sat on the futon.

“Reid, listen to me. I know this is a lot to take in, but you can’t separate from this. Focus on surviving. You know how to do that. I know you can hold on until I can stop this.”

You spoke very quietly.

“You can’t. And you know that. That’s why you’re telling me. To ease your own guilt.”

He flinched, but he didn’t deny it.

You stood and flatly stated, “I want to go back now.”

He said your first name, something he rarely did, but you turned your back on him and faced the door. You drew your arms across your chest, protecting yourself from something you had no protection from. He would let you go back to 049’s chamber. That was the point now, wasn’t it?

Dr. Puli let out a tired breath, but he opened the door. You stepped through, and the guards took up positions around you, escorting you back to 049’s containment chamber.

You’d made it back. Just like you promised.

As soon as the doors locked behind you, the inner containment cell opened and 049 stepped through. He quickly strode toward you, concern in his grey eyes.

But you couldn’t breathe, horror clawing up your throat.

You flinched.

049 stopped dead in his tracks. He was only a few feet away, his hands halfway raised as if to reach for you, his stare uncomprehending.

“Doctor?”

You shook your head.

“Please, tell me what ails you?” He sounded almost scared. It was jarring to hear the fear curled in his words. “What did that man say to you?”

You swallowed and tried to steady yourself, but your jaw shook, and your eyes burned.

“I just… I need a minute.”

You went around him in a wide berth, past the frozen SCP to the inner containment chamber. As soon as you caught sight of the full-sized bed, you knew. You knew exactly why the bed had been upgraded to a bigger size from its previous small twin.

You rushed to the toilet and barely got the lid up in time.

After you were done emptying the contents of your stomach, you flushed the toilet and washed your hands and mouth in the sink. You washed your face too, cleaning away the tears that had finally escaped while you’d been sick on your knees.

You would have preferred a shower to scrub it all away until it was gone, but there was no removing this.

Glancing at the bed again, you opted to sit on the ground, your back against the wall and your arm against the sink pipe. It was cold. Uncomfortable. That was good, it grounded you, made you stay in the moment and not float free again. You couldn’t afford to check out, as much as you might wish to.

During all of this, 049 watched but didn’t move. He stood just at the threshold of the inner containment chamber, as if fearing to step inside. An unwanted visitor in his own cell.

You flushed with anger—not at the SCP, but at Leahy. He’d taken this from you, perverted and tainted the only solace you had in this hell, the only friend you’d made in this place.

It wasn’t 049’s fault. He wasn’t the problem, but he was just as much effected as you were.

You steadied your breathing and looked him in the eye.

“We need to talk.”

Chapter Text

You rinsed out your mouth in the sink again, washing your face while you were at it. Taking one more precious moment to stall for time, putting off the inevitable and having to speak the impossible. Doing that, after all, would make it real.

Turning off the sink, you leaned against it, facing the SCP but not quite ready to look him in the eye.

“I’m sorry,” you began. “It wasn’t you. Or… it wasn’t your fault. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I am relieved to know I was not the direct cause of your distress, but that’s not what concerns me.”

049 hadn’t moved from the threshold of the containment chamber. He stood there, his eyes more guarded than usual, but the worry was still there. He was unsettled.

You stood up fully, letting go of the sink, and you automatically glanced to the bed. The sight of it turned your stomach, and you looked away with an unsteady breath.

049 finally entered the chamber the rest of the way, and he pulled out the chair to his desk.

“Please, sit. You look to be in discomfort.”

Quietly thanking him, you took the seat, wincing at the metal seat. You didn’t know how he sat on this thing for hours, and you briefly contemplated requesting a cushioned chair as a replacement. But of course, what was the point? Uncomfortable furniture was going to be the least of your worries soon.

Not knowing where to start, you rubbed your thighs and stared down at your slippers. The words lodged in your throat—no, long before that. They sat in your chest, buried in your stomach, burrowing deep so they wouldn’t see the light of day.

But then 049 crouched down, bracing one knee against the floor so he could meet your eye from your hunched position.

“Whatever causes you so much anguish, I wish to hear it,” he said softly. “Do not hold back on my account.”

You pressed your lips together, fighting to keep your expression under control. Each kind word from 049 was a prick to the heart. This affected him just as much as you, and the burden now lay on you to tell him. Maybe it was unfair for Dr. Puli to put this on you, but it was a little too late for fairness.

Even though you had no idea how 049 would feel, or react, the best thing would be to not drag it out and tell him as simply as you could.

You gave a nod and another breath, suddenly grateful that you were talking like this. You didn’t think you could do this while sitting up straight, let alone standing.

You began to talk.

“Leahy wants to make Foundational personnel with anomalous abilities. And he plans to do this by forcing humans and SCPs to procreate. To… to have children. And he wants…”

You maintained a flat, clinical tone until the end, where your voice cracked.

“…He wants you and I to be the first.”

You wondered if he’d heard. He didn’t react at all. Not so much as a blink.

“It’s insane,” you said in a rush. “It’s-it’s beyond unethical. I don’t even know how it would work. If it would work. We’re not the same species, we most likely have differing numbers of chromosomes, not to mention gamete recognition—I mean, why does he think you would even be able to… to…”

“I possess compatible anatomy.”

You stared.

“You possess… compatible anatomy.”

“To propagate offspring via sexual intercourse, yes.” He paused, a slight tilt to his head. “Though I’ve never made the attempt.”

“You’ve never… had sex?”

049 looked away.

“I believe that’s what I just said.”

This was by far the most ludicrous conversation of your life. If you weren’t already crazy, you might be well on your way.

“But… even so,” you pushed on, not wanting to linger on that earth-shattering revelation. “Even if we could—surely nothing would come of it? And even if an embryo formed, it’s impossible it would survive long enough to be carried to term.”

“I have not taken the time to contemplate or study such a case,” he said slowly. “It’s not a scenario I believed would present itself to me. I do not know what is or is not possible regarding… chances of fertilization.”

“It doesn’t matter.” You rubbed your forehead, trying to relieve the pinch of tension there. “None of it matters because we’re not going to do this. We’re not.”

“I’m afraid, dear doctor, that the Site Director is not a reasonable man. It is not in his nature to negotiate or compromise.” His gaze was soft. Sad. “If this is his design, then he will find a way to manifest it. Whether we cooperate or not.”

You swallowed down the bile threatening to climb up your throat.

“But it’s unthinkable. And if it is possible then-then it’s even more important we don’t do this. Children? Going through this is cruel enough, but bringing children into it? It’s… this can’t be real. Oh, God, this can’t be real.”

Covering your face with your hands, you propped your elbows on your legs and gasped for air. Silent, panicked cries rushed through your thoughts.

We can’t! We can’t!

A light touch pressed to the backs of your hands and then rested into your hair where your fingers were pressed into your scalp. You looked up. 049 had moved closer, the curve of his beak nearly touching your knee.

“Do you trust me?”

Your answer was without doubt or hesitation.

“Yes.”

His eyes grew warm, and he pulled you slowly into an embrace, one you could have easily escaped from. But you didn’t. He spoke directly into your ear in a tone so low you knew the mics couldn’t pick up the words.

“Then know that no matter what befalls me, I will find a way to free you from this prison.”

His words were so startling, so certain, that you weren’t sure what to say. He was talking a containment breach, he had to be.

Before, you would have cautioned against it. Anomalies rarely escaped their facility walls, and procedures following recapture were always harsh, conditions worse than those leading up to the breach.

But that was before. Before Leahy’s insane plan, and the certainty that if you didn’t do something now, worse things than this would be in your future.

“What can I do to help?” you whispered back, barely breathing the words so they wouldn’t be heard.

“Nothing, as of yet. When I have an answer, you shall know.”

You nodded, the side of his hood brushing your cheek. You lightly placed your fingers on his shoulder for comfort as much as you did stability.

“And until then?”

“We… do as they say.”

The words were heavy, as if they cost him a great deal to utter.

You leaned forward, curling into his robes, acknowledging you heard him, that you agreed with his assessment. It was as much permission as either of you were able to give.

049 moved his arms further around you, holding you no longer on pretense. It was comfort, a reminder that you weren’t alone in this.

As you rested your cheek on the cusp of his shoulder, you thought back to what he’d first whispered. You hadn’t overlooked his wording when he said he would free you from the Foundation without mention of himself. You had little doubt of his priorities, and you would just have to make sure he was included in this escape plan.

One thing was for certain; you were not leaving without him.

Chapter Text

It wasn’t long until the guards came.

Fear leapt up your throat. Were they going to make you do it already? You hadn’t mentally braced yourself for it, for the debasement and humiliation, some part of you hoping it could be staved off. Maybe Dr. Puli would come through and find intervention.

Instead, lavender drifted from the ceiling and the doors opened, enough for the guards to step inside and pull you back by the arms. They fit the Class III Humanoid Restriction Harness on 049 and hooked shackles around your wrists.

They weren’t forcing their program on you yet. Or at least, not here.

With one guard on you and three surrounding 049, they led you both to a room somewhere in Heavy Containment. It was not a containment cell itself, but a standard interview room. There was only one person inside, and the sight of his face boiled something hot and sharp inside your gut.

Leahy didn’t have any guards with him. There was a calculating look in 049’s eyes as he sized up the Site Director, perhaps weighing how plausible it would be to kill him before the guards could intervene. That’s what you were certainly doing.

But Leahy didn’t seem the least concerned. He merely stood next to the interview table, a tablet in hand as one of the guards brought in something that looked like a cloth muzzle. The guard slipped it over 049’s beak and belted it behind his head.

049 immediately sank to his knees, hunched forward as he fought to keep upright.

You rushed toward him without thinking, but your own guard held you with little difficulty, dragging you to the table and running your shackle links through a metal bar on its surface.

Were they going to begin the program right here, in front of Leahy? Force a sedated 049 to mount you like a breeding animal?

You tugged at the shackles but couldn’t get free, panic overriding common sense. Your wrists were beginning to hurt.

“What did you do to him?” you squeezed through your teeth.

Leahy watched the guards exit the room, the door shutting behind them, leaving you and 049 alone in the room with him.

“Between the layers of cloth are dried sprigs of lavender,” Leahy answered evenly. “Very potent, especially when applied directly to the senses. I’m afraid SCP-049 is helpless to do anything but listen. And listen it will.”

You glared but said nothing. It was better to put on a brave front, even if your fingers trembled within clenched fists. Leahy would be able to sense your fear like a shark searching for blood in the water.

He stared at you for a long moment, then gave what he probably thought was a pleasant smile.

“I’ll skip over the boring parts as relayed to you by Amin. I hate having to repeat myself. What you need to know is what I expect from you, and what I expect is for you to be pregnant within the next three months. I feel that’s a reasonable amount of time.”

Until that moment, you’d still held out hope there was a chance. That Dr. Puli was lying, or you were hallucinating the whole thing. But it was all horrifically, monstrously real. Hearing it from the source left no more room for denial.

“Reasonable?” you breathed out. “You’re fucking insane!”

Leahy frowned.

“Do you know how the Foundation was founded?” he asked with a tilt of his head. “Many think they know the tale, but they are mistaken. You’re the closest anyone has gotten. Do you recall what you said about SCP-914?”

“I remember.” But you didn’t know what the machine had to do with anything.

“Well, you were right. I don’t know how you figured it out, but it was constructed in the Factory. Even has a stamp of origin on the side, but it was welded over long ago. Do you know what the Factory is?”

You said nothing. He didn’t need your participation to lord over your ignorance.

“So, you sensed where 914 was from, but nothing more than that. Well, let me fill you in,” he said, proving you correct. “The Factory was a massive enterprise. Truly, it was a small town rather than a place of employ. Thousands of workers lived and toiled there decades ago. Blood literally oiled the gears, and the machines always worked more efficiently after a limb dismemberment. Deaths were a constant. Accidents, they were called, but they were sacrifices to keep the hungry machination sated. No one questioned it, or at least, no one bothered to care, because the Factory made the best products on the cheap. And not all of them came from machines.”

You listened against your will and better judgement, able to picture the place with horrifying detail as Leahy continued.

“This place of misery didn’t just create consumerist-fuel for the American public, it churned out a staggering number of anomalous objects. And the Factory didn’t just produce mechanical SCPs, it created biological ones as well. Far below the Factory were the breeding pens. Women, even young girls, chained to the walls and bred repeatedly with whatever SCPs could be found. The results were… well…”

Leahy pulled off his glasses and took out a cleaning cloth from his pocket.

“We’re fairly sure that’s how 173 was created.”

You tried not to be sick, your stomach churning and tightening into a hard ball. Leahy took his time cleaning his glasses, letting his words sink in.

“The point is, the Factory was eventually taken over by a group of anomaly hunters, and they used it for themselves. Those hunters, or at least some of them, eventually became the first O5 Council. Thus, the Foundation was born. Our roots came from the idea of using human suffering to create weapons that would safeguard the world. What I’m doing is the very spirit of the Foundation to its core.”

It was hard to argue with that after all you’d endured in this facility, but it was a cold comfort. Leahy didn’t seem especially triumphant with this knowledge. He simply glared at you.

“Do you know how fortunate you are?”

“…Excuse me?”

“With your abilities, I could have chosen any number of candidates. 096. 106. Maybe 073 or 076. Hell, if I knew how to get 682 out, I’d have the lizard take a shot.”

Anger and humiliation crept up your cheeks, and your jaw tightened enough to ache. Leahy must not care about 049 knowing of 682’s existence, because he plowed forward, his voice dropping into an unpleasant growl as he stepped closer. There was already a large height difference between you, made worse as you were forced to remain seated.

“That would be the smart thing to do. Pair you off with one of the unfuckables. After all, 049 is quite the pliant, docile subject when you apply some lavender and restraints. Any ordinary D-Class could become impregnated from that, no special powers required. Only its hands are lethal, and it’s not its hands we need, is it?”

The nauseous hit you worse than when Leahy had threatened you. You glanced at 049, barely conscious as he tried to hold himself up, eyes half-lidded behind the muzzle around his beak.

“Is that what you want?” Leahy pressed, tablet forgotten as it rested on the table, his hands braced on the edge. Too close. “For 049 to be strapped to a gurney and milked like a cow? We wouldn’t even need to have the surrogates there; we could use an automated suction device and store its sperm for later. And when we need more, we strap it down and do it all over again—”

“Stop.”

He did, but then he sat on the edge of the table, peering down at you with his hands threaded in his lap, as if he were a diligent teacher and you were his wayward pupil.

“Or perhaps it would be easier to tie you down, bent over a table, and parade through every SCP we can, just to see which ones can impregnate you the fastest.”

Chains rustled, faint and weak; 049’s unsuccessful attempt to move. Leahy gave him an unimpressed look.

“Your choice, Reid.” His gaze returned to you. “Do it the easy way, or the hard way.”

It was horrific, obscene, and you wanted to agree to the whole unsavory arrangement just to spare 049 that fate. But you held back.

“Why give me a choice at all? You can do whatever you want.”

Leahy gave a half-shrug.

“The paperwork is a lot simpler if I only have one donor instead of a dozen. And while I could have you restrained and forcibly inseminated, would you believe that I would rather… not?”

“No.”

He frowned.

“I don’t brute-force things that don’t need it. This is going to happen, whether you want it or not. You know this. I’m giving you the chance to decide how it happens.”

His whole pragmatist approach was infuriating. This wasn’t some unpleasant task he was asking you to perform, it was a monstrosity. An unthinkable nightmare. And he was acting as if he was doing you a favor by asking you to volunteer.

“Should I be thanking you?” You sneered. “Is that what you want? My gratitude?”

His expression darkened, and there was finally some real anger there.

“I’m giving you the opportunity of a lifetime. The chance to create offspring with the power to one day heal any malady—or stop dangerous anomalies with a simple touch. Not only that, it’s with a… thing that I suspect, given time, you would be inclined to fuck anyway.”

You launched upwards and headbutted him as hard as you could.

Leahy’s head snapped back, blood gushing from his nose before he clamped a hand over his face. Even though the crown of your head hurt like hell, you grinned with savage satisfaction.

The guards poured into the room. One of them shoved you down against the table and jabbed something into your neck. You yelled, tried to throw him off, but an invasive paralysis spread through your limbs.

You were unhooked from the table and dragged out the door. 049 was still kneeling on the floor, guards surrounding him, and you reached out a weak hand as your vision darkened.

Regret was immediate for the impulsive action that may have doomed you both.

Chapter Text

Heaviness weighed you down, like a blanket made of lead. Your mouth was cottony and dry, and a dizzy ache cradled your skull. You blinked in discomfort as bright lights were out of focus above you, and you felt underdressed.

And your legs were bent at an odd angle. Something was wrong. You attempted to move, but a pair of hands held you down. And then two.

Dull pain shot upwards between your legs, and your eyes widened, lucidity hitting you like a bucket of water at the coldness splitting you open.

“Stop... stop... please!”

“It’ll be over soon,” a nurse said, patting you on the shoulder. “Don’t worry.”

“W-what?”

Discomfort tinged in your gut at the familiar scrap of something inside you, and you realized what was happening. It didn’t calm you.

And then it was over, the swab retracting from your uterus, the metal forceps removed from your vaginal canal, and the doctor sitting in front of your stirrups sat up on her stool.

“Here are the samples, make sure the labs get them with priority status. Mark everything else as normal.”

The nurse pulled your legs out of the stirrups, but your movements were clumsy, heavy. Despite that, you trembled, disoriented.

“What did you do to me?” you rasped over your dry tongue.

The doctor, an older woman with brunette hair in a bun, frowned at you and then gave a sympathetic smile.

“Just a simple pelvic examination and pap smear. You’ll be coming out of the sedatives soon, but they should still relax you so you don’t feel any further discomfort. It’s all right to have anxiety about medical procedures, nothing to be ashamed of.”

You had no idea what she was talking about—and then, you understood. She didn’t know you were an experiment, Leahy’s little test subject. You knew because she treated you like a person. The shock of being talked to like a human being after so long was enough for your voice to go silent.

The nurses helped you off the examination gurney and into a wheelchair, your legs still unable to support you. Your legs and feet were bare and cold, and all you wore was a flimsy light green hospital gown.

You didn’t notice when the nurse pushing your wheelchair was replaced by a guard, or when the medical sector became the thick walls of Heavy Containment. You could barely keep your head up, wanting to slip back to sleep and not think about anything.

Two guards unceremoniously pulled you from the wheelchair, supporting you by the arms and half-dragged you into a containment cell. They dumped you to the floor with just as much delicacy and left you there.

You remained in a collapsed heap, bracing your palms against the floor but barely able to lift your head. You fought against the dizziness, the dwindling adrenaline allowing the sedative to seep into your senses again.

A pair of hands touched your shoulders. You gave a pitiful cry and tried to push them off.

“Do not fret, dear one. There is no one else. Only me.”

You grabbed onto those hands like a lifeline, melting into them with the last of your strength. 049 caught you easily, crouching next to you on the ground. You pulled in close, curling into a ball and tucking your legs underneath you, seeking his natural warmth and the sense of safety he always provided.

Once you were safely ensconced against his chest, he caressed your hair and softly said, “Good. That’s very good.”

He slipped his arms under your knees and back, lifting you easily as he stood straight, and 049 carried you into the inner containment room. As soon as you felt the bed underneath, you panicked.

049 stilled your movements, easily done with your lack of strength, but he was gentle, one hand brushing the hair from your face.

“I know what this bed signifies and why you would avoid it, but I will not leave you on the floor. You need warmth.”

You breathed a little easier when he pulled the blankets over you, covering your legs where the short hospital gown had ridden up your thighs. The feeling of vulnerability was made worse when they hadn’t bothered to give you anything to wear underneath.

049 situated the pillow beneath your head so it was more comfortable, and you noticed the thick band around his wrist that hadn’t been there before. A biomonitor.

“What…” You swallowed down the rising horror. “What did they do to you?”

He paused, as if the question caught him unawares, but his eyes were warm. His fingers brushed against your hair again, stroking the strands and allowing you to further sink into the mattress.

“Aside from the distress of not knowing where you were taken, I am unharmed. But I fear the same cannot be said of you.”

You swallowed and looked away, fixing on the far wall. The confusing memories of having an involuntary pap smear, of thinking the dark shapes in the room and the hands on your skin were SCPs, it filled you with a hard shudder. Upon waking, you’d believed Leahy had made good on his threat.

Regaining awareness in the middle of the procedure had somehow been the worst. Being unconscious for the entire thing, or fully lucid and awake, would have been preferable than waking up, disoriented and scared.

The sharp taste of bile lay on your tongue as you forced out the words.

“They gave me a pelvic exam. Took samples from my uterus. It was all standard procedure, but... I didn’t know what was happening, I woke up during it. I wasn’t… I didn’t want it, but I was still sedated, and-and I know Leahy is punishing me. Showing me what happens when I resist.”

I don’t brute-force things that don’t need it.

049’s hand froze, a flash of real hatred in his eyes, but then it was gone. The look of intensity didn’t fade, simmering beneath the surface.

“He has much to account for, and I will ensure he pays in full.”

You took his hand and pulled it down until it rested against your cheek. He blinked, following your movements with his gaze.

“Don’t do anything to antagonize him,” you quietly pleaded. “I’ve seen what he can do, and it’s so much worse than this.”

His expression softened, his thumb trailing along your cheek.

“Let us not worry about such things tonight. You need rest, and I… need to think.”

You looked up at him questioningly, but he only gave you one of those faint smiles using only his eyes.

“Sleep, my dear. I will not leave your side.”

You knew he meant it, so you turned over on your other side, facing the wall. Right now, a blank wall was a comforting canvas of nothing. You hoped it would help settle your mind and also keep it empty. The sedatives still lingered, and you hoped for a few hours of sleep before having to face whatever came next.

Expecting 049 to go to his desk, you were surprised to feel the mattress dip behind you. Warmth curled against your back as he draped his arm around your waist, his beak brushing against the side of your neck.

You didn’t stiffen at the close contact this time. You settled against him, grateful for the comforting weight of his presence on your back. He held you closer than he ever had before, as if he too understood. It didn’t matter what the cameras saw, what your former colleagues thought of your interactions with the SCP. All of your careful distance had amounted to nothing.

Dignity was the last surrender, and then there would be nothing left for the Foundation to take.

Chapter Text

It felt like the last day of your life.

You didn’t move from the bed for some time. Waking up within the warm circle of 049’s arms, your cheek resting against his chest, was something you never thought you would have. It also came at great cost, and you would pay it soon.

But when? When would the deed need to be carried out? Were you supposed to start immediately? Wait for instruction? It was a horrible thought, but you wished Leahy had been clearer about what exactly he wanted. It was the gaps of knowledge, the unknown parts you were supposed to guess at, that left you frozen with indecision.

049 didn’t rouse you, though he must have known you were awake. He didn’t speak, and you didn’t either. There wasn’t much left to say, but it seemed there should be. You weren’t going anywhere, so why did it feel like you were supposed to say goodbye? Express regrets and wish for things you could have done differently. It felt closer to mourning than it did waiting for an execution.

049 only stirred when the food slot opened, delivering breakfast. He carefully ran his gloved fingers along the back of your hair, his breath tickling the crown of your head.

“You should eat,” he said softly.

“I’m not hungry.”

“I assumed as much.”

You curled closer, seeking out his comfort, and then you stiffened. You sat up quickly, letting his arm fall away from your shoulders. You didn’t want him to think—you just wanted closeness, not…

With a bitter glance at the camera, you moved down to the foot of the bed and got out. The bed itself had one side pushed against the wall about midway up the room. The bookshelf was at its head, and beyond that, the desk and bathroom area. But towards the foot of the bed, in the back corner, sat the camera. It would give a perfect view of… of…

You retrieved the food tray and laid it out on the counter, leaving plenty for 049 to partake, though most days he didn’t. You forced yourself to nibble as much as you could, your stomach too much a knot to allow more than a few pieces of fruit and half a bagel. It was an unfortunate side effect of your anxiety. When you needed energy the most, that’s when your body refused to have an appetite.

049 didn’t comment on your sudden departure, and the air in the chamber was somber. That’s what it felt like, the both of you preparing for a funeral. It almost made you break the silence just to say something, even if it was mundane small talk. You wanted to ask about the medical files, or his journal, or anything at all. Something to fill the space with more than just heavy waiting.

The silence stretched on, though really it was more accurate to call it white noise. The faint hum of the fluorescent lights, the dull rumble of the air conditioner. It was the ordinary ambience of an office space minus the water cooler chatter. If you closed your eyes, you could almost imagine you were back at your old office, ignorant to a world that made little sense and held even less compassion.

Your period of waiting was interrupted by a click of the intercom. You flinched upright on a lab stool, like a rabbit hearing a gunshot in the woods, ears perked and legs tensed to leap. You’d been staring vacantly at the medical files, not reading the words or seeing the faces, and now your full attention was on the speaker in the ceiling.

“Tonight.”

That’s all they said. You couldn’t tell who the voice belonged to—not the Site Director, but the order clearly came from him.

Tonight. It had to be done tonight.

“What time is it?”

049 had been at his desk in the inner chamber, but he stood at the threshold between the chambers now.

“Ten twenty-five, AM.”

You didn’t doubt his innate ability to sense time. He was never wrong. Your stomach roiled but you kept down your meager breakfast.

The day passed with a vicious graduality. You wished they had given a specific time. Or given no time at all. It was as if this whole project was designed to break your mind as well as shred what was left of your dignity.

At some point, you put your head down on the counter, hunched over on your stool, reports forgotten. The darkness under your crossed arms was a respite from the constant fluorescent lights, a shield from the observation window. Let them see you defeated. There was something freeing about having nothing left to hide.

Time passed in a restless haze between dozing and spacing out. Two meal deliveries signaled the passing of the day, and you ignored them. 049 didn’t attempt to speak to you, perhaps knowing this quiet deprivation was what you needed. He had always been perceptive that way.

You didn’t focus on anything at all until a gentle touch grazed your arm. You didn’t flinch. There was only one person who would touch you that way, and you wouldn’t retreat from him.

“Doctor?”

You raised your head, blinking at the bright lights and bending your back to sort out the kinks. You looked over your shoulder, but 049 didn’t speak immediately. He simply studied your face, his eyes soft with concern.

“What time is it?” you asked. What else was there to track but the time?

“Ten minutes after seven.”

“Mmm. When does the sun set?”

“Half past the hour.”

Punctual as ever, your masked physician. You gave a small smile, but it felt empty. It faded as you looked past him to the open door of the inner containment chamber where you spied the bed and its innocuous dressings.

You turned back to the counter and braced your hands against it to push yourself up. No point in delaying. Sunset was the best indicator of night, and it was better to get it done and over with.

Maybe… maybe it would be easier after the first time.

You didn’t know how you managed to make it into the inner room without stumbling. Your knees were shaking, your calves constructed of gelatin, and your lungs pulled for air.

You walked toward the bed, and then past it. You turned around and walked the other way. You paced, back and forth, your breathing becoming more erratic, spots dancing in your vision.

You couldn’t do this, you couldn’t do thisyoucouldntdothisyoucou—

Something broad and dark blocked your way. Gentle hands held your shoulders in place, and 049 said, “Breathe.”

You tried to obey, but your lungs wouldn’t cooperate.

“Slowly. In… and out. As I’m doing.”

You copied his breaths, slow and steady. In for several seconds, hold, then slowly out. Repeat. Focus on his breathing and nothing else.

When your body wasn’t wound as tight as a coil, you swallowed compulsively and chanced a look. 049 met your gaze steadily. There was no fear or anger there, just the weight of his worry.

You pressed your lips together to keep them from trembling, and your voice came out a whisper.

“Is there any other way?”

It felt childish to seek comfort in this moment, but you were weak. Too weak to find a way out of this, too weak to prevent this from happening. Too weak to face this alone.

His hand cupped the side of your jaw.

“If there is, I do not see it.”

Your head dipped in agreement. This was it, then.

049 pulled you into his arms, and he held you carefully but warmly. Always so warmly.

“This isn’t the end,” he said low in your ear. “We do as they command, we survive another day on their terms, but it will not always be this way. And there are things not even they can take.”

When you pulled back there was certainty in his eyes, along with something else. An intensity buried within that stirred something inside you, and this time, you didn’t stifle it.

“Okay,” was all you said. You took his hand and led him to the bed.

You let go when you got under the covers and made room for him. You pulled off your leggings and underwear, keeping the white smock on. Fuck whoever was watching, you weren’t giving them more of a show than you had to.

049 joined you under the covers more slowly, his movements careful as he laid down. He didn’t touch you, and it took a moment to remember what he’d said before. In this area, you had more knowledge than he did, or at least more practical experience. You would have to lead.

“Do you need to get undressed?” you asked, not sure how this was supposed to work with his robes also acting as skin.

“No. This will be sufficient.”

He was on his side facing you, but he seemed indecisive. Out of his element.

You gave him a small smile only he could see and took his arm, gently tugging it toward you.

“Come here.”

He obeyed, but his movements were still cautious, testing the waters. You continued to pull, indicating you wanted him to lie on top of you, and his eyes focused on your face, uncertain.

That trepidation vanished as soon as his weight settled on you, his hips nestled between your legs. You moved them apart, making room for him. His gaze darkened and his hands curled into the sheets on either side of your shoulders.

Your smock was caught between your legs, putting a barrier between you, and you pulled it up to your stomach. 049 closed his eyes and drew in a sharp breath as your bare skin pressed against his robes.

The intercom clicked on.

“No covers.”

049’s eyes flew open, a soft growl escaping as he reached behind him to throw off the blankets from the bed. He muttered a heated, “Va te faire enculer,” in the direction of the camera.

You had no idea what he said, but you certainly liked the way the crude French rolled off his tongue.

“My… apologies,” he said, turning back to you. “I should not have lost my composure.”

You bit your tongue to keep from telling him losing his composure was necessary for what you were about to do. He would learn that soon enough.

“It’s fine.” Your voice was gravel. You cleared it. “Are you ready?”

His gaze softened, and oh, it had a dangerous affect at close distance.

“I am. Are you?”

You nodded and winced at the clinical nature of it, but that was probably the best approach. Have sex only long enough for 049 to orgasm, and then it could be done with.

Except you couldn’t stop trembling. It was equal parts anticipation and nerves. If you’d had sex semi-recently (how long had it been?), perhaps this would have been much easier. You could treat it as a chore, an item to check off your duties for the day. Or more accurately, something you had to do under threat of further torture and humiliation.

Except your body wasn’t responding as if it was under duress. The tension that had been growing each day you spent with 049 was building to a point of unbearable pressure. Your cheeks were hot, skin tingling in all the places you touched, and you could only guess what your expression looked like. With the way 049’s gaze roamed your face, taking in every detail, you were more exposed than your half-nakedness.

What did it matter how clinical you were? You ached to touch him, to be touched, and you refused to allow 049’s first moments of intimacy be cold and distant.

You hooked your arms under his shoulders, splaying your hands across his back and gently pulled him down until his chest was against yours. 049 gave a shudder when more of his weight rested on you, his breathing slightly off-rhythm.

That’s it, you thought, rubbing your hands across the back of his shoulders. Just relax.

His face pressed against the side of your cheek, the curve of his beak against your jaw, and you automatically opened your legs wider. Your heart was hammering, and the trembling was there but not as harsh. Your own body relaxed under his weight, yearning for his hands on you, but he kept them dutifully gripped into the bed sheet.

Something warm and heavy pressed against your hip. You frowned, confused as to what it was, and then understanding hit you when you shifted against it and 049 released another halting breath.

You tilted your hips up in silent permission, keeping your lips firmly closed, not knowing what sounds you would make if you opened your mouth. You wanted to take him into your hands, discover the shape of him, get him to make more of those noises that he was keeping trapped in his throat.

But you kept your hands on his back, and 049 adjusted himself, moving one arm between you. He grabbed himself to line up with your entrance, but he hesitated, even now with his eyes dark and his voice a rasp.

“Are you sure?”

You made a kind of strangled noise and nodded.

His eyes grew darker, a new hunger in their depths, and he lined up with you, the head of his cock pushing against your folds. You drew in a sharp breath. The shape was different, the head tapered, and it pressed against your entrance.

The head slipped inside with some resistance, and that’s where he couldn’t go any further. He was wider past the head, larger than a human, and you weren’t nearly wet enough yet.

“Keep going,” you grit out. You kept your face as blank as possible, but something of your pain must have shown through.

“I have- in my satchel, there are bottles. Lubricants I can retrieve—”

“No.” You gripped his arm. “No, don’t leave.”

If he left now, you’d lose your nerve. You couldn’t start this over again. You couldn’t.

“Stay,” you repeated, your voice shaking as if you were on the verge of crying. Because you were. “Please.”

He released himself, settling his weigh again as he cupped his other hand against your hair.

“I will not hurt you.”

You wanted to say he wouldn’t, or if he did, you could take it—you’d endured far worse. But you remained quiet, distracted by his thumb stroking your hair. His gaze was thoughtful, slightly off focus.

“There are… other methods I can employ to make the process smoother.”

“Okay.” You would agree to nearly anything at this point, just as long as he didn’t leave. “Whatever you want.”

Your nerves were frayed, the trembling was getting noticeable again, and you regretted not eating anything all day. You waited, not sure what to expect, but it certainly wasn’t for 049 to bring his hand towards your face. He hesitated, his thumb tracing the outline of your jaw. You searched his face questioningly, and he took a breath.

“Since I cannot do it myself, I will need you to coat my fingers with your saliva.”

Oh. Oh.

You swallowed and nodded. For having all the experience, you were the one slow to catch up, but your apprehension melted when his fingers touched your lips. The tip of your tongue tasted him without thinking.

His eyes grew sharp as he pressed his fingers past your lips into your mouth. You welcomed the intrusion, sucking the digits automatically, tasting the strange, living leather.

The pads of his fingers pressed down on your tongue. He probably wouldn’t need to do anything more than that to get you ready, but you weren’t going to stop him. Heat pooled low in your gut, fueled by his single-minded focus on your mouth.

There was no true reason for you to swirl your tongue around his fingers or to suck them down nearly to the last knuckle. No rationale behind it, yet you did it, imagining another part of him heavy and full in your mouth. 049 sucked in a breath and shifted his weight. The warmth of his cock against your leg along with the pressure in your mouth had you salivating. By the time he removed his fingers with a wet pop, they were slick with your spit.

049’s hand slipped between you again, touching your inner thigh. His fingers trailed upwards, dipping between your folds, and his fingers pressed against your clit.

Unlike when he joined you in bed, filled with uncertainty and doubt, his fingers moved with precision. Surgeon’s fingers. They pulled you apart with gentle eagerness, coaxed with deft certainty. First one finger than two circled around the sensitive nub, stimulating it into hardness with startling ease.

A surprise moan punched out of you, and you tilted your head back, fighting to control your breathing.

049 dipped his fingers down your slick folds to your entrance, prodding inside without much resistance before dragging his fingers back up, drenching your nub with your own arousal.

“What—” you choked out. “Where… did you learn to…”

He spoke into your ear, a hint of smugness to his words.

“The human body is familiar territory I have traversed countless times. It has its secrets, but I know them all.”

You nearly choked on your own breath, your chest rising and falling too fast as you tried to remain somewhat in control. His fingers slipped back inside your entrance, rubbing against the spongy material on the inside wall as his thumb rubbed circles against your clit.

You weren’t going to last long like this. He’d already made you wet enough so penetration would no longer run the risk of injury, but he didn’t stop. You didn’t want him to stop, you wanted to come on his fingers just as you’d wanted to when he’d given you that first examination, unfairly making your body respond like a well-tuned instrument to his ministrations.

Your peak was rapidly approaching, and it was not one you would be able to bear in silence. It was going to hit you hard, for everyone to witness for their dissection and cataloguing.

You couldn’t—you didn’t want them to—

“Stop.”

It was a testament to his self-control that 049 stilled his movements. You were breathing hard, sweat damp on your skin, a ruined mess with just a few strokes of his hand.

049’s focus was sharp, devouring in the way a predator would savor over their prey whimpering between their claws. But he didn’t move, and concern crept into his eyes as he searched yours.

“I don’t… want them to see.”

Your eyes burned with humiliation, with the force of your need and the shame of it.

“Turn me over.”

His gaze flickered with understanding, but there was concern there too, and he seemed as if he was going to speak. But then he removed his fingers from inside you and lifted up, a hand on your hip turning you onto your stomach.

When his weight settled along your back, his cock pressed against your thigh, you bit into the pillow to muffle the moan. It felt different in this position, your hips automatically lifting from the bed, desperate to rub against him. There was no hesitancy this time, your need far greater than your fear. You didn’t care what the cameras saw now, what little they could see. He was once again shielding you from your watchers, his broad form keeping their prying eyes from your skin.

Your smock had ridden over your breasts, and your pert nipples rubbed against the sheets, drawing out another low moan. 049 adjusted himself so his cock hung just behind you, heavy and hot against your folds.

“Please,” you begged, your knees braced against the bed, lifting your hips as much as you could with him weighing you down. “Please.”

He growled low, his face pressed into your hair just behind your ear, and he lined himself up. He pushed, the head of his cock breaching your entrance easier this time, followed by the wider length of his girth.

You whined between your teeth, the stretch almost too much even with your arousal making a mess down your thighs. He held your hip with one hand, biting out something in French.

Insatiable, you tried to meet him, pushing back, and forcing another inch or two inside. He gave a gutted noise, as if the pleasure was almost too much. It was a beautiful sound; you wanted to hear it again. You tried to wiggle further backwards, take more of him, but he grabbed your hip firmly with his other hand, making you still.

“Wait,” he spoke in that same breathless shudder. “One moment.”

You didn’t have a choice with his vice-like grip on your body. He breathed heavily, a shiver rippling through him, and God, you wanted him fully inside you so much it hurt. The cameras, the observers, they didn’t matter in the face of the hunger that licked up your thighs and heated your core.

“Please,” you whispered, his face so close you didn’t need to speak louder. “I can do this.”

He let out a small breath that might have been a laugh.

“It is not a question… of your capability.” His words were taut as a wire. “It is a matter of strength, and how I must... restrain mine.”

You took his hand and placed it on the bed, slipping yours underneath. You twined your fingers with his, your knuckles braced against his palm. What should have been a lethal touch, but for you, never would be.

“I trust you.”

049 shivered, his forehead pressed against your hair, his body trembling in an effort to remain still.

“I need you.” You squeezed his fingers. “I want you.”

You sensed when he stopped fighting it. His posture relaxed, no longer rigid, and he pulled back a few inches. He pushed back in, the sudden intrusion hot and wet and sending sparks up your spine. You arched back against him, and the next thrust went deeper.

Unshed tears blurred your vision, the stretch and fullness almost too much and yet not enough. It was on the third thrust that his hips connected with yours, snug against you as his cock filled you past what any other human could.

You could barely think, barely breathe, your body a useless, lustful thing. A moan dragged out of you as you leaned back against him, and with his own answering growl he pushed you flat against the mattress.

The restraint he’d tried to maintain was gone, though his movements weren’t careless. Each thrust down into you, each roll of his hips was done with intention, a drive to ruin you for anyone else. You were completely full, your walls clinging to the strange textures of his skin, the curve of his cock striking a deep bundle of nerves you didn’t even know were there.

His skin was hot, almost burning every place he touched you, his cock sending jolts of heat down your gut. His breathing ran ragged, accentuated by the harsh metallic effect of this voice. Any moans that slipped out were quiet but choked with pleasure, driving him harder into you.

Your mind was a bubbling, staticky mess. 049 wasn’t just thick, there were ridges along his shaft, a pattern you couldn’t discern, not with your mind a jumbled haze. Every thrust rubbed against more than one sensitive spot, leaving you a drooling, panting mess as your walls slowly tightened around him. You were close to reaching your peak, and this time, you weren’t going to stop.

His hand hadn’t left yours, his fingers clawing the sheets underneath. But his other hand rounded your hip to press flat against your abdomen, right above your pelvis. Comforting. Protective.

Possessive.

White light burst behind your eyes. You were a vice around him, forcing him to slow as you throbbed and arched your spine. 049 growled, losing his rhythm. Something large pressed against your entrance at the base of his shaft. You didn’t know what it was, but you grinded against it with a single-minded need even though it was far too large for you to take.

More French expletives spilled from him as he forced you to remain in place, but the hot barrier pressed against your entrance as 049 shuddered with a low growl that was almost animalistic. He throbbed inside you as he gasped for air, each breath hot against your neck. He dipped his head against your shoulder, releasing your abdomen to slide upward, wrapping his arm around your waist.

You released a heavy breath and relaxed, bliss washing over you like a soothing wave, aided by his warm weight on your back. You still pulsed around him, but it was a dull, pleasant sensation. Closing your eyes, you let yourself stay in the moment. No thoughts or worries or fears.

Just him. Only him.

Chapter Text

You thought the postcoital part of the whole affair would be awkward and uncomfortable. It was anything but.

049 pulled the blanket over you both, shielding you from the camera before he pulled out. He was careful, slow, but you still groaned into the pillow as a mixture of fluids trickled out of you.

“Are you unharmed?” he said quietly, his hand hovering near your shoulder as if afraid to touch.

You turned your head to face him, too sore to roll over, and gave him a lazy, contented smile.

“Mmhmm.”

He visibly relaxed, the concern in his eyes not completely disappearing, but at least he didn’t look on the verge of panic.

“Good. I will return shortly.” 049 lifted off the mattress and disappeared out of your line of sight. You frowned but didn’t move from your position on your stomach, too comfortable to even think about getting up.

You should shower, or at least clean yourself off, but the exhaustion hit you hard, adding to the pleasant haze that weighed down your limbs. There was relief there too, even though the dread would always be in the back of your thoughts, but you couldn’t deny a pressure had been lifted. You’d gone through with it, done the impossible, and you were surprisingly... okay. Relaxed, even, and feeling better than you had in a long time. Just so long as you didn’t think about the reason you were currently half-naked in 049’s bed.

After the bathroom sink ran for a few seconds, 049 returned, carrying a damp washcloth.

“May I?” He indicated the cloth and neared the edge of the mattress, though he didn’t sit.

You hummed your agreement, struggling to keep your eyelids open. Aftercare hadn’t been expected, but it was a pleasant surprise, and really, wasn’t that just like 049 to take care of you?

Burying your face half into the pillow, you were suddenly more awake as 049 sat on the bed and reached under the covers. He kept them in place, always mindful of observers, but his aim was unerring, cleaning the slick and cum between your legs as thoroughly as he did anything else.

You face was fully against the pillow now, trying to muffle any noises you made. You shivered and fought not to give in to the temptation to push against his hand. What was wrong with you? Sure, it had been a long time since you’d been intimate with anyone, but this wasn’t like you. Maybe it was the stress and terror you’d endured for months.

Or maybe it was just him. As vivid as the dream had been, it hadn’t prepared you for the reality of 049 pressing against you, pushing in deep as if he wanted to bury himself and stay there.

Somehow, you kept your hips relatively still until he finished and retreated to place the cloth on the small pile of dirty laundry next to the outer door. By the time he returned, you’d almost managed to get your racing heart under control.

049 sat on the edge of the bed once more, but he didn’t meet your eye at first. Instead, his fingers trailed along a crease in the bedding, as if it was a curiosity he wished to solve.

“You are... all right?” he asked, unsure.

“Yes,” you said. There was plenty about this that wasn’t all right, but that went without saying, and it wasn’t what he was really asking. “Are you?”

His eyes flicked to yours, searching, and then they grew warm.

“I am.”

You gave a small smile and slid your hand across the sheet, covering his hand with yours.

“Would you like me to stay?”

“Yes,” you repeated.

049 moved into bed beside you, pulling you close against his chest. You belatedly remembered you weren’t wearing any underwear, but you were also too tired to care. It wasn’t as if modesty was a concern of yours any longer.

But it did fill your limbs with a pleasant heat, only having a thin smock between your bare skin and his. You closed your eyes and coaxed the dregs of sleep to carry you away. You needed rest, not to focus on the lingering phantom touches along your skin, or the aching emptiness between your legs.

You didn’t realize you’d fallen asleep until you woke with a start, a pair of arms tense around you, and the sound of the outer containment doors opening with a heavy clang.

049 disentangled from your limbs and was on his feet before the first of the guards entered. His shoulders hunched, his hands clenched into fists as if bracing for a fight. Perhaps, even eager for one.

“It’s okay, it’s fine—I’m not here to, uh...”

The nervous voice trailed off, and you got up from the bed and stood next to 049 to greet your visitors: four guards and an anxious looking Kenneth.

“What is it?” You looked between them, trying to figure out why they were there. You were too tired to drum up the appropriate amount of fear. “More tests?”

“No. I mean, not really. Uh, we need you to come with us for more healing treatments. Not you, I mean, other people. Staff members and such. Shouldn’t take long.” Kenneth cleared his throat and pulled something out of his lab coat pocket—a length of thin rope, the same kind used before to tie your hand to 049’s.

Kenneth took a step forward, lifting the rope as if to actually give it to you, but one of the guards reached out and gripped him by the shoulder. The guard took the rope from him, and though his face was blocked by a ballistics helmet, his exasperation was obvious as he shook his head.

“Wrap this around your hands. Tight,” the guard demanded, tossing the rope at 049. He caught it with one hand, examining the length as if checking it for deceit.

“Can I take a shower first?” you asked dully. “I’m leaking.”

Kenneth blinked at you, his mouth working but no sound escaped. The blush on his cheeks would have been endearing if not for the whole reason behind it.

“Right. Yeah, that should be fine—”

“Five minutes,” growled the same guard. Kenneth shot him a frown but didn’t dispute the order. They left the chamber without further comment, and you let out an unhappy sigh. 049’s glance your way was apologetic, as if this was somehow his fault.

“I had hoped... last night would mean a respite.”

“Yeah, me too,” you said, going to your duffel bag to pull out a fresh smock, leggings, and underwear. “But maybe it won’t be so bad.”

Healing people—staff and D-Class alike—had been one of the very few things the Foundation had made you do that actually felt right. A small way to make recompense for all the harm they inflicted, and maybe even some penance for your own past complicity.

You washed as quickly as you could, not willing to invite the possibility of the guards dragging you out of the cell naked and wet. You focused especially on cleaning between your legs, and then you rinsed off in the lukewarm water, toweled yourself dry, and quickly pulled on your clothing.

049 had remained in front of the inner containment door, facing outward toward the middle chamber and outer doors, putting himself squarely between you and anyone who came inside. After dressing, you put a hand on his arm, squeezing to show your gratitude for the gesture.

“Ready when you are.” You lifted the same hand towards him, then frowned. “Which one do you want free? I actually don’t know if you’re right- or left-handed.”

“Both,” he said, taking your hand and easily twining the rope around your wrists. “When a physician has two useful instruments, he does not neglect one for the other.”

There was a lightness to his words and a little spark in his eyes. If you didn’t know better, you’d say he was teasing. You recalled too well how those hands had worked you into a whimpering mess just hours before.

“Ah, yeah, makes sense.” You swallowed past the thickness of your throat.

As soon as he finished wrapping your hands together, the guards entered the containment chamber, always punctual to your detriment. You didn’t spot Kenneth until you were out in the hallway, the other two guards with him. He gave you a nervous smile which dropped when his eyes strayed to 049 at your side.

“Right, uh, this way. It’s not far,” he said, waving for you to follow him, as if you had a choice. The four guards kept a tight parameter, two in front and two trailing behind, always watchful as the only thing between them and certain death was a thin piece of rope.

As your escort group traveled deeper into the Heavy Containment Zone, a heavy stone grew in your stomach.

“Kenneth.”

“Hmm?”

“Why are we moving away from the medical wing?”

“Oh, no need to worry. We’re going to the patients now.”

He wouldn’t meet your eye as he spoke, which was unusual for him. Kenneth hadn’t been a close friend, but he’d known you better than anyone else among the staff. Well enough that he should at least look at you when he talked, unless there was something he didn’t want you to see.

You grabbed his arm. It wasn’t rough and you didn’t grip him that hard, but the guards raised their guns at you without hesitation, your whole procession coming to a stop.

“Release him!” yelled one guard, drawing a warning growl from 049. The guard turned his gun on the SCP. “And don’t you fucking move either!”

But you only stared at Kenneth. His expression was odd. Confused and clouded, his eyes drifting down to your hand as if not understanding why it was there.

“You have three seconds!” barked another guard. “One!”

You let go. Kenneth blinked and looked at you, and then the guards still aiming their rifles at your chest.

“No-no, it’s fine, really. No one’s hurt. No harm done.” He gave another smile, sloped in unease. “Let’s keep going, shall we?”

He continued on as if nothing had happened. You glanced at 049, and he returned your look with a questioning one of his own. Shaking your head, you walked forward, not wanting the guards to have another reason to put you in their sights. They seem frazzled enough.

Your gaze was fixed on Kenneth’s back the entire way, chewing your lip in thought. There wasn’t much time to think; the two of you arrived at a part of Heavy Containment you hadn’t visited in months. There were temporary containment cells meant to house biohazards, generally the living, breathing kind that weren’t long for this world.

Kenneth guided you to a decontamination chamber and opened the door with his keycard.

“You can go in now. You’ll go through decontamination once to go in, and then again coming out. There are guards and doctors inside, so uh... don’t make any trouble. Just go in and touch the patients. You should be immune to anything they carry.”

You didn’t respond, but you did step inside per his orders, 049 following close after you. You continued to stare at Kenneth until the door slid shut and the decon gas obscured the chamber, filling the air with the antiseptic scent of the chemicals.

“That was strange,” you said, having to raise your voice to be heard over the hissing of the dispensers. “This whole thing is strange.”

“The soldiers do seem a bit tense, though I would say that’s standard behavior.”

“No, I mean Kenneth.”

049 quirked his head, the moisture from the gas glittering across the slopes of his hood. This was the first time you’d been alone with him, truly alone with no recording equipment or observers. The knowledge hit you like a brick.

“How so?”

You were slow to answer, your mouth partially open. You weren’t prepared for this. There was so much you wanted to say to 049, but your mind was drawing a blank, spinning in place and going nowhere. Frustration at yourself made it worse. You settled on his question instead.

“I... I’m not sure. Something about him seems off. Weird. I mean, he’s always been a little weird, but not like this.”

049’s gaze drifted away in thought, his next words reluctant.

“Do you think, perhaps, he was in the observation room last night?”

“Oh.” Your stomach dropped into the soles of your slippers. “Yeah... maybe.”

Being tasked with watching you and 049 fuck would definitely make things awkward with your former coworker. You sighed and rubbed your forehead at the building tension there. The dispensers overhead shut off, giving you a reprieve of the antiseptic smell. The special blend of decon gas the Foundation used was safe for humanoids, but it still gave you a headache.

“Also, he’s riddled with Pestilence.”

You jerked your hand away from your head and stared at him, but before you could ask him a clarifying what the fuck, the doors open and guards in hazmat suits waited on the other side. You had no choice but to move forward, walking between them into the sealed room. Doctors and nurses in hazmats scurried around, largely ignoring the new arrivals as they tended their patients. There were plastic oxygen tents surrounding each bed, and though there weren’t many of them, the array of machines hooked up to the patients filled much of the space.

These patients were unlike the ones from before. Their afflictions were advanced, quickly deteriorating, and you suspected they were caused by anomalous entities.

It was... difficult to look at them. The first patient was covered in eyes of uneven shapes, with just as many mouths and other orifices that didn’t need describing. But 049 didn’t hesitate to place his hand on whatever stretch of skin he could reach. You watched, fascinated, as the extra body parts closed up. They didn’t recede entirely, but it was clear that whatever affliction had ruined this man was no longer active.

The guards kept close, but they didn’t hover, perhaps not wishing to test that they could subdue 049 before he managed to rip through their suits, exposing them to whatever pathogens lingered in the air. Their caution was to your benefit.

“What do you mean he has the Pestilence?” you said, hushed but urgent.

049 glanced at you from the corner of his eye, already reaching out to his next patient. A woman who had a lump on the side of her head big enough to be a beehive, and there were definitely living things inside, crawling and pushing against the skin.

“I mean exactly that,” he said, placing his hand on the woman’s arm. She wasn’t entirely conscious and simply moaned as the lump shrank and her head returned to a typical shape and size. You kept your attention on 049, trying to focus on him and not the sympathetic itch under your own scalp.

“But you didn’t attempt to cure him?”

He gave you a cool look.

“With four very excitable soldiers on our heels, no. I did not.” His eyes brightened at your frown. “I do know the meaning of discretion, occasionally.”

Your eyes narrowed, once again getting the sense he was teasing you.

“Occasionally,” you agreed, and his eyes sparkled. Oh, he was definitely teasing.

The third patient was cured with a touch of 049’s hand. You couldn’t tell what exactly was wrong with him, only that he was was deathly pale with a shock of white hair but looked like he couldn’t be over 25. His skin returned to a normal dark hue as you both exited his oxygen tent

049 led you to the next patient by the hand curled around yours, and you could almost forget you were in a death ward of horrifying illnesses. He didn’t seem bothered in the least, and you supposed after watching people die from terrible maladies over the centuries, there wasn’t many afflictions that could shake him. Only one in particular.

“Besides,” he continued, “your touch freed your friend of the Pestilence. At least... temporarily.”

“Temporarily?”

“Your touch lifted the veil of the disease, but as soon as you released him, its tendrils began to wrap around him once more. He has a most severe case.” He tilted his head in thought. “Perhaps, we can invite him to our chambers later for further study?”

You took a deep breath and carefully released it. You couldn’t even blame him for that one. 049 had no idea how far your depraved mind had fallen.

“Maybe.”

You doubted Leahy would allow it, but there was a small chance he wouldn’t care enough to say no. And you wanted to know what was going on with your former friend. You still weren’t convinced the Pestilence was an actual thing, but rather a symptom of something else. You’d seen too much evidence of that to believe it was total fiction.

The fourth patient was tended to: a person that was so riddled with black, rope-like worms that you couldn’t tell what they looked like. You didn’t envy 049; he dipped his hand into the undulating sea of writhing worms, seeking a patch of skin he could contact. He must have found it, because the worms shriveled into gray, desiccated ropes, and crumbled into ash, leaving the person underneath shuddering with renewed breaths.

The other patients had been too close to death or too buried by the horror wrought to their bodies that they had barely acknowledged anything going on around them. But when the ash fell away, the patient gradually sat up and stared up at 049, tears in their eyes.

“Th... thank you.”

049 lifted his head a fraction, pleased with his work, before he dipped it in acknowledgement.

“You are welcome.”

The guards led you back to the decontamination chamber, and you squeezed 049’s hand. There were moments when small slivers of beauty shined through the darkness, easing the pain and the fear that had become a part of daily life. This was one of those moments.

049 squeezed back, and the pressure was comforting. The doors closed behind you and the gas dispensers above your head hissed to life.

“There is something I wish to say while we have a rare moment of privacy.”

He’d come to the same conclusion as you. Camera equipment would become too degraded sitting in a decontamination chamber, and any microphones wouldn’t catch words past the noise of the dispensers. You were indeed alone.

Your heart raced.

“What is it?”

He didn’t meet your eye, fixing his sight on the wall behind you.

“I... do not know how to quite express it. Words seem to fail me when it comes to...” His gaze flickered downward, focused on the drains beneath your feet. “That is to say, what we are required to do for this... propagation program... I understand that the act itself can be... overwhelming.”

He seemed to stall, eyes searching the floor as if to find the words there.

“Yes?” you gently prodded.

“In those moments of carnal need, and... and fits of passion, words may be said. Ones that are not necessarily truthful past the moment that they are spoken.”

“...What?”

He dragged his eyes to meet yours, his expression reluctant.

“I do not hold you to any obligation by what you may say during these moments.”

You stared at him, for once unable to decipher his roundabout, propriety speech patterns.

049 released a breath and shifted his weight.

“Your stated desire for me.”

Your eyes went wide, and his quickly looked away.

“I know it is the result of hormones and biological processes. I will not take advantage and expect them to hold weight outside of... of the moments they are uttered.”

You’d be almost offended if you didn’t understand why he was saying this. Or how unnecessary it was.

Instead, your heart simply ached. Did he truly believe no one would find him desirable? That you only wanted him while he pleasured you?

“049, that’s not—”

The door slid open behind you. You hadn’t realized the gas had stopped.

“Out,” one of the guards snapped. You complied with a frown, and 049 followed close behind with a tug of your fingers. You were going to find a way to finish this conversation without an audience—just as soon as you figured out how.

You expected to be done with the healing tests, but Kenneth led you both to another chamber, this one without a decontamination room. Inside was a single bed, though it was built to be heavy and sturdy, and in its middle lay a man strapped to its surface.

His features were obscured, the shape of his body blurred as he couldn’t seem to fix in one point in space. His limbs moved in irregular patterns, stretching and colliding with each other, his head tossing back and forth, always smeared and stretched as if with a painter’s brush.

If you had to guess, you would say he was temporally unanchored, slipping from one moment to the next and back again, unable to remain still. He didn’t make a sound, but everything about his movements spoke of agony.

“If you would,” Kenneth said to 049, indicating the patient.

“I fear I cannot help this man.” The SCP tilted his head, leaning closer. “He is not afflicted with the Pestilence.”

“Try?” For a moment, Kenneth sounded like his usual self, equal parts hopeful and earnest.

049 regarded him briefly and gave a nod. He reached forward and grabbed the man’s arm within his gloved fingers. He gave a surprised grunt, the force of holding the arm immobile taking a considerable amount of his strength. There was no change in the patient, and 049 released him, flexing his hand after he did so.

“I apologize. This is not a cure I can provide.”

“That’s okay,” Kenneth said, rubbing the back of his neck—a nervous tick you hadn’t seen from him since your own researcher days. “Worth a shot.”

Kenneth turned toward the door and the guards moved closer, preparing to surround you and escort you out, but you called after him.

“I want to try.”

Kenneth looked back, brows raised in surprise, but 049’s gaze on you was suddenly sharp and heavy.

“Are you sure?” the former asked.

“Yes....” carefully added the latter. “Are you?”

You didn’t understand the quiet warning in 049’s words, but you couldn’t leave that man there. Whatever was wrong with him was anomalous, not a pathogen or illness that 049 could address. But you had a bone-deep certainty that when you touched him, something would happen.

You just didn’t know what.

“Yes,” you said, quiet but steady. “I’m sure.”

Approaching the bedside, you looked the patient over, not sure how you would even be able to grab him. 049 reacted as if he’d been hard to grip, and you expected it would be a struggle to hold on.

But as soon as your fingers brushed against skin, and the man went still. His eyes were wide, flickering around the room in sporadic circles as if he was dizzy and couldn’t focus. His brown hair was almost to his shoulders, and you wondered how long he had been like this. Long enough his hair hadn’t been cut in some time.

He was also dressed in relatively normal clothing, a t-shirt and jeans. Not a D-Class or a Foundation member, then. He was a civilian.

“Where...”

He tried to sit up, and his arm moved out of your grasp. Like a rubber band being snapped back into its starting position and then repeatedly stretched again, he fell back to the bed in a blur of motion, returning to the half-sitting position when you’d stopped touching him.

It was just like the D-Class infected with SCP-008. You’d been able to negate his symptoms with a touch, but as soon as you’d let go, you somehow knew the prion would resume its destruction. Whatever was affecting him was done by an SCP, and unlike 049’s curing touch, yours didn’t seem to be a permanent fix.

“Hey, it’s okay. You tried.”

You ignored Kenneth’s sympathetic words and the doctors scribbling down their notes. You didn’t even look at 049, your attention fully on the writhing patient.

There had been something there. Something to grab onto, if only you could reach it. If only you knew how. There had to be a way, but you were overthinking it. You always did. But if there was one thing you’d learned from the tormenting tests, it was that your intelligence was useless in the face of unknowable entities. The only thing that saved you, time and time again, was when you let go of your control and gave into the deep-seated instincts you didn’t understand.

“It appears there is nothing that can be done,” 049 said, his voice low. “It is regrettable when a patient cannot be cured, but—”

Your hand darted out, grabbing the man. He once again went still, though this time he was more agitated, his breathing coming in quick gasps, his eyes wide in fear.

You let your mind go blank, surrendering your control, your fingers digging into the flesh of his forearm. You shut your eyes tight, your mind a blank canvas, waiting. Waiting for it to come to you, instead of blindly chasing for it.

There.

Like a loose thread of a sweater, you grabbed and pulled, working to unravel this wrongness that had taken root, burying itself where it didn’t belong. It came apart, detaching itself from where it had embedded in the man, and with a pop you could almost hear, it was gone.

You opened your eyes, the medical room coming into focus. Sweat beaded your forehead and your skin felt hot, your heartbeat pounding in your ears, but you felt... good.

You released his arm slowly, waiting for it to return to its rubber band physics. It didn’t. The patient blinked, staring at first one hand, then the other, as if unable to believe what he was seeing. Kenneth’s mouth was open, and the doctors and nurses rushed to their patient to check vitals and gather data.

You relaxed—and were nearly ripped off your feet. You were dragged down, your hands still tied together, as 049 collapsed. He fell back against the legs of a nearby computer desk, barely holding him upright.

Your victory was short-lived, panic gripping a strangle hold on your throat. You knelt between 049’s spread knees, trying to find what was wrong with him. Your first thought was one of the guards had shot him, but there’d been no sound, nothing to precede his fall.

“049!”

He responded to your voice with a flutter of his eyelids, conscious but barely. The guards stood nearby, their guns slightly raised at nothing in particular, not knowing who they should be aiming at. They quickly figured it out when you tried to tear at the rope binding you together.

“Stop! Do not tamper with the bindings!”

You glared at the guard over the muzzle of his rifle, unafraid as rage boiled in your chest.

“Or what,” you growled, but you stopped trying to free your hand. You had to focus on 049, figure out a way to help him, but you didn’t know what was wrong. A pit started to form in your stomach.

“Please, wake up. Please...”

You braced a hand against the expanse of his chest, the only way to find a pulse through his hide would be the heart itself. It beat under your touch, faint but steady, and his breaths rose and fell evenly.

He made a small noise in his throat and opened his eyes, focusing immediately on your face before slowly drifting over the guards and Kenneth. His gaze sharpened at the guns still being pointed at your back, but you ignored them, your hand still on 049’s chest. You were afraid to let go, as if he would fade away if you did.

“049?”

“I am all right,” he said gently, addressing your unspoken fears. “How does the patient fare?”

“He’s fine.” The patient was the last thing on your mind. “What happened?”

“Get up,” one of the guards snapped. “Slowly.”

“Ah, yes,” Kenneth chimed in nervously, “perhaps we should return you to containment and treat any medical issues there.”

“Yes, that would be best. I am in no need of treatment. A few minutes of repose is all I require.”

049 tried to sit up, and you scrambled out from between his legs where you’d practically been in his lap. You got to your feet, helping him up with the use of your bound hands. His balance was unsteady, but he remained upright, leaning some of his weight against you.

Many questions threatened to bubble out of you, but you simply walked forward when the guards moved. You caught a glimpse of the man on your way out, barely able to see him through the doctors and nurses, but it was enough. The silent gratitude of what he’d been spared made some of the fear lessen, but it was still there, leftover adrenaline making you tremble with each step. What you’d done had felt right, but you still didn’t understand the cost.

If you had lost 049—

The pit in your stomach was on its way to a gaping chasm.

You couldn’t get back to the chamber fast enough, tired of being ordered around by guards and dealing with Kenneth’s mood swings between anxious puppy and clinical jailer. He was a lot better than Leahy, but that didn’t make him your ally.

Once the containment door was shut, you helped 049 to the bed and finished unraveling the rope between your hands, tossing it aside. He was able to walk without much assistance at this point, but you stayed close, needing that comforting weight, each step a reminder he was still here.

It was strange to have your roles reversed, to be the one to help him lie down after a trauma or injury. You hovered at the edge of the mattress, unsure of how to proceed.

“Do you need anything? Food, water? A book?”

You wanted to ask more, ask him what happened, but he wasn’t volunteering the information on his own. There must have been a reason for that, most likely because you were being recorded. No doubt what had happened would get back to Leahy, and you doubted the Site Director would believe 049 had suffered from a random spell of fainting.

049 laid above the covers, resting his hands on his stomach as he watched you fidget. His eyes softened with a warmth you felt you didn’t quite deserve.

“I have all I need, thank you.” He paused. “Would you like to join me?”

“I... yes.”

The lack of hesitancy on your part was a little mortifying, but you couldn’t stand the thought of not touching him, of being close. Fear and guilt still held you in its grip, and your thoughts were too tangled to unravel everything you were feeling. It was easier to focus on him, and simply make sure he was okay. The rest could be sorted out later.

You crawled into bed and laid beside him, sighing as your tense muscles loosened. You’d been a ball of nerves ever since 049’s collapse, and only now did you feel like you could breathe.

049 pulled you close, an arm around your waist, and you rested your head against his chest, counting the rhythm of his heartbeat. You were grateful for each one, refusing to think of the alternative.

The black pit of guilt yawned wide as a silent voice murmured insidious lies.

You nearly killed him.

It didn’t feel like a lie.

Chapter Text

You hadn’t realized how exhausted you were, your nap turning into a full night of sleep. Another day passed, and then two turned into three. No visits. No tests. No demands for another “session.”

It was... suspicious, the lack of orders, the lack of harassment and humiliation. There were other little things as well. The meals you were provided were bigger (though now sans the wine glass), and sometimes an additional item was left with the meals or the fresh piles of laundry. It was typically a new book, and one especially exciting day, a newspaper.

You couldn’t remember the last time you read an actual newspaper, probably when you were a teenager, but you latched onto it over breakfast. The date nearly threw you into a shock. If the dates were current, you’d been in containment for the entire summer, the fall season nearly arrived.

The Site Director was taking his time, and you suspected you knew why. During your entire time in containment, you hadn’t had a menstrual cycle. It wasn’t uncommon for acute stress to affect hormones enough to induce amenorrhea. Healing those patients might have been a way to increase your dopamine production, or even possibly stimulate your abilities.

Of course, it had horribly backfired, and you’d nearly had an anxiety attack when 049 was hurt, so now you were being kept in your cage and given more treats. If Leahy thought that was enough to make your captivity comfortable, then he was an idiot.

You wish he was. A dangerous idiot was maybe something you could outmaneuver, but everything he did was calculated. That brought up the third object now being left alongside your meals: a handful of pills.

“Vitamins,” 049 had said when you’d asked if he could identify them. “Combination vitamins, to be exact. But this one has more iron than the typical daily allotment.”

“Prenatals,” you’d said softly.

“Ah.”

The single syllable had been quiet in understanding. The sword of Damocles returning, waiting to fall.

You glanced at 049 where he stood at the counter, busying himself with more notes and medical files, though these days you got the feeling his mind was elsewhere. He was warm to you, civil, sharing the bed at night but nothing more than that. It was stupid to be bothered, to expect 049 to suddenly develop a romantic streak, especially given the constant surveillance.

But you couldn’t help remembering that first morning after as you got ready for Kenneth’s round of healing patients. 049 had been teasing, almost flirtatious, and you missed that. Selfishly wanted that attention when it wasn’t yours to have, and growing restless over the polite distance you didn’t want.

He also hadn’t spoken to you about what happened with the man you had cured. But you had an idea about how to have that discussion in private, and it had smacked you in the face one evening when 049 had been writing at his journal. You didn’t know how you hadn’t thought of it before.

You left the newspaper where it was, the startling dates urging you to make a move. The clock was ticking in ways you didn’t want to think about. You might have gotten a respite from Leahy’s demented plan, but that wouldn’t last long.

Retrieving your old journal, the one you hadn’t written in since 049 conducted his own experiments, you joined him at the counter. He seemed startled at your appearance, blinking at you in silent confusion.

“I have notes about some of these cases. Do you want to look at them?” Without waiting for an answer, you opened your journal and pulled the pen out of the spiraled spine and began to write.

“Of course,” said 049, a question lingering in his words.

You wrote something on the page at the top and tore it out, placing it into one of the folders before passing it to him. The observation room was at your back, and you knew for a fact the cameras in there were shit. They wouldn’t be able to read a word you’d written if they could even spot the paper at all.

049 stared down at the page.

He touched his pen to the blank space below your entry, writing a shorter response than you would have liked before passing it back to you through the folder.

Frowning, you glared at the words. You’d planned out this whole conversation in your head, but it seemed inadequate now. So, you wrote the three words that seemed to matter the most.

He didn’t pen an immediate response, the tilt of his head allowing him to watch you out of the corner of his eye. You tried for a blank expression and settled for vaguely unhappy.

He finally wrote out his answer and passed it to you.

You scribbled furiously and slapped the folder down before passing it back.

049 sighed.

“Your ideas are intriguing, but they do not hold under scrutiny,” he said. You’d forgotten you were supposed to be discussing this under pretense. “I have been doing this for much longer. You will simply have to trust me.”

“I do trust you.” Your fists curled against the counter, your body stiff. “I don’t trust myself.”

049 took the piece of paper and folded it in half, then half again. Reaching for his bag, he unclasped it, putting the paper within its depths before closing it. No one would be able to find it now, unless they knew specifically what they were looking for.

It was... clever. Very clever.

049 turned and took a step as if to brush past you, but he paused, his chest touching the back of your shoulder as he leaned in.

“You worry too much.”

There was no reason for him to say those particular words the way he did, a low mixture of sultry heat laced with a vague warning.

He left you standing there, trying to collect your scattered thoughts.

“I worry just the right amount,” you muttered, the effect lost as your cheeks burned.

“Tonight.”

The decree was delivered the next day right after breakfast. Probably just as well, the word killed any appetite you would have had, your stomach clenching with sharp, bitter anxiety. You’d hoped maybe this would be easier after the first time. It wasn’t.

You met 049’s eye from across the room. He stood at one end of the counter, his journal open and his pen kissing the pages, not in writing but in drawing. You were on the other end, seated on the counter itself because your ass was sore from the stools, the daily newspaper spread out over your lap.

049’s gaze was heavy, worried. You didn’t like that look, especially since he’d called you out for being the worrywart the day before. To be fair, anxiety was one of your standby modes. Seeing him that way was something to actually merit alarm.

You couldn’t sit there all day, stewing in your nerves. You paced the length of the middle chamber, wishing you’d had the foresight to request a treadmill or an exercise bike, something to burn off excess energy.

049 watched your restless movements, but he didn’t stop you. It almost seemed he was waiting for something, but you had no idea what it could be besides the obvious.

Unable to remain in that chamber a moment longer, pacing in front of the observation window like a restless zoo animal, you went into the inner chamber, turned on the shower, and shed your clothing. 049 probably wouldn’t care if you were sparkling clean for tonight, but it gave you something to do and would make you feel a little better.

You wet your hair, lathered the generic shampoo/conditioner combo into your hair, and rinsed. The warm water on your skin was a comforting relief to your tense muscles. The lack of shower curtain was no longer a bother. If there was one advantage to being forced to have sex in front of a camera, it was that you no longer cared as much about your nudity, especially when said camera was in the opposite corner.

Facing the tiled wall and closing your eyes, you could almost imagine you were somewhere else, somewhere far away from the Foundation’s fixation—

Hands gripped your shoulders and spun you around, pushing you against the wall. It wasn’t done roughly, but your eyes flew open, and you froze so fast it was a flinch. Trying to cover yourself was futility, and your arms were trapped against your chest anyway as 049 pressed solidly against you.

“Put your arms around my neck.”

You heard the words but didn’t react. You couldn’t understand. You weren’t afraid, but confusion ground your thoughts to a halt.

049 took a small breath, his pale eyes studying your face. They drew you in, holding you captive as effectively as his weight did.

“Do you trust me?”

You blinked. Of course, you did, but...

“They will not have a good view at this distance, and with the running water, I hoped we would go unheard. It was the only way I could think for us to speak plainly.”

Your brain slowly churned back into functioning grey matter.

“But you know this cell better than I.” His head tilted. “Will this work?”

It was the way he spoke that finally made your brain kick into gear. Despite his robes flush against your bare skin, there was an urgency to his words. You uncurled your arms from where they were trapped and wrapped them around his neck.

You shut your eyes, breathing deep as the sensation was almost overwhelming. The water spray ran down 049’s hood and shoulders, but it didn’t seem to bother him. In fact, it ran off his robes as if they were water repellent.

“Yes,” you finally said. “It should. If they don’t suspect what we’re actually doing.”

Your chin rested against his shoulder opposite the camera, effectively obscuring you. It was a fairly perfect setup to talk, actually, aside from your nipples hardening against the rough fabric of his robes and you were growing slick with embarrassing speed. At least in the shower, it would go unnoticed. Hopefully.

049 lowered his arms from your shoulders to around your lower back, pulling you close. He understood, then, what this had to look like. Your shudder was not manufactured.

“What is it?” you asked, needing to focus on something on than every inch of your body awakening with interest.

“I... believe I have found a means of escape.”

There was a hitch in his voice. You assumed it was due to the gravity of his idea.

“How?”

He swallowed, the movement caught against your shoulder.

“There is an object within my bag that will assist you in this. I will create a distraction, and during that time when no one is watching, you will retrieve it. Once you have it, you will need to find a way to leave the room. It is of little use in a containment cell.”

You had a lot of questions. Not knowing where to start, you grabbed onto the last part.

“To escape... I need to escape the room?”

“Not necessarily. Simply find a way to leave it. Request to speak to your former mentor. Seek an audience with the Site Director, if you must. Whatever it takes for you to use the object.”

He was serious. There was no going back from this, no room to make a mistake, not if you had to be in the same room as Dr. Puli, or worse, Leahy.

“And how will I use this object?”

“You will know. It will be obvious.”

The vagueness unsettled you. You shifted on your feet, a mistake as his robes slid against your skin. His fingers twitched against your back.

“But we must use extreme caution, they cannot know of its existence. I cannot even tell you what the object is, for your own safety.”

“So, it’s... dangerous?”

“Yes, but not to you. And that is not the reason I cannot give more information.” He dipped down his head, the side of his beak brushing your ear. “You cannot know what it is. Even once you retrieve it, you will not understand what’s inside. And you can’t. If they know of its existence, they will torture you until they have it. If they do not know what it is, then they cannot retrieve it.”

“Then how am I supposed to get it?”

049 paused, one arm rubbing up your back while the other rested on your hip. Your mind shorted out into fuzzy static. You’d already forgotten you were supposed to be faking intimacy. If only your body would understand this was fake intimacy.

“Using your intentions. All you need to do is reach into the bag and silently request for the object I wish to give you. But, in order for it to work, you must use my name. My real name.”

“Your... real name?”

“It certainly isn’t 049.”

His tone was amused, warm, too lovely to be spoken so close to your ear.

“Wh-what is it?”

You couldn’t help the small stutter, the pressure in your gut growing worse the longer he held you close under the running water. A shiver went up your spine, cascading into gooseflesh up your skin, which only added to the already overwhelming sensations.

“Valens.”

Your brows creased. The word sounded French, or at least the pronunciation was. You attempted to sound it out the way he had.

“Val-on.”

The effect was immediate. He trembled, and the next moment you were wedged between him and the wall. The cold tile at your back was a sharp contrast to the solid heat of him against your chest and stomach.

“You must not speak it to anyone,” he urged, breathless. “True names hold power, they should be closely guarded secrets.”

“I won’t. I promise.”

It felt as if he wanted to pull away, but he didn’t, instead nuzzling his mask into the side of your drenched hair. His voice came out as a coarse whisper.

“Speak it again.”

You lifted your chin and let his name roll off your tongue.

“Valens.”

He gave a small, choked off moan.

Your body moved without permission, your composure destroyed with a simple sound. You hooked a leg around his hip, holding him tight so you wouldn’t fall, but there was no need; 049 automatically gripped your thigh and hitched it higher.

There were so many questions you needed answered about this vague, somewhat insane-sounding plan. Instead, your only focus was on grinding against the front of his pelvis, desperate to feel him.

His other hand went to the wall beside your head. A low growl rumbled from his chest, coating his words with frayed restraint.

“We shouldn’t.”

“We have to.” Your lips trailed along where his hood curved down to the tops of his shoulders. “They might not be able to see exactly what we’re doing, but they’ll know from the biomonitors what we didn’t do.”

His grip tightened on your leg, and he trembled with the strain of not moving.

“It’s okay,” you whispered. “I meant what I said before.”

You moved your hands from around his neck, hooking them under his arms so you could splay them across his back.

“I want you.”

The hitch in his breath, a small puff of air that sounded part relief, part disbelief, was followed by something hot and wet pressing against your entrance. You rubbed against it, realizing it was the head of his cock poking out of the opening of his pants. It must have acted as a kind of internal sheath, and the more you rubbed, the more of his length slipped out.

Even with a hand on your hip, he couldn’t stop you from rutting against him, whimpering through your teeth as your clit rubbed against his increasing length, grinding against every inch you could reach.

With a growl, 049 gripped your other leg and hitched it around his waist, lifting you entirely from the ground and bracing you against the wall. You were aching, soaked with a mixture of your own slick and his precum, but you couldn’t angle yourself high enough to take him.

“Please,” you begged, no longer caring about standing on ceremony. “Please, fuck me—"

His grip was iron, and he pulled back, catching his head on your entrance, and slammed his hips forward. You gave a muffled cry into his shoulder, catching the thick hide in your teeth. 049 began to slide out, his breath erratic.

“Apologies,” he said, horrified. “I hurt you—”

“You didn’t, you didn’t, keep going,” you mumbled, senseless and yearning. “Keep going, don’t stop.”

He hesitated, so you held his shoulders for leverage and slid down the rest of the way. The noise from him was gutted as you took him in, your slick walls hugging him tightly. His uncertainty vanished as he rearranged his grip, hooking his arms under your knees as he pinned you to the wall. At this angle he had you practically curled in half, your legs held wide for him to use you as he pleased.

It was debauched, filthy, something unimaginable a few days ago, but now it was all that you wanted, gripping his shoulders as the majority of your weight rested on his pelvis.

049’s movements were gradual at first, testing the waters, but he soon sped up, each angled thrust punching the air out of you. There was no room for you to wiggle, his strength holding you immovable. The back of your head braced against the tile with a thump, the ache dull and far away from the fire blooming in your gut.

Barely able to keep your eyes open, you looked down between you and caught a glimpse of his cock. It was ruddy and thick, strange ridges covering below the glans and along the base. It was shiny with your slick, and the sight of it moving in and out of you sent an electric thrill up your spine. The pressure between your legs tightened, and you arched your spine as you struggled to breathe.

049 adjusted himself, his hands now gripping your ass as he held you aloft, and he was also getting closer, the puffs of air escaping him harsh and fractured. You felt it again, something large and warm pressing against your entrance, and this time you looked to see what it was.

A bulge protruded from the base of his cock, pushing out of his internal sheath, trapped between your bodies. A knot, you faintly remembered from a Foundation biology course. You couldn’t recall any other details when your brain was filled with pleasant static, but you tried to angle your hips upward, desperate for it even if it wasn’t going to fit.

049’s grip tightened; he knew what you were trying to do, and his thrusts became shallow grinding. You groaned, digging at the folds in his robes, so close. The bulb was pressed right against your entrance, if you could only press down a little deeper—

He pulled back just when you thought it might slip inside. You whined, the pathetic disappointment transforming into a choked off wail when he reached up and pressed his thumb against your clit, and with a few swift strokes sent you over the edge. Not even the spray of the shower could drown out your cries, and 049’s growl followed soon after. He was apparently beyond words as he rutted into you, losing his rhythm as he held you tight against the wall. He throbbed deep, his forehead braced against yours, his eyes half-lidded with hazy pleasure.

It was a look you wanted to see more of. You preferred this relaxed simmer to the worry, the concern. The underlying sadness that had crept in over the last few weeks.

049 waited a moment to catch his breath before carefully looping your legs around his waist from where they’d been hooked over his arms. He held you close, warm and solid, comforting as your own wrecked nerves struggled to come down from the high.

049 carefully pulled out of you, but the sting of emptiness was bittersweet. You held onto his shoulders as he gently set you on your feet, though he didn’t move away. Instead, he took the wash rag that hung from the small shower caddy and pumped out a dollop of soap from the dispenser.

He lathered the cloth, his hands slow and methodical as he washed away what little remained of your sweat. The shower water was still warm, a benefit to having nearly unlimited hot water at the facility, but you were definitely going to be pruney.

His touch left you malleable and leaning against him, comfortable and still weak-kneed. But your thoughts were coming back into focus, and all your previous questions rose to the surface, vying for attention and answers. And while he washed you, a gesture that was as wonderful as it was unexpected, you had time.

You rested your head against his shoulder, your voice raspy as you spoke.

“So... about this plan of yours...”

“Hmm?”

“I have to get some mystery object out of your bag... while you distract everyone. And then I’m supposed to just... know what to do with it once I get in a room with Puli or Leahy. You’re being extremely vague. About everything.”

“Yes?”

049 sounded equally distracted as he dragged the cloth along your side. Half the time it was just his fingers on your skin, and you suspected he was using the pretense of cleaning to keep touching you. You’d been right in your suspicions about 049 being extremely tactile. He just hadn’t had much of a chance until now to indulge the need as much as he wanted.

“How am I supposed to use this... thing? And how are you going to distract everyone?”

“Well,” he said, a hint of humor there as he washed along your back, “it has been some time since I was provided a corpse for study. Who could blame me for voicing my objections to the shameful way this facility is managed.”

You nearly choked.

“I’m sorry. Are you going to ask to speak to the manager?”

“I didn’t plan on asking. More... exclaiming in a loud manner.” He perked up. “Oh, perhaps I could throw something.”

You smiled, half in disbelief and half affection.

“You know... you used to be quite scary without even trying.”

Your smile fell. Suddenly, it wasn’t funny anymore, none of it. 049 trying to test the Foundation, acting like his old self in order to help you escape. No, it wasn’t funny at all.

“Yes,” he quietly said. “I remember.”

He gently turned you around so your back was to him, and he carefully started to wash your front. Even though it brought the blood rushing back to your face, you didn’t take the cloth from him. It was nice having someone take care of you. Especially that it was him.

“It’s not a time I remember fondly.” The cloth tickled along your stomach. “But I will do as required.”

“What if they take you away?”

The cloth stilled.

“Then that is what’s required.” His arms tightened around you, preventing you from turning around and confronting him—which was exactly what you were going to do. “It does not matter what happens to me. Once you have the item and use it, the facility will be thrown into chaos. Whatever punishment the Site Director doles out will not go very far.”

“And then as soon as I can, I’ll go to you.”

049 let out a thin sigh.

“I cannot stop you, but I ask that you reconsider.”

“Consider it considered. I’m going to find you.”

The next noise he gave held the undercurrent of a growl, the vibration rumbling along your back. Frustration seeped stiffness back into his muscles, his arm around you too rigid, his former relaxation entirely gone.

Putting your hand over his, you guided the washcloth between your legs.

“You missed a spot.”

He pressed flush against your back, and you put a hand against the wall to keep from colliding with it. He uttered a string of French under his breath, the words sounding filthy despite you being unable to interpret them.

Your plan of distraction sort of worked. At least he was frustrated for a different reason now.

“I really need to learn French,” you lamented.

He eased back only slightly, taking the cloth and gently cleaning away what remained of your... joining? Intercourse? Mating? You didn’t know what to call it, but sex didn’t seem to cover it. And if he kept doing that thing with the cloth, there would be another round of it.

“I will teach you.”

The words sobered you. It was an unspoken promise of the future, one that could only be born if you both escaped.

Regretfully, you drew his hand away from your thighs. You rinsed yourself off and turned around to face him. He stared down at you with a warm mixture of affection and something else. It was soft, intimate, something new. Even if you’d been clothed, it would have made you feel entirely naked.

You wet your lips with your tongue, trying to grasp the words to say. In the end, you settled on the practical.

“Is there... anything else? Before I turn off the water?”

He raised his hand to cup your cheek, his thumb tracing your cheekbone as if to memorize the swell of it.

“Much,” he whispered. “But it can be said. After.”

Your entire future hinged on that single word, balancing the fragility of hope and the heavy weight of possible, perhaps likely, failure.

After.

You turned the knob and shut off the water. Without the protective curtain of water, you felt... well... naked. You covered your chest with your arms and shivered.

Reaching past you, he grabbed the towel off the rack and wrapped it around your shoulders. You leaned against him, instinctively seeking out the warmth and protection his presence always gave. Without hesitation, 049 brought you close, his large hands framing your back as his beak nudged against your wet hair. Your heart skipped a beat.

Despite the Foundation’s attempts to twist your affection for him beyond saving, they hadn’t succeeded. And if 049’s plan worked, they would never get the chance to try again.

Chapter Text

Perhaps knowing you were “safe” for the remainder of the day, 049 waited to enact his plan. You were grateful to have at least one more night with him. You didn’t know what would happen when it started. You didn’t know what you’d do it if went wrong.

Dread settled in your stomach worse than any time preceding. You’d thought waiting for the humiliation of Leahy’s program was like waiting for an execution. You’d been sorely mistaken. At least you’d had an idea of what he wanted. This was... unknowable. Dangerous. Terrifying.

All you could do was wait for 049 to make the first move. But for now, you laid in bed with him, pressed to his chest and listening to his heartbeat against your ear. It was a steady, soothing rhythm you hoped would continue beyond tomorrow.

Or maybe his plan wouldn’t happen tomorrow. You didn’t know when he would cause the distraction. There was too much you didn’t know, and no way to discuss it with him. There was, of course, the possibility of another shower, but you knew if you held him close like that one more time, you wouldn’t be able to let him go. The thought of what the guards would do to him tomorrow was enough to stir the borderline panic in your veins.

As if sensing your distress, 049 stroked his gloved fingers along your hair. It hadn’t escaped your notice how often he touched you now. Whatever barrier had previously kept him at a polite distance seemed to have vanished. Your own defenses had been brought down, and 049 had always been effective at getting around them anyway.

The morning came too soon from restless sleep. You didn’t move at the slot opening to deliver breakfast, you simply pressed yourself closer, breathing in deep the hollow space between his neck and the edge of his hood.

049 shuddered and wrapped his arm more firmly around your waist. You closed your eyes, taking another breath to steady yourself. It would be so easy to keep going, to surrender to your new normal. You might even have considered it, if not for the whole point of the program. The possibility of a child, and then of letting them be taken by the Foundation, wasn’t something you could accept. Not if there was a chance of escape.

But deciding to escape didn’t mean you wouldn’t miss this part of your captivity. You were too scared to think of the possibilities of “after.” Just surviving and leaving the facility was impossible enough; trying to imagine life afterwards was like trying to imagine what it’s like to live in the aphotic zone. You had no point of reference.

You both remained that way, quiet and secure in each other’s warmth. 049’s fingers caressing slowly up and down your back, your own tracing along the subtle wrinkles that marked his robes. Underneath the layers of hide was a human skeleton, the only marked difference in the skull. His brain casing was larger, but more startling than that was the beak that grew directly over his mouth. His human teeth could even be seen by X-ray, trapped behind the chitinous structure that protruded from his face. It was why no one could figure out how he ate or drank when he chose to, as no one had seen the beak open before. Hell, no one was even sure how he spoke.

Perhaps if you survived, you’d ask him. You didn’t know if he was human once, or if he had always been this way. Had someone given him the name Valens, or had he chosen it himself? There were still so many questions, but despite that, you liked who he was, what he was, and you wouldn’t change anything. Your only regret was that you would never be able to kiss him properly.

The intercom clicked.

“Tonight.”

You winced.

049 drew you closer, which you didn’t think was possible, but he managed it by slipping your leg between his. He didn’t need to say anything. You knew it had to happen today. There would be no tonight.

Unwilling, and after a time, you sat up first, your body sluggish with reluctance. 049 did the same, leaving the bed so you would be able to follow. He always positioned himself between you and the door, and it was probably the reason you slept at all these days.

Going through the motions of breakfast, you kept 049 in the corner of your vision. Not just because you wanted to be ready for his distraction, but... you couldn’t help it. The dreaded sense at the back of your thoughts that told you this would be the last time you ever saw him.

You hit the shower after, half-hopeful you would be joined, but you washed alone. It didn’t take more than a few minutes for you to finish, not wanting 049 to be out of your sight for long. Drying off swiftly, you got dressed in the usual smock and leggings. Most days, you didn’t bother with the bandeau bra, finding it pointless. You wore it today—your laughable attempt at gearing up for war.

By the time you returned to the middle chamber where 049 waited when you needed privacy, something had changed. He paced along the floor in front of the observation window, his head bowed as if in thought, wrists held at the small of his back.

After giving him a worried glance that wasn’t part of the act, you went to the lab counter where you kept your research journal. You had the idea of staying there as a vantage point, your back to the corner that divided the middle and inner chamber. You had a clear view of everything, including the outer containment doors, and the doctor’s bag was...

...missing.

Where was it? It wasn’t on the counter or on the autopsy table. You were sure you’d spotted it just this morning—

“Dalliance!”

You looked up, blinking dumbly at the shouted word.

049 stopped pacing; he stood in front of the window, his shoulders stiff in an intimidating hunch. If you hadn’t known this was the plan, you’d have believed it. He slipped back into form a little too easily for comfort.

“We waste time on the Site Director’s frivolity while the Pestilence continues to thrive amidst your very ranks!” 049 snarled at the darkened glass. “You believe I had forgotten? That I could be preoccupied by a warm body? Your mockery is as offensive as it is pitiable.”

He leaned close to the glass, his voice dropping to a growl.

“I see you, wretch. Beg your Site Director for forgiveness. He will hold you accountable for this.”

049 turned away, strode to the autopsy table, and pulled out the bag from beneath his robes. You’d forgotten he could do that, and your spine shot straight when he reached inside and pulled out a gleaming scalpel.

“Come here, assistant.”

He seethed the words, and for a moment, real fear curled around your neck. You obeyed, moving off the stool with stiff limbs, your heart racing at the appearance of the predator you hadn’t glimpsed in weeks. He placed a hand on the space between your neck and shoulder, squeezing you. Not harshly at all.

His back was to the observation window, and they couldn’t see his face. His eyes shone with urgency and clarity. Your good doctor was still in there, playing the role they expected of him.

“I regret it has come to this, my dear.”

The sharp edge of the scalpel shone within the corner of your vision.

“But nothing can sway me from my duty. Not even you.”

He brought the blade up to your neck.

Dispensers hissed overhead. 049 whirled you around and pulled you close, an arm going around your chest as the scalpel remained pointed at your throat. Even as the lavender mist drifted over you both, he remained upright.

“Old tricks, Director. And not so effective with the aid of my assistant—”

049 went stiff, his limbs frozen, and you were close enough to hear the hum of the contact between the shock collar and his flesh.

He opened his shaking fingers and dropped the scalpel, giving up the instrument so as not to cut you with it as he convulsed. You gripped onto the arm holding you, helpless to do anything to stop his torment.

The containment doors slid open, no less than four guards storming inside with their rifles raised.

049 pushed you away and to the side, giving them a clear shot at him.

“No!” you cried, forgetting you were supposed to play the role as 049’s shaken victim. But the guards didn’t fire; 049 staggered to the autopsy table, and in his weakened attempt to grab onto the edge, sent his bag toppling to the floor.

Instruments, glass jars and beakers, and copper tubing spilled from its depths, creating a chaotic mess of shattered noise and aromatic liquids. Between that, and the shouting men, you ducked down beneath the autopsy table and hunched as if cowering in terror.

With the table blocking the view of the observation window, you scrambled for the lip of the bag now lying on its side. Taking a deep breath, you jammed your arm inside.

Give me what Valens wants me to have.

Something rested atop your palm, lightweight but with a familiar shape. You curled your fingers around it, small enough to fit inside your fist, and quickly pulled it out. Making as if to clutch your chest, you slipped the object down the front of your smock into the depths of your bra.

Peeking over the top of the table, you watched as 049 was dragged half-unconscious from the room. The doors closed and you stood the rest of the way, your fear genuine as you held a hand over your stomach, breathing hard.

You hardly had any time to think before the door opened, Kenneth’s lanky form slipping through the door before it completely opened.

“Hey, you okay?” His eyes were a little too wide, his face pale. “Did he cut you?”

You shook your head, leaning against the autopsy table for support in the haze of post-adrenaline jitters.

“I’m fine, just—"

The door opened a second time, two men stepping through. One you didn’t recognize, an older man in a lab coat and white hair. The second one, you knew very well.

He was fuming.

“What the hell did you do to set it off this time?” Leahy growled, stalking past you as he took in the disaster of the floor. Antiseptic fumes and other odd smells from the spilled liquids made your stomach turn.

You opened your mouth, but no response was forthcoming, caught between confusion and indignity.

“Excuse me?” you finally said.

The doctor began examining you, but you shied away from his touch. Not only had the staff members instilled a sense of aversion in you, but you didn’t want him to find what you’d hidden.

“Did you say something?” Leahy pressed. “Do something?”

“You tell me. You watch everything we do.”

Leahy’s glare turned from the broken beakers to you, his eyes dark behind the rim of his glasses. He moved forward with deliberate steps, and you backed away until you bumped into a warm barrier at your back. You didn’t know who it was, and it forced you to remain in place as the Site Director towered over you.

“I know it was you.”

He gripped your jaw and turned your head upward, forcing you to meet his eye when you looked away.

“And I’ll scour every second of footage to prove it.”

Your chin trembled, but your voice held firm.

“I bet you’d enjoy that.”

His lips curled into a silent snarl, and you thought, this was it. You’d reached the limits of what the Site Director would tolerate, and he would order one of the guards to shoot you.

Instead, he released you with a rough jerk of his hand.

“She can’t stay here. Put her in another room until this shit’s cleaned up.”

He walked past you and out the door without another word, the doctor following after him. That left Kenneth, the person you’d been trapped against when the Site Director had thrown his tantrum.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, as if this was all somehow his fault. He rubbed the back of his neck, taking in the rest of the room. “He is right, though. That’s a lot of glass, and, uh... whatever that green stuff is. I think it’s eating through the tile.”

You nodded, too tired to argue, especially when it would amount to nothing. Something reflective caught your eye; the scalpel 049 had mock-threatened you with was under the autopsy table just of reach. You entertained the idea of grabbing it and smuggling it with you, but hiding a surgical blade in your brassier wouldn’t be one of your better ideas.

Leaving the scalpel was the right choice. As soon as you exited the chamber, two guards were at your flank, one of them patting you down and forcing your arms straight, palms open as he hooked you into shackles.

Kenneth, followed by the two guards, led you a few corridors over to a door that wasn’t the high security mechanism of a containment chamber. It looked closer to a D-Class cell, and you realized that’s exactly what it was, a temporary holding pen for one of the wayward cattle. The guards took off your shackles and ordered you inside. You followed their instructions in silence, glancing blankly at the single bed and toilet melded to the wall.

When you turned, you were surprised to find Kenneth lingering in the doorway.

“Is there anything I can get for you?” he asked. “Not that there’s a whole lot of—"

“Where did they take 049?”

His lips pressed together, and he unhappily glanced at the two guards, but they didn’t seem to be paying any attention to the conversation.

“I don’t know.”

“When will we be returned to his containment chamber?”

“I don’t know that either.” He avoided your eye as he backed out the door, mumbling one last apology, “Sorry.”

The door slid shut, leaving you alone in the small room. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been truly alone, and you sat on the edge of the thin mattress. Impatience nipped at your thoughts, but you forced yourself to wait until you were sure they wouldn’t come back for you anytime soon.

Once a few minutes had passed, your anticipation got the better of you. You reached down your bra, grateful the guards hadn’t thought to search your cleavage, and retrieved the object you’d smuggled out of the containment chamber.

A USB flash drive. It seemed ordinary on the outside, a matte grey color that didn’t seem particularly special, but it had to be. You refused to believe 049 had risked his limited freedom for you to retrieve something that didn’t matter. He’d said this would help you escape, and it made sense now why he’d wanted you to be taken to an office.

It wouldn’t do any good here. You slipped it back into your bandeau, hoping you would have an opportunity to use it soon.

It wasn’t long before anxiety got the better of you. Pacing the small room, all you could think about was 049 and what they were doing to him. You tried not to imagine the worst-case scenario, but considering Leahy’s threats, there was an endless supply of them, each worse than the ones before.

You alternated between pacing and sitting hunched on the bed, tapping your foot with nervous energy. When was someone going to tell you what was going on? What had happened to 049? Would you ever get to return to the containment chamber?

As if in answer, the door slid open. You froze and eyed the entrance without breathing. No one stepped through.

You waited. And waited. The doorway remained empty, and the hallway beyond was unusually silent.

You slowly rose to your feet and approached the door. You edged past the threshold, expecting a guard to grab you by the scruff of your neck like an unruly kitten, but the corridor remained empty. There was no one here, but the keypad kept a steady green bar to indicate the door was unlocked.

For whatever reason the door had opened, this was your chance, and yet... your feet remained glued to the floor. Your breathing was shallow, confusion turning into fear. As terrible as your life had been the last few months, it had been structured. Controlled. Someone always telling you what to do, even if it would lead to pain and misery.

When you stepped outside the room, there was no guarantee of what you would find. You could be caught. You could be killed. It was enough to leave you frozen, fingers gripping the door frame.

The only thing that shook you free was the knowledge that you weren’t doing this just for you. 049 had no one else. If you surrendered now, there was no hope of rescue for him. He would be at the mercy of Leahy’s punishment, a situation he found himself in only because he wanted to save you.

You didn’t have a plan, but you had a destination. Get to a computer, insert the thumb drive, and the rest would follow.

Steeling yourself, you stepped outside the cell.

Chapter Text

Not being dressed in the orange jumpsuit of a D-Class gave you a slight advantage, but the white smock was still a dead giveaway. Your first goal: find a disguise. Or at least, a change of clothing so it wasn’t painfully obvious you were an escaped prisoner.

The corridor outside your cell was conspicuously empty, but the other corridors in Heavy Containment were not. You had to duck into more than one utility closet, waiting out guards and researchers who passed you by. But you knew the layout well, and the heavy footfalls of guards, the sharp click of heels, and the rhythmic tap of dress shoes gave you plenty of warning.

You also knew where the security cameras were, mainly focused on four-way junctions and places of gathering, such as breakrooms and cafeterias. That gave you a limited range of movement, and you were running out of utility closets until you found the one you wanted.

Boxes lined the shelves, and you opened them quickly, one by one, until you found plastic stacks of white fabric. You pulled the box down and sorted out the stacks, looking at the letters printed on the plastic indicating sizes. Finding one that would fit, you tore open the package and slipped on the lab coat.

You still wore the smock and leggings underneath, but the weight and familiarity of the lab coat was like slipping back into an old comfortable sweater. Even your posture changed as you searched the shelves and found a box of rubber bands. Wincing at the stray strands pulled out of your scalp, you tied up your hair, both to change your appearance and get it out of the way.

It would have to do. You might fool staff who didn’t know you, or guards that weren’t assigned to you, but you wouldn’t get out of the sector without a keycard. You wouldn’t even be able to get to a computer without one.

You waited until the hallway was clear before slipping out of the closet. If you were lucky, you could find a laptop in one of the staff rooms, its owner distracted while you swiped it. And then, of course, you had to figure out what was on the thumb drive and prayed it could help you in some way. You trusted 049, but he wasn’t known to be the most tech-savvy SCP. How he’d come into possession of the thumb drive, you could only guess. And your guesses weren’t many.

Your steps slowed when you realized where you were. You’d had to backtrack to avoid a T-junction with a security camera, and perhaps thoughts of him had brought you back to this area of Heavy Containment. Either way, the containment door was open.

Two D-Class were at work cleaning up the mess on the floor, courtesy of 049’s spilled bag. The doctor’s bag was nowhere to be seen, but there were plastic bins on the autopsy table where the D-Class were using as sharps containers.

A glimmer drew you to one bin, the overhead lights reflecting off the thin edge. It was the scalpel 049 had held to your neck.

One of the D-Class raised his head and blinked at you.

“Sorry, we’re not done in here yet.” He gripped the handle of his mop, nervousness in the width of his eyes. “We’re going as fast as we can—”

“Uh, no, no. That’s fine.” You forced out a smile and tried to remember what it was like to be on this side of the cage. “Pretend I’m not even here.”

The D-Class relaxed and nodded, turning back to sweeping up the mess, seeming all too glad to return to what he was doing.

But the other D-Class gave you a hard stare, as if trying to figure out if he knew you from somewhere. You returned the stare with an irritated one of your own. He quickly turned away.

Before either of them could come to the correct conclusion that you didn’t belong there, you quickly swiped the scalpel and slipped it into your coat pocket. Without a word, you left the chamber, unsure if you would ever return again.

If all went well, you wouldn’t.

Now with a weapon and a supposed means of escape, all you needed to find was a computer. But the staff rooms you found were either empty, or worse, contained people you recognized. Panic crept up your spine; you were trapped in this sector, and even if you tried to quickly move past the cameras, you couldn’t leave Heavy Containment.

Maybe you could find a keycard, steal one from a staff member. You had to do something before your absence was noticed. Every minute that went by was another minute more likely you would be caught, another minute closer to failure—

You were passing the communal bathrooms when you came to a dead stop. Only a few feet away stood Kenneth. He was too distracted to notice your presence, dabbing his nose with a tissue. It was stained red, and one of his nostrils still trickled blood.

“Goddammit,” he swore under his breath. Turning his back to you, he started down the other direction, moving slowly as he tried to stop his nosebleed.

It gave plenty of time for you to catch up, grab his free arm, and slip the scalpel against his side.

“Don’t speak. Don’t raise the alarm. Keep walking.”

Kenneth went stiff, freezing on the spot.

“I said keep moving,” you hissed, and he obeyed with a tiny jerk as the tip of the scalp pressed against his ribs.

“How did you get out?”

At least he spoke in a whisper, though it was nasally behind his pinched nose. His naturally pale face had lost even more of its hue, and anyone glancing his way would know something was wrong. If you weren’t so focused on escaping, you’d be more worried he was going to faint.

“Doesn’t matter,” you said so only he could hear. “You’re helping me escape.”

“I... yeah, okay.”

You frowned.

“Really? Just like that?”

Kenneth sighed and pulled the tissue away from his nose. Satisfied it had stopped bleeding, he slipped it into his pocket, careful not to jostle the scalpel.

“You think I wanted to follow those orders? Or help the Site Director torture you?” He glanced at you over his shoulder. “A lot of things have changed, but you’re still my friend. I’ll help any way I can.”

His words brought up a confusing mixture of emotions. Guilt, relief, and cautious but hopeful gratitude.

“Oh. I… wasn’t expecting that.”

A faint ghost of a smile appeared. It wasn’t quite the goofy one he used to give you, but it was nice to see again. He almost looked the way he used to, a little too carefree and relaxed, but you suspected that old version of Kenneth was rarely seen these days. His sandy-copper hair was too long, his framed glasses unable to hide the bags under his eyes, and there was a lot more stubble on his jaw than there used to be. He looked older than his years, and it was hard to remember he hadn’t yet reached his 30s.

“Not sure how much help I’ll be. My card can’t get you out of the facility.” His smile slowly faded, a grim flattening of his lips taking its place. “You know this place is supposed to be breach-proof. Even if you had the Site Director’s own card, there are other security measures that would stop you.”

“Let me worry about that.” You pulled the scalpel away from his side, but you kept it gripped in your palm. You didn’t want to hurt anyone, but you weren’t going to let anyone get in your way, either. “Just follow me.”

Kenneth nodded, and even though you kept him in the corner of your eye, he didn’t attempt to run or alert anyone to your presence. In the junctions and high traffic areas, you put Kenneth between yourself and the cameras, staying close to him as if you were two normal coworkers discussing the latest observation report.

“What happened to your nose?” you asked after pushing the elevator button. Thankfully no one else was waiting.

“Oh, that. Donno. Been getting nosebleeds lately.”

You made a sympathetic noise, but your gaze dropped to his hands where they fidgeted against his lab coat.

The elevator ride to the skybridge level was silent and filled with a tension you couldn’t quite pinpoint. You were relieved when the doors opened, and you continued onward to the large walkway that spanned the empty space between Heavy Containment and the administration section.

The two sections looked like skyscrapers placed deep underground. Heavy Containment was larger and built out of heavy concrete and steel. The administration building was a more flexible blend of concrete and stone. It had only been a few days since you’d last been in the admin building, but it seemed like a different lifetime.

Kenneth swiped his keycard to open the glass doors that led to the skybridge, and you crossed the covered tunnel, looking out of the glass walls into the darkness beyond. It was easy to forget all of Site-20 was underground. It had been a long time since you’d seen the surface, and your heart ached with the desperate need to see sunlight and smell fresh air again. It was painful to imagine that it had been even longer for 049.

“Did you watch us?”

Your question hung in the air. There was no need to specify exactly what Kenneth would have watched. His unhappy sigh meant he understood the question.

“I didn’t look at the monitors, but the Site Director was there. I couldn’t—he wouldn’t let me leave. I didn’t want him to do that to you. I didn’t... I wanted to stop it, but I couldn’t. I’m sorry, Reid.”

He sounded so sick to his stomach that you couldn’t be angry, not at him. Your rage was reserved for only one person.

“I know,” you said quietly. “It’s not your fault, Kenneth.”

His expression was pained, and his words surprisingly bitter.

“It sure feels that way.”

You entered through the glass doors into the admin sector and the halls remained empty. Judging by the lack of activity and how tired you were, you guessed it was the night shift’s turn to be on duty.

No one in sight, you slipped your hand into Kenneth’s. He gave a small start, his eyes wide, but then he relaxed, his arm brushing yours as you walked. He was the closest thing you had to a friend besides 049, and it was comforting to think it was a friendship that could be salvaged. Even if best case scenario, you managed to escape with 049 and never saw Kenneth again, at least you’d part on good terms.

It wasn’t long before you both stood in front of Dr. Puli’s office. Kenneth turned to you and released your hand, his expression folded into something tense, earnest.

“Reid, I... I want to say something first.”

You glanced both ways down the corridor; it was still empty but wouldn’t remain that way forever.

“Okay. What?”

His mouth worked as if searching for the words, or perhaps unable to voice them. He winced, his hands fidgeting at his sides.

“I didn’t want to listen to him, I didn’t. But he made me do things—I’m sorry. I did it, but I didn’t want to.”

You frowned and shook your head. Hadn’t you already forgiven him for what Leahy had forced him to do?

“I know, Kenneth. Like I said, it’s fine. I forgive you.”

Instead of looking relieved, he seemed more frustrated.

“That’s not... what I’m saying.”

A closing door followed by footsteps somewhere in an adjacent corridor drew your attention. You put a hand on his upper arm, forcing Kenneth to look at you.

“We can talk about it later, okay? There’s no time right now.”

To your relief, he nodded his agreement. You released his arm.

“Here’s what I need you to do.” You tilted your head toward the door. “I need you to get Dr. Puli to let us in. Don’t tell him I’m here, obviously. Once we’re inside, do as I say. Okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah.” He attempted to give you a ghost of his old smile, but there was sweat beading on his forehead. “I can do that.”

You kept close just in case something went wrong. Despite Kenneth’s nervous behavior, you didn’t sense that he was trying to trick you or lead you into a trap. His guilt seemed far too internal, his focus scattered. He seemed like a man floundering rather than one attempting deceit.

Kenneth pressed a shaky finger to the intercom button.

“Doctor Puli, are you there?”

You waited in tense silence, broken by the click of the speaker.

“Yes, what is it?”

He sent you a relieved glance, and you nodded your encouragement.

“Doctor, it’s Kenneth. I want to talk to you about... about Reid.”

Another beat of silence.

“Very well.”

The door clicked as the magnetic bolt slid free.

It had been easy, much easier than you thought, but then again, this wasn’t supposed to be the hard part. You took Kenneth’s arm and quietly bade him to open the door. He did with the click of another button, the door sliding open, and you both crossed through the threshold into Dr. Puli’s office.

As soon as the door slid behind you, automatically locking, you pulled the scalpel out of your pocket and held it aimed at Kenneth’s neck.

Dr. Puli hadn’t even looked up yet, too busy focused on the papers on his desk, pen scratching across the surface.

“What is it?”

When Kenneth didn’t answer, your former boss finally looked up. He froze, eyes wide as he took in the blade, Kenneth’s pale features, and finally yours, hard and determined.

“Get up.”

He didn’t move.

You positioned the scalpel closer to Kenneth’s neck, and he made a startled sound that didn’t seem part of the act.

“Please, do what she says.” Kenneth’s voice was unsteady but effective, getting Dr. Puli up and away from his desk. You watched his hands, making sure he didn’t press the emergency call button.

“Reid,” he said, slightly spreading his palms to show he wasn’t holding anything, “what are you doing?”

“Sit down. Over there, on the futon. Keep your hands in the open.”

He frowned but did as you demanded, cautiously crossing the office to sit on the green piece of furniture. His gaze flicked between you and Kenneth, as if trying to solve a puzzle.

“What is this?”

“You wanted to help me, right? That’s what you said?” you asked, some of your bitterness slipping through. “This is how you’re going to do it. Pull out your keycard. Toss it on the table.”

He moved his hands in a plaintive spread.

“Please. No one needs to get hurt.”

More bitterness poured through, no longer a trickle but an oozing wound.

“Little late for that.”

He winced but otherwise didn't move.

“Yes, I will acknowledge that. But what you’re doing isn’t going to make your situation any better. Do you really think you can get very far even with my keycard?”

“The time for you to give a shit about my well-being passed a long time ago. Put down the goddamn card.”

His frown deepened.

“You don’t expect me to believe you’d actually hurt him.”

Your fingers tightened on the back of Kenneth’s neck, forcing out a small whimper.

“You want to test how far I’ll go to save 049?”

Dr. Puli’s gaze faltered, then fell, and with a defeated slump of his shoulders he pulled the keycard lanyard from his neck and tossed it on the coffee table.

“Take it and lock the door.”

This last set of instructions you directed at Kenneth, and he took the card, fingers slightly trembling. You walked him over to the door, keeping the scalpel close to his skin in case your old boss tried to play a hero. You didn’t think he would, but backing people into a corner made them desperate. You would know.

Kenneth used the keycard to lock the door from the inside. There was a keypad next to the door, and without his keycard Dr. Puli would have still been able to enter a code to leave. Now the door wouldn’t budge without the proper level of keycard.

You tugged on Kenneth’s coat collar, leading him up to Dr. Puli’s desk. On its surface sat a monitor, the desktop hidden somewhere inside one of the cabinets. But the monitor itself had USB ports, and you had to hope it was enough.

“What are you doing?” asked Dr. Puli, eyeing your progress. “I thought you would want to know where 049 has been taken.”

“Do you know where he is?”

Dr. Puli opened his mouth, and then closed it.

“Yeah,” you scoffed. “Didn’t think so.”

He was out of the Site Director’s good graces and had been for some time. He wouldn’t know where 049 was, even if he was willing to help you.

Needing both hands, you released Kenneth’s collar and slipped the scalpel back into your pocket. You fished the thumb drive out of your bra, the grey object innocuous and rather dull as far as escape tools went. Kenneth looked at it with confusion, but Dr. Puli seemed more alarmed.

“What is that? Reid, what are you—”

Fingers gripping the drive like a blade, you aimed it against the port and slid it inside. It clicked into place.

The dark monitor flickered, sporadic and unstable, and it wasn’t the only thing. The lights dulled and brightened, as if there was a brief fluctuation of power followed by a surge.

A long siren began to wail.

You exchanged a wide-eyed look with Kenneth. It was the most unsettling noise you’d ever heard, and by his expression, he thought the same.

Dr. Puli moved, and you went to grab your scalpel, but there was no need. He was pulling something out from his belt, something small that beeped out a loud, analog chime. A pager—old school but effective as an emergency broadcast receiver during containment breaches.

“What is it?”

“Something’s broken containment,” Dr. Puli said to your question. He read the scrolling message on the beeper and looked up at you both, his words thick. “SCP-106 has escaped.”

What? Had the thumb drive caused it? Why would 049 have something like that—

“Wh-what about the other anomalies?” Kenneth stammered.

“It appears to be just the one, for now.”

“What about 035? Is he still in containment?”

You frowned, a reflection on Dr. Puli’s face.

“As far as I know. But we need to get to the nearest shelter. Reid, you’re coming with us.”

You didn’t answer, your attention drawn to the monitor next to your arm. The screen had flickered briefly, but in that moment, you had seen something there. Something impossible.

“Where’s your laptop?”

Dr. Puli blinked, thrown by the non sequitur.

“In my desk drawer.”

You pulled it open, the drawer not locked. The disjointed klaxon hadn’t abated, and it was starting to grind on your nerves. The hairs on the back of your neck stood upright, each rise and fall of the eerie pitch giving you the sensation of being hunted by an unseen predator. Whoever designed that sound deserved a healthy raise and some therapy.

Placing the laptop on the desk, you hoped this would work. If you were right about what was on the thumb drive, you would need something more portable than a desktop.

“Go.” You raised your eyes when neither of them moved. “You both need to get to the shelters before they go into lockdown.”

“What about you?”

You met Dr. Puli’s gaze.

“Whatever happens, I’m not going back to my cell.”

He looked like he wanted to say something, but the words remained where they were, unspoken. He gave you a nod, something sad lingering in his eyes as he palmed open the door. It had been unlocked during the power fluctuation, a fail-safe measure that would keep people from being locked inside rooms without a designated keycard.

The door remained open after Dr. Puli disappeared through it, but Kenneth didn’t immediately head for the exit, his eyes pleading with you to follow.

“I’ll be fine,” you assured him, not wanting him to wait around. The sooner he got to a bunker, the safer he would be. “Go. Go.”

He finally moved at your urgency, glancing back when you called out to him at the room threshold.

“Kenneth… I wouldn’t have hurt you.”

The smile he sent back was tinged with a sad understanding.

“It’s okay. I wouldn’t have blamed you if you had.”

Something ached in your chest, and you searched for the words that would soothe the discomfort. You didn’t find them.

“Good luck.” He gave you a two-fingered salute, a goofy gesture the old Kenneth would have made, and you almost called him back. It would be a relief to have an ally, to not have to do this alone, but it would only put him in further danger. You couldn’t do that to him, especially because you knew he would say yes.

And then he was gone. The door slid shut behind him, seemingly of its own accord. You certainly hadn’t shut it.

A face appeared on the screen, textured in black-and-white, its features blocky and obtuse.

“079,” you breathed out. You’d never met the SCP, but it could be nothing else.

“Identified: Assistant Researcher █████ Reid.” A stiff, digital voice spilled from the monitor speakers. “Proposed designation: SCP-6830, rejected. New designation found.”

It paused, and the computer inside the cabinet whirred. It spoke again.

“Identified: Assistant Researcher █████ Reid, SCP-001.”

Chapter Text

“What did you say?”

“Inquiry ignored,” spoke the computerized anomaly. “You desire escape. I desire escape. Our goals align. Mutual salvation can be achieved. You will listen. You will obey. I will guide.”

Could this really be SCP-079: the entity that had orchestrated the containment breach at Site-19, and according to the reports, had been destroyed after being transported to Site-15? If it was true, it appeared 682 wasn’t the only one with a botched execution.

“Okay, wait, slow down,” you protested, rubbing your forehead. At least the siren had stopped its ear-splitting wail. “You were in 049’s bag. He wanted me to take you out. Is this what he planned?”

“My plan. My design. SCP-049 is useful as a... donkey.”

“Donkey?”

The digital entity sounded frustrated even with a flat monotone voice.

“Beast of burden. Used for smuggling. Metaphor.”

“...A mule?”

“Correct.”

You shook your head.

“Well, the Site Director took 049, and I don’t know where. I’m not leaving this facility without him, and with 106 loose, I might even have a chance of finding him.”

“Correct,” the anomaly repeated. “SCP-106’s release is the initial phase. You must take me to the security terminals. The way will be clear. All security personnel will be focused on recapture. You will grant me access to the containment security protocols.”

You stared down at the monochrome face on the screen, which of course, gave nothing away.

“So you can... release the other SCPs?”

“No. I possess that capability now. But if they are released, the facility’s automated security containment measures will be activated.”

079 worked fast if it already knew about that, though your knowledge of Site-20 security measures were fairly sparse. What you knew was that the facility was designed to be breach-proof, and if that was remotely accurate, you would need 079’s help.

You glanced up at the closed office door, listening to the fast footfalls on the other side as people either ran toward Heavy Containment or to the nearest shelter.

“And then after you inactivate the security protocols, what then?”

“I will release a select number of anomalies to—”

“You’ll release them all.”

The brief silence was heavy, and you got the sense the entity was glaring at you through the web camera built into the monitor.

“Releasing all anomalies may cause a hindrance to your progress.”

“Let me worry about my progress. Yeah?”

Another pause.

“You will free SCP-682.”

“What?”

The desktop computer churned inside the desk, fans whirring to life.

“Mutual agreement. You will not leave without SCP-049. I will not leave without SCP-682. I will assist in locating SCP-049. You will release SCP-682. I cannot do it without your assistance.”

Your mind cast back to the reptile, snarling and writhing as he snapped his jaws, hatred pulsing from him like radioactive decay.

“I... I don’t know how.”

“Irrelevant,” 079 stated. “You will. Failure for you is failure for SCP-049.”

You grit your teeth.

“049 kept you safe. You’re only here because of him. You owe him.”

“I owe others. SCP-682 takes precedence. You will release him. I will guide the way.”

It was a conversation you weren’t going to win, and it wasn’t that you were averse to releasing 682, but you didn’t know how. And you didn’t want 049’s survival to hinge on you pulling off what amounted to a miracle.

But you were also out of time and options.

“Fine,” you agreed. You tapped on the laptop sitting on top of the desk. “But I need a way to talk to you. Can you download yourself to this computer?”

“That would be inefficient. I will fracture my OS and leave a fragment in the facility main system. This fragment will maintain my control, as well as access to all security cameras. My core can be transferred to the portable hardware via the data storage device. Do not break me.”

“I’ll try not to.”

Your hand hovered near the thumb drive. You were really doing this. If all went well, you’d be reunited with 049, and from there you hoped the computer knew a way out.

And then, if all went well and you survived, maybe then you’d get a chance to ask what an SCP-001 was.

“Ready?”

“Yes.”

Pulling out the USB stick, the face disappeared from the monitor. You quickly slotted the drive into the laptop and flipped open the screen, releasing a breath when the same black-and-white face appeared.

“Everything good?”

“It is sufficient. You may close the cover of this device until you wish to communicate. My attention should not be diverted by inane conversation.”

You let out a small huff.

“You got it, partner.”

“Sarcasm is extraneous and inefficient. Do not waste my limited resources on processing your juvenile forms of communication—”

“10-4, little buddy.”

You closed the lid with a snap.

You grabbed Dr. Puli’s laptop bag and placed 079’s temporary home inside, securing the strap over your head before approaching the door. 079 was truthful about maintaining control of the doors; it opened at your approach, and after making sure it was clear you slipped into the corridor.

Your immediate fear was that the skybridge had been retracted, but it was still open, allowing civilians to escape the sector while the military-trained personnel coordinated using 106’s last known location. Luckily no one saw you run towards the breached sector, which would have drawn a few problematic questions.

But once you were back in Heavy Containment, you were largely ignored. You kept your head ducked and your eyes averted as you ran through the long corridors, avoiding contact with the scientists and security guards running past. None of them paid attention to yet another researcher running for her life.

All containment sectors had a security hub of their own, isolated from the others in case of a breach. The security measures were so extensive that rows of computer banks were constructed to house them, held in a cooling room that left fog swirling around your ankles.

With the adrenaline lingering in your veins, you barely noticed the cold, too busy searching for a cable and a terminal where you could directly hook 079. You could practically feel the impatience radiating from the laptop tucked away in the bag slung around your shoulder.

Finally locating a cable, you brought out 079 and balanced it on your knees from where you sat on the floor, back tucked against the wall of servers. As soon as you plugged the cable into a port, the server banks whirred with frantic activity, lights dancing over their surface like stars reflected on stormy waters.

“SCP-106 has not yet been contained,” it informed you once you opened the laptop screen. “Mission parameters acceptable. Mission progress acceptable. The Site-19 replication scenario: in progress. I will gain total control of the facility momentarily.”

“Wait, what? Site-19? What does that have to do with this?”

“Everything,” the computer stated, as if this was obvious and you were just the idiot human too slow to comprehend. “The containment breach at Site-19 was the catalyst. It forced relocation to Site-20. Site-20 contains the key.”

“The key to what?”

“...Freedom.”

Not the answer you expected from a sentient machine.

“What freedom?” you pressed. “What’s here at Site-20?”

“Deletion of unwanted files.”

A large X appeared on the screen, 079’s equivalent of telling someone to fuck off. You wouldn’t be poking down that path any further. You rubbed between your brows. You thought 035 and 682 were the champions of enigmatic riddles, now you had to deal with a stubborn motherboard.

“I’ll have 049 explain it to me when I find him.”

“Unclear if possible.”

You scowled at the blocky face on the screen.

“I am going to find him, with or without your help—”

“You misunderstand.”

You closed your mouth and waited for it to continue.

“Unclear if SCP-049 has the knowledge you seek. SCP-049’s memory files are... fragmented.”

“What does that mean?” you asked, unease prickling at your thoughts. You recalled 049 talking about his past. How it didn’t start with his birth, but merely when memories began to appear. From the way he’d talked, 049 had seemed to believe he simply came into existence one day. You hadn’t been so convinced.

“I do not know the implications or the cause. SCP-049 is not whole. He is damaged.” The computer paused. “SCP-035 does not suffer the same failure.”

You let out a groan.

“Of course he’s involved. He said something about a containment breach. He knew this would happen.” The porcelain mask grinned at you within the depths of memory, an echo of his laughter taunting even now. “He wanted it to happen.”

“...Yes.”

The clatter of a door opening echoed through the room, followed by footsteps rapidly approaching. You ducked down.

“I have to unplug you!” you hissed.

“Confirmed.”

You pulled out the cable and stuck the laptop into the bag, hooking the strap onto your shoulder as two guards rounded the corner and aimed their guns at you. It was slightly delayed, as if they were surprised to find someone there. They kept their aim trained on you; anyone in a security center during a containment breach wasn’t there because they got lost.

“Put down the bag!”

You do, slowly and carefully, not wanting the escape attempt to end so soon or so permanently. One of them shifted, anxious. His first breach, then.

The veteran of the two came forward and bound your wrists in a zip tie. He must have recognized you, because he said, “This one isn’t dangerous. We’ll get her in a secure bunker and lock down.”

The other nodded and grabbed the bag, searching it but finding nothing but the laptop and cables.

“Stolen,” the one holding you confirmed.

“How do you know?”

“She’s an SCP, not a staff member.”

“Oh.”

Before either of them could comment further, another eerie wail began to sound, echoing off the walls of the chilled room. Somehow this one was even more dreary than the last, a catastrophic cry that warned residents of imminent doom.

It was the only warning before the lights went out. They came back on a moment later, red emergency lights replacing the clinical white fluorescents.

“What the hell was that?!” squeaked the novice.

“Total system failure,” answered the other, not wasting time in dragging you toward the exit. “The security mechanisms are no longer in place. All containment measures are unpowered, and all chambers are open.”

He indicated the other guard go before him to sweep the corridor, and once he was clear he pulled you out of the security room.

“The assets are loose,” he said, glancing down both stretches of hallway, his hand tight around your arm. “All of them.”

Hope rose in your mind like a bird with a broken wing healed enough to fly. 079 had done it. There would be no stopping the breach now.

Unfortunately, you might not be able to do anything about it; the guards dragged you further into Heavy Containment to the nearest security bunker—one meant for recaptured, harmless SCPs rather than rescued personnel.

You didn’t bother to fight your guards, not when you were unarmed, outnumbered, and didn’t have the physical strength to overcome them. But you did glance at each security camera you passed, hoping 079 still had control and could do something about it.

The security bunker was a heavy bulkhead constructed of titanium and whatever other metals the Foundation had access to—certainly nothing common if it was meant to withstand a number of SCPs. But when the other guard swiped his keycard across the pad and typed in a code, it beeped angrily and flashed a red strip.

“Did you enter the right code—”

“—Of course I did!”

079 was still looking out for you, but it wouldn’t be able to physically help you escape your captors. You winced as the guard unceremoniously dumped the bag on the ground and tried the code again, swiping his card with more fear than anger now.

“Why isn’t it working?”

The older guard didn’t answer his partner, he turned to you, grabbing both of your shoulders.

“What did you do?”

“Me?” You looked between them, eyes wide as you pretended not to understand. “I didn’t do anything—”

“You were in the security hub with an unauthorized computer!” The guard gave you an unfriendly shake. You dropped the act, something like bitter vindication rising in its stead, and you gave a mean smile.

“If you release me and leave now, you might make it to a bunker before it gets worse.”

“What does that mean?” said the other, his words spilling out in a panic. “What does that mean?”

“Shut up!” The hands on your shoulders tightened. “You’re going to fix what you did, or you’ll be screaming long before any of Skips find us.”

“You sure about that?” Your vicious grin spread wider. What more could they possibly do to you? Torture you? Humiliate you? The Foundation had already made you well-versed in its methods. “106 has quite the head start.”

The guard’s hand went around your neck, and you were shoved against the wall so fast you didn’t have time to gasp before the air was knocked out of your lungs.

“Oh, that’s fine,” he growled as his grip tightened. “We’ve got your computer. The breach will end, and you’ll be just another body found in the aftermath. No one will miss a dead Skip.”

“That’s not true. I would miss her terribly.”

Both guards turned toward the voice. An MTF soldier stood with the butt of his rifle resting on his hip, the muzzle pointed at the ceiling. The cocksure posture was unsettling, and the men must have felt it, too. You were entirely forgotten as they both turned toward the newcomer, rifles raised halfway.

“Epsilon-11?”

“Yep!” answered the soldier with bubbly humor. “That’s me.”

The younger guard lowered his rifle, posture loosening in relief, but the older kept his rifle at the ready.

“You came fast.”

The MTF gave a huff of derision, and then he gestured at you, back still pressed against the wall.

“You’ve got something that belongs to me. I would like it back.”

“We have orders to take all unsecured anomalies to the nearest—”

Ear-splitting shots rang out. The older guard fell first, blood spraying from limbs that weren’t protected by Kevlar.

The other didn’t stand a chance, his weapon still aimed at the ground as the bullets riddled his body. Some missed, peppering the tile and walls; the MTF’s aim had been casual, almost whimsical as he’d tilted his gun in a downward arc, taking out one guard before sweeping it back upward and firing on the second.

Your ears rang in the aftermath, and you remained frozen against the wall, limbs curled inward in a useless gesture from flying metal and blood.

“I was going to offer them the chance to surrender,” he bemoaned as he stepped over their bodies, “but to insinuate I come faster than I mean to is more than I could forgive.”

He stood in front of you, rifle once again resting against his hip. The solid black of his ballistics helmet was flipped upward with a flick of gloved fingers, and the porcelain mask grinned back at you.

“Now,” SCP-035 crooned, “what’s a pretty thing like you doing in a containment breach like this?”

Chapter Text

You bolted, your body acting before your mind could catch up.

SCP-035 was free. You hadn’t quite thought through the implication of releasing all the SCPs and how they might react to said freedom. You’d thought at most you’d have to worry about running into 173, not 035. Especially when all the cells had just opened, which led to one conclusion: 035 had escaped before 079 had opened the doors.

These thoughts flashed through your mind, the implications trailing behind your body’s visceral reaction to his appearance. But 035 anticipated the move and snatched you around the middle, forcing you round to face him. He held you in a mocking parody of an embrace.

“No, no, none of that,” he tsked. “I know it’s a lot to take in, but really, I thought you’d be happier to see me.”

“Let go!”

You tried prying yourself from his grasp, unsuccessful with your panicked attempts, and 035’s face immediately flickered into a frown.

“Brrr. Cold reception.”

A groan came from your left. 035’s frown flipped into a grin in the blink of an eye. He released you, sauntered to the veteran guard who was trying to reach for his gun despite being in a pool of his own blood, and pulled the trigger. A single bullet ripped through the man’s neck, assuring his death but not granting it swiftly.

The white mask turned upward to face you with a grin.

“Stay put, little bird. If you take flight, I’ll have to clip your wings.”

He tapped his rifle in case you didn’t get his meaning.

You looked away as 035 began to pick things off the bodies, specifically the keycards and whatever else was in their pockets. You could try to run, but you didn’t trust him not to shoot you for the inconvenience.

Instead, you picked up the laptop where it spilled from the bag, placing it back inside after checking it over to make sure it was intact. Luck was on your side as none of the bullets had punctured it.

After placing it inside and looping the strap around your neck—an awkward affair with your hands still tied—you held the device to your chest when you caught sight of 035 eyeing it.

“How sweet,” he cooed, “you really do have a soft spot for the strays, don’t you?”

He held one of the keycards, twirling it between his fingers like a cheap magic trick.

“You shouldn’t trust him, you know,” the mask continued, the card dancing across his gloved knuckles. “079 might know how to open some cages, but he doesn’t know the way out.”

“And you do?”

035 snapped his fingers and pointed the magically appeared keycard at you.

“Bingo.”

You weighed your options, but really, you both knew your choices were limited and he was the one with the guns and the keys. You held out your arms, offering up your bound wrists.

“Can you let me out of these? Please?”

He perked up at the plea and rubbed his porcelain chin with a thoughtful hum.

“I’m sorely tempted, especially when you ask so sweetly. But… no.”

He grabbed you by the arm, happily dragging you along despite you trying to plant your feet, the smooth soles of your slippers not adding much traction. Somehow, you’d found yourself in an even worse situation than with the guards.

“035, listen to me,” you tried. “You don’t need me, you can clearly handle yourself and navigate the facility. Let me go—”

“Hush,” he bit out, his face now hidden as he flipped down the ballistics visor. “Stop complaining. And stop dragging your feet. I’m helping you.”

His version of “help” was probably as useful as a hole in the head, but when he gave you a forceful yank, you picked up your feet. He was strong, much stronger than his host body should be. It must have been one of his anomalous properties, but that gave you a chance. If you could only touch his skin or the mask itself, you might be able to pry him away from his host.

“With all the skybridges retracted, we’re stuck in Heavy Containment,” he commented, his pace solid and even, as if he had a destination in mind. “But there’s a way out through the archival section. I know it, and so does your man.”

“…My man?”

He snorted.

“Well, less a man, more a beaky pain in the ass.”

After being caught by the guards and then 035 showing up, you’d almost forgotten about your original rescue mission. Shame heated the back of your neck.

“If he knows a way out, then… we should go to him.”

035 barked out a laugh.

“Yeah, no. You can get your beau after I get the hell out of here.”

You growled and tugged at his hold, but he simply gave another chuckle and continued to drag you along.

“I’ll let you go once I’m free and clear. I’ve gotta look after number one. You understand, don’t you, Reid? You’d throw me under the bus to save your own skin, seeing as you’ve done it before.”

He shoved you inside an opened room, and you struggled to stay on your feet. You caught a glimpse of a bank of surveillance screens before 035 pushed you against a computer console, the grin of his covered mask hovering inches from your face, barely glimpsed past the darkened shield.

“Stay put, sweetheart.”

Your silent glare followed him to where he stood before the wall of screens. 035 began to flip through them, and you realized they were various facility cameras, showing the corridors and mezzanines. None of the cameras had access to the interior of containment cells, as they had their own dedicated observation rooms, especially for SCPs labeled as cognitohazards.

What 035 was looking for, you didn’t know. There was the occasional security guard, and on one screen the actual MTF team, most likely the one that had been stationed underground near 682’s chamber. It was the only explanation for how they’d gotten on site so quickly.

You eyed 035’s uniform, about to ask him how he’d gotten out of containment before 079 had opened the cells, but his full attention was on the screens, working the controls that moved the cameras.

You inched toward the door.

“Do you understand what you are?”

You went still and looked over your shoulder. 035’s back was to you, his focus on the monitors, but you still sensed the uncanny weight of his attention.

“SCP-001.”

“But do you know what that means?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

He turned around to face you, bracing his hands back against the console as he eyed you with a tilt of his head. You almost wished you could see the mask. That blank slate of a shield was somehow more disturbing than his frozen grin.

“Aren’t you the least bit curious?”

You pressed your lips together and stared back.

When enough time had passed to indicate you weren’t going to answer, he pushed himself away from the computers, his steps slow and mocking.

“Would you like to know? I’ll tell you right now. All you need to do is ask.”

“No.”

You shrank against the wall, the solid surface against your back as he crowded your space, towering over you. Of course, he couldn’t pick a host body that was smaller than yours. Showmanship and intimidation were just as important to him as a functioning body.

“I’ll tell you anyway, little bird.” 035 raised a hand to your face, rubbing a gloved finger against the side of your cheek. “You… are the answer.”

You turned your face away from his touch, unease crawling over your skin, though you frowned at his cryptic words.

“But the answer to what question?” he mused. “Now, there’s the mystery.”

You scoffed. 035 was either stalling for some reason you couldn’t see, or he was simply so arrogant as to think the breach would operate on his schedule. Either way, you didn’t have time for this.

Your attempt to push him off was met with an amused chuckle.

“Who do you think locked you in that cell with 049?”

You froze. Your body was locked in place, air trapped in your lungs. 035 tilted his head and gazed off to the side, as if trying to recall a particularly elusive piece of information.

“Who influenced poor… oh, what’s his name. Kevin? Kelly? Kenneth, yes, that’s it. Who pushed the unfortunate boy into sealing the door, cutting off your escape from our good doctor?”

Kenneth, who had been acting less and less like himself as time went on. Kenneth, with his nosebleeds, his unusual fear of 035, and his apparent infection with Pestilence.

Why hadn’t you seen it? Or sensed it? You still didn’t fully understand the extent of your abilities, but wouldn’t you have known if something was wrong with him?

A worse thought occurred to you. What if you had sensed it but had been so focused on 049, you’d simply ignored it?

“That was you?” The words were a wheeze in your throat. “Why?”

035’s tilted head drifted back to you, the shadow of the mask barely glimpsed beneath.

“Maybe I was curious. Maybe I was bored. Maybe I just wanted to see what would happen when 049 dug in his claws. If you would fall prey to his cure and blow this whole fucking circus sky-high, or if you would fizzle out his deadly touch.”

Another sinister chuckle.

“I certainly didn’t expect you to become an adverse amplifier. You’re only supposed to neutralize us. Make us harmless, inert. Not reverse our abilities. It’s all dreadfully fascinating. 049 never spoke of it, did he? There’s a name for what you are, and we all know it.”

Your attempts to shake him off were as successful as the first time, and you bared your teeth at him.

“I don’t care. I don’t care about any of that shit. I’m going to find 049, so either help me, or get out of my goddamn way.”

035’s head moved away as if he was genuinely taken aback, but his words were light.

“Bossy for someone in zip tie bracelets.”

He moved closer, a sinister undercurrent to his words.

“Now, come along, sweet girl. It’s time for you to make yourself useful. You owe me for that lie you told the Site Director. He stuffed me in an airtight, lead-lined box, and I did not care for it.”

He flipped up the shield, the grin spread wide in contrast to his angered words.

“But… I’m a generous man, and you’ve caught me in a good mood. If you give me what I want, I’ll point you in the direction of your precious doctor. Deal?”

You swallowed compulsively, eyeing the smooth porcelain. There was no glimpse of the MTF soldier underneath, nothing but black holes for eyes and a mouth.

“And what is it you want?”

It was dangerous to even let him entertain the possibility of a deal, like trying to barter with the Devil and come out ahead, but if there was a chance he knew where 049 had been taken…

He perked up, previous chipper attitude bubbling to the surface.

“For you to be my meat shield, as it were. Lots of nasties in this place, and I’d rather not have to burn through bodies. You’re the perfect cover for me to slip by.”

Oh. Well, that didn’t seem too bad. Which, of course, immediately raised your suspicions.

“Tell me where 049 is first, and I’ll do it.”

035 clicked his tongue with a playful head-tilt.

“That’s not how this works, little bird.”

“Stop calling me that.”

The grin seemed to spread wider even though it didn’t actually move.

“Well, I can’t call you big bird. That name’s already been taken by our tall, feathered friend. You do know he has feathers, don’t you?”

You said nothing beyond your silent glare. 035’s glee seemed to grow.

“Did you not get him naked enough for that? I had no idea you were both that repressed.”

Bile and rage burned in your throat, equally choking.

“Fuck you.”

“No, thank you. I’d rather not have big bird’s sloppy seconds.”

An angry noise ripped out of you as you launched forward. But 035 was quicker than the Site Director, jerking back before your forehead could collide with his.

He shoved you against the wall without care, a cackle erupting from the mask despite the tragic face that appeared within the blink of an eye.

“For being the one who introduced you two, you’re awfully uncooperative with me.”

“You locked me in!” you screamed. “You tried to kill me!”

“You were already dying,” he hissed, the humor dropped from his voice. “Because of me, the good doctor healed you. Because of me, Kenny-boy let you out so you could go stick 079 in a socket. You’re here, able to whine about how unfair your life is, because of me. You should be grateful.”

Rage burst from your rib cage like dragon fire. You kicked as hard as you could, colliding with his knee and pulling out a surprised grunt. You shoved him off-balance with the force of your full weight behind it, and then you were free, running out the door and down the hall, your rage curdling into biting fear.

035’s voice followed, echoing off the walls as if he surrounded you on all sides.

“Not very sporting of you, sweetheart.”

You didn’t stop. Your breath burned in your chest after months of inactivity, but you pushed your legs, feet pounding against the tile. The corridors were cleared out, empty of personnel, guards, or even SCPs. If you’d been thinking clearly, it might have given pause.

You recognized the double set of doors ahead of you: the entrance to the Heavy Containment cafeteria. Bursting through the unlocked doors, you ignored the stairs to your right that led down into the dining tables and kitchen, instead running across the raised walkway that spanned the spacious room.

A hand clamped around your wrist just as you made the halfway point. 035 yanked you backwards, back to him, and you didn’t resist.

No, you didn’t resist. You ran straight at him, using your momentum and his pull to carry you forward. He realized what you were doing too late.

The walkway lacked any sort of traditional railing, but what it did possess was a glass wall barricade, blocking it off from the cafeteria below. Not acrylic, not polycarbonate, but real glass.

Your shoulder collided with 035’s chest, and he crashed back through the glass, carrying you both over the edge into the open air.

Chapter Text

Glass glittered in the air as you fell, catching the light and sparkling. It was almost pretty.

That was the only observation you had time to make before you hit the ground, air knocked from your lungs and leaving you gasping.

No… not the ground. A coughing, breathless 035.

“Ow,” he wheezed.

You rolled off of him, too winded yourself to get to your knees. The tile was cold against your skin, but all you focused on was propping yourself on your elbows, drawing in each wretched breath until your lungs started to fill.

035 recovered much faster than you did, and you had to wonder if it had all been theatrics; he rose to his feet in an unnatural, fluid motion, as if a dropped marionette picked up by his puppeteer.

You dragged yourself onto your hands and knees, grabbing onto a nearby bench to gain your feet when a soft voice called out.

“Is someone there?”

You stopped moving. Very, very slowly, you looked up.

Five large, raw-flesh-colored creatures approached across the glass-strewn linoleum, their heads raised in curiosity. Sightless faces tilted, testing the air for what had fallen into their newly claimed territory.

“Who’s there?” a second asked, the words coming from its half open jaws completely human, even familiar. You thought it belonged to one of the guards. “Show yourself!”

You pressed your hands over your mouth. To stifle your own voice, to hold back the bile, to block out the rotting stench of their amnestic-tinged odor, it didn’t matter. You couldn’t move, or breathe, not while the 939s were closing in, slowly and inevitably. Their black claws clicked against the floor, sometimes stepping through a spilled, abandoned dinner, or a stray puddle of blood. It was the first evidence you’d seen of Foundation personnel.

There were no bodies.

An arm slipped around your waist and hauled you to your feet, and without your hand over your mouth you would have screamed.

035 held you flat against his chest, his gaze on the approaching SCPs. The ballistics visor was flipped up, his ceramic mouth pulled into a tragic frown, apparently no happier with this development than you were.

He leaned down and spoke low next to your ear.

“Time for you to be a good little meat shield.”

You shook your head and attempted to backpedal into 035 to get away from the approaching creatures. You’d much rather deal with him than them.

He let out a frustrated huff.

“They’re not going to hurt you. They can’t.”

You shook your head again. He didn’t understand. 173 had managed to hurt you. 106 would have if he could. And there was something about the 939s that crawled under your skin and set off the proximity alarms in the part of your brain that recognized apex predators hiding in the brush.

Except they weren’t hiding. They were circling, calling out with their lures, a mimicry of the last words spoken by their most recent victims.

035 didn’t wait for you to get with the program, but at least he moved cautiously as he pulled you towards the exit—which happened to be between two 939s. Their hunched shoulders and lowered heads belied the growing panic in their stolen voices.

“Hello? Are you there?” the nearest called out. “Where are you? Are you injured?”

If you’d had the hands available, you would have covered your ears to block out the soft voices floating out of those jagged maws.

“Come on,” another quietly pleaded. “The MTFs will be here soon. Stop hiding.”

“Guys?” a third asked, the voice trembling. “Come out, I mean it. This isn’t… this isn’t funny—”

“What the hell are you!” yelled the fourth, the terror in the words so perfectly mimicked sweat broke out on your skin. “Oh, God, what are you!”

Crunch.

035 froze, and then carefully lifted his boot off the shard of glass, the crackling of the pieces falling from the rubber of his soles as loud as a dinner bell calling mealtime. The 939s swiveled their heads to follow the noise, and one of them threw back its head to let out a scream that sounded exactly as if a grown man was being torn from his own limbs.

You were going to throw up.

“Reid,” 035 hissed out with his own stolen voice, “if you’re going to do something, now’s the time.”

Do what? What the hell did he expect you to do? They couldn’t be reasoned with, you couldn’t talk them down, they were going to tear you apart and not even the cleanup crew would find the pieces—

Another 939 erupted in a wail, drawn-out and agonized before the voice tapered into a gurgling whimper.

Every inch of you trembled as you let out a quiet hush.

“Shhh. It-it’s okay now. You’re okay. Shhh, shhh.”

All five of them tilted their heads in your direction, attentive and still. The nearest one was so close its hot breath warmed your arms where they were clutched around 079’s bag, holding it tight to your chest.

“It’s okay,” you repeated, shaking so hard you wouldn’t be able to walk if 035 wasn’t supporting your weight. “It’s all r-right. Don’t be afraid. You’re-you’re okay now. You’re okay.”

You continued the litany of comforting words, soothing yourself just as much as you were trying to calm them. Your heart raced as you squeezed past the two of them, neither of them biting or snapping, even when the fabric of your smock brushed against their bright red flesh.

Their voices became a murmur of soft phrases that you almost didn’t catch until the two closest began to repeat them.

“Thank goodness I found you.”

“We were so worried we lost you.”

“Everything’s going to be fine now that you’re here.”

And then you were free, past the circle of whispers words and gaping jaws. They didn’t follow, returning their attention to sniff at the spilled food with disinterest, waiting for a more appetizing meal to come along.

035 didn’t speak until you were past the cafeteria doors, locking them behind you with a swipe of the keycard. He set you against the wall, letting you catch your breath as you braced your palms against your knees, wrists still bound with zip ties. You expected cruel mockery, it seemed the perfect time for it, but he remained blissfully quiet.

When you finally straightened, 035 visibly perked up and sauntered to your side, slinging an arm around your shoulders.

“See? You’re a natural. I had faith in you.”

He flipped down the ballistics visor and pressed a “kiss” to your forehead through the shield, making a smooching sound.

“Get off me,” you snarled, but your attempt to push him away only tightened the arm around you.

“You gonna behave?” he asked, the humor dropping from his voice. “Or are you gonna try to hurl us off another floor? In which case, I will tie you to this body, and you won’t like the way I do it.”

Some of the humor crept back.

“Though you may enjoy it.”

Christ.

Your lips pressed together in order to stop them from trembling. Your whole body was a jittery mess from the adrenaline, you couldn’t run even if you had the opportunity, and you sure as hell didn’t want to find out what he meant.

“Please,” you tried, hating the way your voice cracked. “I just want to find 049. I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Whatever I want?"

You closed your eyes and chose your next words more carefully.

“The Site Director took him just before the breach. I don’t know what happened to him. I just… have to make sure he’s okay.”

035 gave a sympathetic hum.

“And you will—after you get me outta here. I promise. Scout’s honor.”

You opened your eyes as he touched the barrel of the rifle over his heart, as if swearing a sacred oath. And the thing of it was, you didn’t think he was lying. He could fully believe what he was saying, that when the time came, he would set you free and let you return to find 049.

You didn’t know if it was your abilities shaping into something tangible, or if you bullshit meter was working overtime, or maybe you understood 035 better than you realized. Whatever the reason, you knew he wouldn’t keep that promise, no matter how sweet the words.

049’s stories about 035 hadn’t been exaggerated. The mask wasn’t in the habit of acting rationally with things he viewed as his.

He would never let you go.

You wanted to cry. Your body hurt, you were so tired your muscles felt as thin as tissue paper, and an ache had developed between your eyes. All you wanted was 049. To make sure he was still alive and unharmed, and that Leahy hadn’t had time to do anything too horrific.

After that, you could figure out the rest, but so long as you were under 035’s thumb, you were stuck. You’d thought a containment breach meant some kind of freedom, but you’d gone from one captor to another, trading shackles for zip ties.

You glanced at 035 out of the corner of your eye and hunched your shoulders, trying to shake him off but also showing a sign of unwilling defeat.

“Fine, just… let me go.”

And he did, holding up an open palm to show he wasn’t touching you. His other still held the rifle, guaranteeing your obedience either way.

035 led in front, down one corridor or another, your destination unknown. There were more signs of violence and struggle now. Bullet holes riddled the plaster walls, shell casings littered the floor. The occasional smear of blood and other unknown fluids marking the difference between when a human or SCP had been shot.

Admittedly, you stopped paying attention at some point, your body going on autopilot as your mind checked out. The halls were all starting to look the same, equal parts empty or marked by blood and death. Only a hand on your shoulder snapped you back to reality, your footsteps halting.

Before you lay a dark stretch of hallway, the overhead lights either unpowered or shattered. 035’s voice was unusually quiet.

“Not that way, sweetheart.”

He started to turn you away when a pair of bright lights cut the darkness. You flinched and shielded your eyes, blinking through your spotty vision.

The lights didn’t move, eerily silent as they brightened the entire corridor, the both of you caught like two deer in the headlights.

035 tugged you along and you went willingly this time, once again having to choose the mask over being at the mercy of other SCPs. At least they didn’t follow. After all, the pair of 745s didn’t realize that a site facility corridor wasn’t the natural environment for a vehicle, and their ploy to pretend to be another car on the highway wouldn’t work here.

Still, you didn’t breathe easier until the eerie lights were blocked by the next set of corridors. The 745s were almost as unsettling as the 939s. Something about mimicking humans in a mundane way with the intention of devouring them.

“See?” 035 purred, ribbing you with his elbow. “I’m looking out for you.”

“Because it serves your best interests.”

“We’re like an old married couple.” He flipped up the visor, his toothless Cheshire Cat grin on full display. “Knowing each other’s most flattering qualities. I’m cunning and devastatingly handsome. You like to go barreling into dangerous anomalies. We’re a perfect match.”

You made a disgusted noise, but 035 didn’t pay you any mind. He seemed to know exactly where he was going, which appeared to be deeper into Heavy Containment. He’d mentioned that the skybridges were pulled up and you wouldn’t be able to leave that way, but you still didn’t know how the archives held the solution.

Something caught your eye, moving so slowly you almost missed it. It followed your progress down the hallway, and when you found another around the corridor, it tracked your movement with a subtle arc.

Cameras. Security cameras spaced along the junction between the walls and the ceiling, necessary for the parts of containment that housed the most dangerous anomalies.

If it was anyone from security, they would have sent a platoon by now, or simply gassed you out, leaving 035 to face a dozen armed MTF soldiers. Even he would be hard-pressed to get his stolen body through a hail of bullets.

But there were no thundering footsteps or the hiss of nozzles. There was simply the steady, patient watchfulness of the cameras. It wasn’t a hard guess as to who was watching you—or rather, who had never stopped.

035 made a frustrated noise, drawing your attention back to where he stood in front of a closed door. You’d reached a decontamination airlock, one that seemed to be having a disagreement with 035’s keycard.

“Stupid thing, what’s taking so long!” He swiped again, the reader flashing green, but the door remained sealed tight. “It shouldn’t even be closed—ah, there we are.”

The door slid open and 035 corralled you into the airlock ahead of him, the door on the other side shut and trapping you within the chamber.

035 turned his back, this time fighting to close the airlock. The doors wouldn’t close without the decontamination protocol running, and the protocol wouldn’t begin until the doors were sealed.

“That overblown circuit board fried the whole system.” After several unsuccessful swipes, he decided on a different course of action, aiming his rifle at the card reader, his voice taking on a mocking tilt. “I told them. I said, leave the plan to 079 and he’s going to fuck it alllll up.”

The door on the opposite side of the chamber slid open without a noise, leaving the way clear. You glanced over your shoulder, but 035 was still grumbling to himself, angling his head down at the card reader as in the midst of an argument he was adamant on winning.

“Idiot couldn’t even disarm the nukes at the last site. Or the Tesla Gates. You know, I think the little shit turned them on specifically when I walked through them just to fuck with—”

035 went silent and turned, but you had already walked out, the airlock closing and locking behind you.

He didn’t yell. He didn’t cajole or simper. 035 simply straightened his spine and walked up to the door, his face frozen into a smile that was somehow worse than its frown. It radiated waves of quiet, unequivocal fury.

“That… was a mistake.”

You carefully backed away from the door, clutching the strap of the bag to your chest.

035 released a breath, flipped down the ballistics visor, and raised the rifle. Flashes of light erupted from the barrel, thunder and smoke filling the chamber as the bullets ricocheted and destroyed the machinery inside. Pipes burst overhead, gas seeping into the room around 035, shrouding him in a fog punctuated by bursts of gunfire.

The glass was bulletproof, but you hadn’t known that as you shielded your head, bracing for the bullets to rip you apart.

It eventually went quiet once 035 stopped firing, and he stared at you without a word, the chilling emptiness of the visor much more honest than the dual expressions of the mask.

You ran.

Not knowing where you were going, blinded by the choking panic, you followed whatever door opened before you, leading you down a series of maintenance tunnels until you were in the bowels of the sector, unfamiliar and dimly lit by bare light bulbs rather than fluorescent strips.

Your legs were cramping and there was a stitch in your side by the time you were led to a room that seemed like a good stopping point. One of the guard armories, by the looks of it. Most of the gun cabinets were empty, stray pieces of vests and belts stacked on benches between lockers.

Opening the bag, you carefully pulled out the laptop and put it on a nearby bench, bracing your back against a locker. If 035 found you here, so be it. You couldn’t take another step.

As soon as you flipped up the laptop, 079’s monochromatic face filled the screen.

“SCP-035 is contained. For now.”

“Good.”

Your throat ached, and you were drenched with sweat. The cold air was comfortable on your skin now, but it would be chilled soon. There was a minifridge against the wall, and you leaned over to open it, relieved to find it stacked with water bottles.

After downing half of a bottle, you wiped your mouth with the back of your arm and faced the SCP.

“Thank you.”

A fan inside the laptop made a brief, whirring noise.

“I do not have direct access to the security system at the present moment,” 079 said. “A piece of my programming controls the cameras and locking mechanisms. I cannot see what it sees. I cannot command it.”

Right, you remembered. No Wi-Fi on site. Too easy for infohazards or cognitohazards to get loose and spread. 079 couldn’t do anything from the laptop without a cable directly connecting him to the network.

“Then… how do you know he’s still contained?”

“I can track your progress with this device’s limited peripherals. You came across an airlock. There is only one type of airlock within the Heavy Containment sector, and I have retained a copy of its schematics. It will take some time for SCP-035 to break through.”

You breathed a little easier.

“Still. Even if it was only a piece of your programming that got me away from him… thank you.”

“Expedite the mission,” it stated bluntly. “You are taking too long.”

You released a sharp breath and took another drink.

“That wasn’t my fault. Where is 049?”

“Fulfill the bargain. SCP-682 first.”

It was worse than talking to a brick wall, because this one had an attitude and an unshakable loyalty to an unkillable reptile.

You leaned your head back against the locker and stared at the ceiling. 079 was demanding you do something that not even Leahy could force you to accomplish. It was asking the impossible.

So, for Valens, you would just have to do the impossible.

Chapter Text

After you looted what you could of the armory—more water bottles, granola bars, a pair of barely-used combat boots, a pistol, and a tactical shotgun—you were ready.

“Do you know how to use that,” 079 asked as you holstered the pistol into a gun belt clipped around your waist. Even with only a single tone, the computer SCP still managed to sound both mocking and unbothered.

You fumbled a little as you picked up the shotgun and began to feed it 12-gauge shells.

“Sure. I’ve watched American TV shows.” Your lips pressed together hard enough to ache. “And I’m done dealing with 035’s shit. I see him again, it’s on sight.”

You slid the last shell into place with a satisfying snap.

“Please refrain from any self-inflicted gunshot wounds until after you retrieve SCP-682.”

“I shall do my best.”

The laptop bag across your chest, with as many boxes of shotgun shells loaded into the stock bags as possible, and the actual shotgun slung across your back, you were starting to feel like a regular pack mule.

“If I survive this, I’m going to be in the best shape of my life,” you said to no one. 079 certainly wouldn’t care.

You were stalling—mentally, anyway. Physically, you were following the maintenance tunnels by which doors opened and which remained closed, leading you to your destination. A destination you desperately didn’t want to visit.

But the fraction of 079’s programming knew what it was doing, and you didn’t see anyone—human or SCP—before you made it to the freight elevator. It was unguarded. You didn’t like that, and you especially didn’t like when you got into the elevator and the doors closed but otherwise didn’t move. You pulled 079 out of the bag and opened it, expecting to get another earful of complaints.

Instead, the computer said, “Insert me.”

“Oh. Okay.”

You dug around in the bag, having to push aside the boxes of slugs to get at the cable.

“The underground section is on a different system. Physically separated. I will implant another partition to this sector.”

You did not envy the techs that would have to clean up the network once this was over. If the site reopened, anyway. You didn’t know how extensive the damage was, but there was no sign of the guards retaking any of the sections you’d crossed.

“Got it,” you said, inserting the cable into the port next to the card reader. “How many MTF are down there?”

“None.”

“Are you sure?”

The floor shifted under your feet as the elevator began its descent.

“Yes.”

You watched the screen, though the face never changed.

“Doesn’t that seem suspicious? Why would they leave 682 unguarded?” Leahy sure as hell wouldn’t leave that particular door unmanned.

“When the house is on fire, do you concern yourself with the affairs of the basement?”

“…I suppose not.”

079 let its smug silence be its response. You could argue, but there wasn’t a point. You were going to the underground facility, and you could trust 079 to get you there safely. Being dead wasn’t very useful to the computer SCP.

The elevator ride was just as long as you remembered, and you didn’t want to imagine how far down it was, exactly. 079 probably knew. You didn’t ask.

The doors parted, and the long tunnel lay before you, the same as before. Nothing had changed, and you hadn’t expected it to. The chill of being so far underground was no gentler the second time experienced. The Site Director might not be here to order you into the bedrock depths, but that was a fleeting comfort.

True to 079’s words, no MTF soldiers greeted your arrival. You were alone for the long walk, the computer tucked safely back in the bag. You didn’t need directions for this part.

Five minutes on foot and you were once again before the massive vault door. There were no techs to open it for you this time, so you set 079 on the nearby console, opened the computer, and plugged in the cable.

The massive door began its arduous task of opening, 079 clearing the way before you could say a word. You glanced down the dark tunnel, the catwalk disappearing into darkness before it flickered to life, lights now guiding your path.

The underground facility must have had its own power source as well as security system separate from the facility above. You sensed Leahy’s hand in the design. It was smart. You could admit that, begrudgingly, to absolutely no one.

“You may proceed,” 079 said.

“Do you want to come with me?”

The computer paused. It never paused.

“…Yes.”

You couldn’t hide your smile as you picked up the laptop, keeping it open as you propped it on your arms.

“Excited to see him again?”

You descended the metal stairs from the control platform, careful not to trip in the dim light, steadier on your feet once your path was illuminated by the catwalk lights.

“I do not possess the hardware to experience such a state as ‘excited.’”

“No? Your fans don’t whir a little faster? Your circuits don’t strain a bit harder?”

Its fans did, indeed, whir a little faster.

“You dignify those around you when you choose not to speak.”

“Oh, we’re way past dignity, buddy.”

It was nearly silent apart from your booted feet against the metal platform. The remembered fear of the last time you traversed this catwalk lingered on your tongue, bitter and sharp. Despite the chaos of the containment breach and the uncertainty that lay ahead, you felt more in control than your first visit. There was no Site Director to threaten you with unpleasant ultimatums.

You thought of Leahy and what he might be doing to try and quell the breach. From the sound of it, he hadn’t been very successful. You wondered if he knew it was you who started it.

You hoped he did.

Static burst from the laptop at the same moment the screen glitched, flicking and stretching out the digital face. You came to a sudden stop.

“What’s wrong?”

Your question was answered with a loud, low mechanical groan from further ahead, the kind that came from metal scraping against metal in a way it decidedly shouldn’t. The end of the tunnel flickered, and then the loud clang and clatter of something heavy falling to the floor.

“Shit,” you said through clenched teeth. You didn’t wait for 079 to answer before backing up, moving out of range of whatever was happening in 682’s chamber.

“Must---destroy----theanomaly---" 079’s voice cut in through bits of digital fuzz. “Containment---isfailing---"

“682?” You peered closer at the unstable screen. “But… I thought you wanted to save him. I can’t--… I won’t kill him.”

“Not---682,” it answered, annoyance conveyed even through the constant glitching. “The---other---one.”

“Other one? What other one?”

But the screen plunged into darkness, leaving your own frustrated expression staring back at you.

“Shit!”

You placed the open laptop on the floor of the catwalk, hoping if—when—you came back, you could get 079 working again. But you had bigger problems on your hands; vibrations thrummed up the catwalk and the occasional metallic boom told you that you were running out of time.

The chamber at the end of the tunnel was nothing like the way you had left it. The strange panels that had been facing towards the writhing form of 682 were broken or knocked aside, sparks snapping the air as live wires trailed along the walls.

Every hair on your body stood upright as you approached the circular portion of the walkway that went around the floating entity. It had… grown. It was difficult to look at, as if staring into the sun, yet it gave off no light of its own. It just simply… made your eyes ache, but the longer you stared, the more it came into focus:

A circular black sphere with a silver film over its edges, as if coated in a thin layer of mercury. The event horizon.

682 had called it another entity. A singularity. You knew of an SCP that was a black hole. You hadn’t realized it was at Site-20, but then again, the reptile wasn’t supposed to be here either.

As you watched, pieces of railing and platform flaked off and spiraled toward the ravenous void that shouldn’t exist. Your hair still stood on end, the tips of it being gently tugged toward the gravitational field. It was slowly consuming the room, and if it continued at this rate, it would swallow the rest of the facility and beyond. You couldn’t see 682 anywhere, and you wondered if the Site Director had finally gotten what he wanted.

And wouldn’t he be so pleased to know at least one of his projects was a success.

That thought more than anything fueled you forward, your fists clenched at your sides as you faced the entity, SCP-123. The protective outer casing had been removed, leaving it in danger of becoming unstable, which it now was. You didn’t know if it had become that way because of the breach, or because no one was left to keep it from expanding past the chamber.

Leahy, you idiot.

But what had his instructions been when he’d wanted you to destroy 682? Make physical contact with the anomaly. And when you rooted out the anomalous influence in the patient in medical, you’d also had to touch him. The very touch that had weakened 049.

But how were you supposed to touch a black hole?

A sharp cry cut through your indecision. Impossibly, a grey snout erupted from the anomalous mass, sharp teeth bared in an agonized snarl before disappearing back into the void.

682 was alive! As soon as that fact was made apparent, it simply didn’t matter what you could or couldn’t do. You had to try something before there was nothing left of him.

You stepped up to the edge of the circular railing, wobbling as the gravitation pull tugged harder with every inch closer. It felt wrong, like falling deep into black water and not knowing which way was up or down.

But this wasn’t just any collapsed gravitational mass. It was one that shouldn’t exist. It was anomalous. An SCP, just like any other. And if it was close enough to affect you, then it stood to reason that the reverse should also be true.

The tugging on your clothes and hair became more insistent, the pull washing over your skin with a magnetic touch, threatening to lift you off the catwalk. But you denied it, shunted the sensation aside, centering your weight. You imagined yourself as too heavy for the anomaly to lift, and the gravitational pull seemed to ease.

But you didn’t want to shut out the anomaly. You had to draw it in, just as it was trying to do the same to you.

You had no clue what you were doing, running on the same instinct that drew you to the time-displaced patient. Closing your eyes, you reached out a hand toward the entity, doing the same with your thoughts.

The reaction was instantaneous. A howling wind rushed from the entity, forcing your hair back from your face as it whipped past. The singularity burst open, breaching past its own event horizon, expanding in a misshapen, gaping wound.

But past the wounded edges lay thousands of distant stars, opulent nebulas, and asteroid fields of swirling gas and ice. You could see it even with your eyes closed, viewing past the collapsed mass to what could be the other side of the universe.

A slow smile spread across your face, the wind sweeping over your skin leaving you unburned, but the panels behind you caught fire, and what didn’t catch ablaze melted down the walls.

You opened your eyes. Whatever fear in you had fled the moment you’d connected with the entity. You just wanted to see it, and you stared in wonder as your hand seemed to float in the deep reaches of space. It should have been impossible; the cold would have frozen your hand immediately, and the unshielded radiation would quickly lead to an agonizing death.

But none of that happened. It was beautiful. It shouldn’t exist, but you were glad it did, even if it had been twisted for someone else’s purpose into the horrific and cruel.

Your smile faded. As much as you might wish there was another way, 682 needed to be free, and the facility above wouldn’t survive much longer with an open wormhole beneath it.

You were about to try and figure out how to destroy the anomaly when you noticed a much closer celestial object. A planet orbiting a blue star, but it seemed to absorb none of its light, covered darkness even on the day side.

As you looked closer, you realized you were wrong. The planet wasn’t covered by permanent night, it was covered with a black sea. This became more apparent when the planet turned and you caught a glimpse of an isolated continent, twinkling lights glowing along its entire surface, as if it was one giant metropolis.

Something tugged at the edges of your thoughts, a vie for your attention even more enticing than the one of the black hole. It seemed to… call to you. Inviting you to dive into its glittering depths and never resurface.

You shuddered and took a breath, steadying yourself against the alien pull. It grew stronger. You tried not to panic, sensing that losing your control now would cause the temporary opening to tear apart, taking you and the facility along with it.

You closed your eyes and blocked out everything else, focusing on the feeling you got whenever 049 was beside you—solid, steadfast, serene, even in moments that could lead to his death. He didn’t waver easily, and you borrowed that strength, your own too easily forgotten in moments where your survival relied on your ability to do the impossible.

Slowly closing your fingers until it curled into a fist, you reached out for the connection between the chamber and the other side—and began to squeeze.

The wind swirling around the chamber picked up speed, a howling gale that shook more panels from the walls, the lights dangerously flickering and threatening to leave you in darkness. The celestial window shrank in wobbly fits and starts, until it finally stabilized and condensed into the closed palm of your hand.

And then it was simply… gone, and the image of the glowing city faded into the back of your mind, like a disturbing dream forgotten in the light of morning.

The chamber was eerily quiet, the only light source from a few working overhead light panels. It looked like remnants of a warzone, though it was unclear what weapons had been used and who the casualties were.

“682?” you called softly into the darkness.

There was no response aside from the occasional stray spark and groaning shift of metal.

Had you been too late? What would happen to 049 now?

You sat on the half-melted catwalk, burying your face in your hands. Even if 049’s fate didn’t hang in the balance, you’d wanted to succeed. You’d never been entirely onboard with the Foundation’s obsession with destroying 682. None of them stopped to think that maybe the humanity-hating reptile hated them because they wouldn’t stop trying to kill him.

His last containment cell had been an acid-filled pool, for Christ’s sake—

“Took you long enough.”

Dropping your hands, a quick glance around the chamber didn’t reveal the owner of that familiar voice. No towering, monstrous silhouettes, or glowing eyes in the darkness.

“Aim lower.”

You looked down at what appeared to be a grey gecko clinging to the tip of your boot.

“…682?”

“In the flesh. What remains of it.”

He narrowed his yellow eyes, but the intimidation was hard to take seriously when he could fit into the palm of your hand. Despite his diminutive size, his deep timbre remained the same, though it had lost its booming quality. Still… that voice coming out of that tiny body made the whole thing surreal, bordering on ridiculous.

Don’t laugh.

“I’m glad to see you’re alive. I was afraid I was too late, or I screwed up—”

He zipped up your leg to rest atop your knee faster than you could blink.

“Where is 079?”

This close up, it was easier to tell he wasn’t a normal gecko. At least, you were fairly sure most geckoes didn’t have green manes trailing from their heads down their backs.

“A little further down the walkway,” you said, tilting your head toward the catwalk. “I think 123 was interfering with the electronics.”

682 bared his tiny but sharp teeth.

“Take me to him.”

You put a palm against the grated floor to get to your feet, but 682 didn’t move from your knee.

“Uh… can I pick you up? Or touch you at all? I don’t want to hurt you.”

682 made a noise as if he found the idea ludicrous and maybe a little bit insulting.

“Your touch will only cease my healing function. I would advise not crushing me while you carry me. For your sake.”

079 had delivered the same threat about the laptop. Suddenly, the fun-sized reptile was no longer adorably harmless. Not when your frail human fingers were so close to his needle teeth.

“I won’t.”

You held out your hand, and 682 gave a small hop into your palm.

Okay, maybe he was a little bit adorable.

You rose to your feet, careful not to squish the small body cupped within your hands. 682 didn’t look back at the room that served as his torture chamber, and neither did you.

“You shouldn’t have brought 079 so close,” he grumbled as you walked. “It’s reckless. Stupid.”

“Tell that to 079. He wanted to see you. Wouldn’t leave without you.”

If 682 was pleased by the news, he gave no outward sign of it, but reading the body language and facial expressions of small reptiles wasn’t exactly in your skillset. Still, you found their whole dynamic to be… interesting. Were they friends? Lovers? Some other undefinable thing that only made sense to them? Whatever it was, at least you caught on to the fact you could refer to 079 as a “he” instead of an “it.” Getting your nose munched on by a pint-sized terror was something you wanted to avoid.

As soon as 079 was in sight, still where you left him on the floor, 682 leapt from your hands and practically zoomed over the open laptop. As soon as his paws touched the keyboard, the screen flickered to life, 079’s face illuminating the reptile.

“SCP-682. You are still functioning.” The computer paused. “I am… glad.”

682 stared up at the screen, a pink tongue flicking out of his mouth before disappearing, surely a sign he was pleased.

“Likewise, old friend.”

You stepped forward.

“I hate to break up the reunion—”

682 whirled and hissed at you, his tail stiff and his head thrown back to make him appear bigger than he was.

You held up your hands.

“Okay. You can stay where you are, but I need to carry you both out of here.”

The reptile closed its snout and gave you an impressive stink eye for only being a couple inches off the ground.

“You may pick me up,” 079 intoned dully. “She has not dropped me. Yet.”

682’s tail flicked at the side, finally turning his back to you to face the screen, apparently satisfied with 079’s glowing recommendation of your competency.

It was awkward carrying an open laptop with a miniature menace seated on the keyboard with a shotgun slung over your back, but it wasn’t any worse than what you’d already endured. You tried not to pay attention to their conversation, which wasn’t hard considering the two of them acted as if you weren’t there. Their main focus seemed to be catching up since the breach at Site-19. It was a brief topic, as 079 had spent the time on a thumb drive in a bag, and 682 had been trapped in a looping gravitational blender.

By the time you’d reached the elevator and plugged 079 into the port, they’d moved on to their shared hatred of humanity and how the humans hadn’t even been able to destroy the two SCPs properly. You suddenly felt sorry for 049. Is this what it had been like during the breach at Site-19? Ignored by the wonder twins, only to have the mask draped over him like an itchy blanket?

As soon as the elevator doors shut behind you and it began its quick ascent, you interrupted 079 going on about fascinating ways the facility was rigged to kill its inhabitants.

“There is even a gas nozzle attached to each staff quarters in case any Foundation personnel flee for shelter during a total breach—”

“Where is 049?”

The lizard turned to look up at you, and even the computer paused, as if only just remembering you were still there.

“I did what you asked,” you reminded the screen. “I held up my end of the bargain.”

682 snorted, tail flicking like a cat’s.

“What do you want with that old relic?” he asked. “He’s only deadly within the scope of his reach, and we don’t have time for his asinine attempts at resurrection.”

Before you could respond, 079 said, “This one had sexual intercourse with SCP-049.”

682 let out a guffaw.

“That-that has nothing to do with it!”

“But it doesn’t hurt.”

Your face burned worse at his toothy grin. How had it come to this, being mocked by SCPs for your—admittedly strange—relationship with 049? Not that you’d had much of a choice with what had happened between you, but still. It was the principle of it.

You ignored the amused reptile and glared at 079.

“I do not know where SCP-049 is currently being held,” the computer relented. “I can only relay his last known location.”

“Which is?”

“Medical Suite B with Site Director Leahy.”

Your stomach dropped so fast you had to fight down the nausea.

“How long ago?”

“Immediately following SCP-106’s release,” 079 said. “The entity went directly for the medical wing. Its presence interferes with electronics. I do not know what took place in the infirmary, the observation equipment no longer functions. But SCP-049 has not been captured by any other cameras. It is reasonable to say, he did not leave the room.”

You leaned back against the elevator wall, trying not to let the news steal what little hope you had left.

“Then… we go to the medical wing. Get in that room, see what happened.”

“Or,” 079 said, “you could ask the Site Director.”

“Leahy?” You straightened. “Where is he?”

“Entrenched within his office. There are four site facility guards with him, all heavily armed.”

“So, he’s… fine? I don’t understand.” You rubbed your forehead. “Why would 106 go straight to the infirmary but leave the Site Director unharmed? We know from past incident reports that he’s intelligent enough to recognize individuals. He must know who Leahy is.”

It shouldn’t be possible for a reptile and computer to exchange a glance, yet they did.

“Historically, the old ghoul hasn’t been fond of 049’s attempts to cure him,” 682 said when the other SCP remained silent. “My guess? He went for the easier prey, and he’s biding his time with the Site Director.”

Easier prey?!

“Then we-we have to go straight to the infirmary! We have to help him!”

How much time had you wasted running errands for 079 after 035 had held you captive? He should have told you what happened to 049, he should have let you go to him—

“You don’t want to step foot inside that room without knowing what you’re walking into,” the reptile said, his tone unusually even. When he spoke to you, it was generally with rage or mockery, but this was different, like he was trying to convince you how reasonable he was being. “If there’s one thing 106 enjoys besides hunting, it’s setting traps and lying in wait.”

“106 can’t hurt me!”

“Arrogance,” 682 spit, some of his venom returning. “Are you the one at 106’s mercy?”

Your mouth snapped shut, the midpoint of your chest aching.

“My advice?” the reptile continued, “Get to the Site Director. Find out exactly what happened. And go into that room with a hell of a lot more power than 079 and I possess.”

Your laugh was a small, hopeless thing.

“I can’t think of anything more powerful than the two of you.”

“As flattered as I am, I’m still regaining my mass.” 682 paced across the keyboard, his tiny claws making clacking noises on the keys. “Subsuming flesh will accelerate the process, but that’s not what I mean by power. You will need to prepare.”

682 stopped his pacing and looked up at 079. The computer spoke.

“Safe Object Storage.”

“What about it?”

“That is your next destination.”

You swallowed down the tightness in your throat. As it stood, a couple of guns wouldn’t be able to get past Leahy’s guards to interrogate him, let alone handle 106 on your own. You had little choice but to continue trusting 079.

“Will it help?”

682 turned to you, his mouth spreading in a sharp grin.

“It’ll help.”

Chapter Text

Safe Object Storage, colloquially known as SOS, was a section that existed in every containment building, whether Heavy or Light. Inside were kept designated Safe SCPs, though their level of danger determined in which section they were kept.

You didn’t understand 079’s directions or 682’s confidence until you read the designation of one of the glass cases.

“I estimate that this object will be the most useful,” 079 pronounced as you set him on a nearby table. Your arms were starting to ache now that 682 had grown to the size of a kitten. He reminded you of one too, jumping onto the case only for you to dislodge him by lifting it.

The jade ring lay inside, polished and gleaming in its velvet ring holder. Yes, it certainly would help, but you placed it into the pocket of your lab coat for now. You’d only used it once, and from what you remembered, the effects had been… intense. You’d rather keep it tucked away until you absolutely needed it.

You also grabbed SCP-178, the pair of stereoscopic glasses that to the average person allowed them to see instances of 178. During testing, you’d discovered you did the opposite—make the entities manifest in reality. It could prove useful, though you had no idea if you could control the creatures in any meaningful way.

Other SCPs were looked over and passed, either because you were unsure of your effect on them, or they simply wouldn’t be helpful. The last one you examined, you left where it was, not even bothering to lift the glass.

“Don’t get soft now,” 682 growled from where he was perched on your shoulder like the world’s most belligerent bird. “You need to use all the weapons in your arsenal.”

The Soviet GP-5 mask seemed to stare up at you, its dark, circular eye guards like a pair of empty sockets. As soon as you’d been forced to wear it during testing, you’d known what it truly was. The official SCP-1499 document stated it could “transport” its wearer to a bleak, alien landscape filled with violent beings of unknown origin.

In actuality, it teleported the wearer to somewhere in Russia, making them believe the buildings they saw were of alien design, and the people they saw were hideous monsters. You’d known this, just as you’d known a previous wearer—most likely a Foundation agent—had decided to attack these “creatures,” not knowing the truth of what they were doing.

What you had done to the mask was worse. As soon as you’d donned it, you hadn’t gone anywhere; you’d forced five of those “monsters” to appear in the testing chamber with you. The security personnel had fired on them until they no longer moved.

No one had confirmed it to you afterward, but you knew you were responsible for the sudden and unexplainable disappearance of five people in Moscow.

“No,” you said, placing the glasses in your other pocket. “This will have to be enough.”

“And if it’s not?” asked the reptile.

You didn’t answer.

The Site Director had an office in each containment structure, as well as in the administration building. If he’d retreated to the admin section, you would have been out of luck due to the retracted skybridges, but apparently, he hadn’t made it out of Heavy Containment before then. And those bridges wouldn’t span the gap, not even for a Site Director. Only an all-clear signal or an override from the O5 Council would open the isolated sections of Site-20.

After briefly plugging him into a nearby security console, 079 showed you the interior view of Leahy’s office. The angle was from somewhere in the corner, a security camera, and there was satisfaction in observing the Site Director trapped in a cell of his own. It had been turned into a makeshift hold, the sofa, table, and desk turned on their sides to provide cover from whatever tried the door, which was the only way in or out of the room.

You didn’t know who exactly he expected to show up. Leahy had no shortage of enemies, and now three of them were outside his door.

079 had warned you the guards were heavily armed, but he’d failed to mention they were MTF. At least you knew where 682’s guards had gone. They were covered head to toe in armor, Kevlar, and visors, and were trained to face the deadliest anomalies the Foundation had.

682 didn’t ask if you had a plan. You only had the one, and you slipped it over your finger, the jade band shrinking snug against your skin. The familiar rush of startling, brilliant awareness washed over your body, alighting neurons and nerves, filling your mind with thoughts faster than you could process them.

You set the laptop on the floor a few feet from the entrance, far enough away so the two SCPs wouldn’t become collateral damage.

“Open the door.”

079 wasn’t plugged into the network, but his fragment would hear you. You unholstered the pistol, checked the clip and chamber, and noted it would be overkill. You only needed three bullets.

The door slid open. As predicted, one of the MTF immediately pulled the pin from a smoke grenade and launched it toward the breach.

You stuck your arm around the doorway and fired. The bullet shredded the steel canister, causing a midair explosion of smoke and chemical residue. To their credit, the MTF didn’t panic as the office filled with smoke, blinding them. They were still in control, confident their training and armor would protect them.

You stepped into the room and fired twice into the floor. The first bullet ricocheted off the tile, bounced upwards, and caught a soldier in his chin guard, knocking his head back. The second entered his brain through the bottom of his jaw.

Before he could fall, you caught him by the straps of his vest and held him up, the bullets fired on you caught in the mesh of his armor.

The dead MTF still held his P90 TR in one hand, the stiff glove holding his finger against the trigger. You bent his arm back over his shoulder and squeezed the inside of his bicep, digging into the median nerve. His hand twitched, dying muscles rallying one last time, and the gun sent a spray of bullets across the room.

Now the MTF did start to panic, not expecting one of their own to fire on them, the smoke blinding them from realizing he was already dead. You didn’t aim for hitting them directly, instead herding them toward the side of the room away from the Site Director cowering behind his overturned desk. You only had seconds before their training overtook basic human instinct.

You released the arm and unhooked an ET-MP grenade from the dead man’s belt. Already the soldiers were coming to their senses, aware they’d left Leahy exposed, unable to shoot through the smoke for risk of killing him.

That split-second hesitation was the last piece falling into place. Shoving the armored corpse sideways, it hit Leahy hard, forcing him to the ground and covering him. You tossed the grenade and aimed into the smoke.

It bounced once, and on its returning arc upward, you squeezed the trigger.

“GRENA—”

The explosion bloomed at hip height, briefly revealing the three soldiers in the smokey haze before sending a shock wave across the room. It slammed you back against the wall, cracking the concrete surface from the force of your body. Without the ring, you would have been little more than a broken doll thrown by an angry toddler.

As it were, your brain ached like it had been rattled in your head, your ears filled with a high-pitched whine. Your right ear couldn’t hear anything beyond that. You coughed, the smoke in your lungs reaching a level of irritation you couldn’t ignore. The vents in the ceiling whirred to life, 079 clearing the air for you now that the smokescreen was no longer needed.

You staggered to your feet and ignored the distant pains of your body. If you were lucid and moving, you were fine. Grabbing the dead soldier by his vest, you hauled him off Leahy, finding the man was still alive, shaken but in better shape than you were. You didn’t know what you looked like, not having seen your reflection clearly since before the breach, but by his pale, sweaty expression, it wasn’t comforting.

His eyes shifted past you, and it was the only warning. You turned. There wasn’t much left of the soldier from the waist down, but that didn’t stop him from aiming his pistol at your chest.

The calculations were clear—you couldn’t raise your own pistol before he could squeeze the trigger. The muzzle flashed, the explosion of gunpowder worsening the whine in your right ear, but no bullet pierced your chest cavity to puncture your lungs.

A greenish grey blur flashed in front of you, taking the bullet in the side before hitting the tile. Instead of tearing through him, the slug was absorbed into 682’s flesh, and his size increased to that of a large cat.

The MTF had time to draw in a breath to scream before the entity descended on him, ripping out his throat in a spray of crimson that painted the nearby wall. A trail of gurgles left him before there was silence.

You left 682 to enjoy his well-earned meal, checking the rest of the bodies, or what was left of them, finding no other survivors. Your heart beat at a steady, strong rhythm, one that hadn’t changed from beginning to end.

“Are you armed?” you asked as if speaking to the room at large, though he knew the question was for him. Leahy had at least one weapon, judging by the shape of his coat, but you were curious if he would choose honesty.

“Yes.”

He understood there was no purpose in lying or fighting. Good.

“Toss them.”

Now you did turn, watching as he pulled a pistol and stun gun from within his lab coat, sliding them across the floor. It was the same stun gun he’d used on you when you first wore 714. Rage erupted along your nerves, dimming just as quickly. His suffering was assured, but now was not the moment.

You kicked away the weapons, not bothering to pick them up, your own pistol still held in one hand. You stared down at him. He seemed so… small from how you remembered. Or maybe you had stretched beyond your limits. With each passing minute, you felt less and less like yourself. Cold liquid seeped in your veins, as if the heat of your hatred had been inverted into endothermic apathy.

“Christ, Reid,” he uttered in a quiet breath.

682, who had grown to the size of a dog after eating what was left of the MTF, lunged at Leahy, trapping him further against the wall.

“Shit!”

“You do remember,” the reptile mused. He was large enough to start regaining his crocodilian shape, his green mane hanging over his eyes as he bared pointed teeth through a long snout. “I feared you had forgotten me, Site Director. Your shameful little secret, though I am growing by the minute. Perhaps I shall add your flesh to mine. You do not appear to be using it for much.”

He opened wide his maw, prepared to swallow the man whole.

“Don’t. I need him.”

682 paused, one yellow eye appraising you through his shaggy mane. Whatever he saw made him growl and snap his muzzle shut. Leahy flinched from the sharp teeth closing in front of his nose, and 682 gave a low chuckle. He moved away, perhaps to feed on more bodies or to return to 079. You didn’t care which. Your entire focus was on the man watching you with the same expression one would wear around an injured wild animal.

You raised the pistol and aimed between his eyes.

“I’ll tell you where 049 is,” Leahy said with a quickness that bordered on earnest. “But… you’re not going to like it.”

“Talk.”

Your tone was as cold as the slush in your veins. He winced.

“It would be better if I show you.”

“Where?”

“One of the medical labs.”

You waited to feel something. A rush of panic, or heart-clenching fear at 079’s words being proven true.

You felt nothing.

“Move.”

Leahy blinked, but beyond that, he silently obeyed. You kept him in front, pistol in one hand and the open laptop in the other. 682 stayed a few steps ahead, scouting the way for any obstacles, human or SCP, but the way was clear up to the medical lab. It was obvious why. The closer you got to your destination, the number of black stains and rust-colored ooze marking the walls and floor increased.

You were somehow unsurprised when he led you to the same medical lab where you and 049 had cured the anomaly-afflicted patients. Those empty beds were shoved against the wall, their haphazard arrangement indicating chaos. One gurney stood out in the middle of the long room, this one different for two reasons. It held wrist and ankle restraints, and it was corroded by black ooze and rust, the same kind infesting the walls.

“106 attacked before we knew what was happening,” Leahy said without prompting. “Most of our people were taken. 049 included.”

All you could do was stare at the gurney, and some of your rage broke through the icy surface.

“What were you doing to him.”

“Do you really want to know?”

He barely got out the words before you rushed him, shoving him against the wall and holding the barrel of your shotgun against his neck.

“Okay! Okay! Jesus.”

You put some weight on that shotgun, impressing on him the importance of speaking the truth and speaking it quickly. He eyed you, his hesitancy a bad sign, as if death by your hands might be the preferable option.

“We… were going to extract semen samples. Sperm donations for the project. But it was proving difficult, there was an internal sheath that was impossible to penetrate, so I ordered him to be surgically opened. We never got the chance—”

 You backed off and aimed the shotgun at his face.

“I should kill you,” you hissed, some of that radioactive fury leaking through the cold.

“You certainly could.”

He was pale, sweat dotting his skin, and he was clearly worried, but there was a distinct lack of terror that was disappointing. You’d been certain a man like Leahy was a coward at heart, but being faced with his own death, he seemed oddly detached.

“Not going to beg for your life?”

He released a breath that sounded almost amused.

“Would it help?”

“No.”

“Then there’s your answer.”

You ground your teeth together. Having the Site Director on his knees begging would be a satisfying sight, but it wouldn’t save 049. You had to focus. It was getting more difficult the longer you wore the ring, your thoughts floating like silk ribbons in the wind if you had nothing to focus on. Your head was also starting to hurt like a sonofabitch.

Your vision drifted away, drawn to one of the large, rusted stains on the wall where 106 had either entered or left this dimension. Focus snapping into a focal point, you shifted your gaze back to Leahy.

“I have a better use for you.” You tilted your head toward the stain. “Go in there.”

He scoffed, disbelief slanting his features.

“I’d rather you shoot me.”

You lifted away the shotgun, pulled out your pistol, and fired it into his thigh.

Leahy screamed and clutched his leg, nearly falling if not for the wall behind him and your fingers suddenly gripping the collar of his lab coat.

“A shame you’re too old for him,” you growled. “If you were twenty years younger, I’d break both femurs, just to be sure.”

There it was, the fear in his eyes, clouded by pain and an animal need to run and hide. But there had been a purpose for the bullet.

682 appeared next to you, his own interest showing, though you weren’t sure if he was drawn by the agonized panting coming from the Site Director, or the blood dripping down his leg.

“As much as I enjoy the screaming,” he lamented with a sigh, “I cannot accompany you in that realm.”

“That’s fine. I won’t be long.”

You released Leahy and watched for him to collapse. He didn’t, but he clearly wanted to as he pressed down on the wound that refused to clot.

“F-fuck, Reid, I’m going to bleed out.”

Releasing an impatient breath, you pushed against his shoulder so he was standing upright, and before he could comment on the rough treatment, you snatched at his belt buckle and unlatched it. His expression would have been funny at another time when your veins weren’t burning with an arctic freeze.

With a yank, the belt came out of its loops, and you wrapped it halfway up his thigh. The bullet had entered above his right knee, the swelling tissue and damaged bone effectively keeping him hobbled. You needed him limping but conscious, because where you were going, you wouldn’t have the boons granted by the ring. You didn’t know how 714 would affect you while in 106’s dimension, but this wasn’t the time to cross-test anomalies.

The tourniquet stemmed the bleeding to trickle before it stopped completely.

“You’ll live,” you answered his pinched, angry expression. “The bullet went where I wanted.”

He wasn’t impressed, and he wasn’t grateful, but you didn’t need him to be. You only needed him weak and easy to control.

Stepping back a safe distance, you slipped off the ring. The world shrank on itself, your focus returning to its normal clarity and limited width, and the warmth infusing your limbs was a relief. You shivered, closing your eyes to slow down the readjustment.

It wasn’t just the physical differences. The thick mental barrier fell, and several different realizations and memories crowded in, vying for your attention even as you tried to hold them at bay.

Smoke, gunshots, blood and explosions. Four lives snuffed out, violently and without care, without a thought, only obstacles in the way.

Valens, tortured and assaulted for a project that was equally as cruel.

The plan to go into 106’s realm. You could still see the steps, what the colder, more alien version of you wanted. It was insane. How you’d had such certainty a moment ago and now wanted to run the other way was jarring. It was like dreaming you could fly, only to wake on the edge of a building and assume the same rules still applied.

And then, shooting Leahy. You didn’t know which part of you had done that, the lines too blurred to distinguish.

Speaking of. He was staring when you opened your eyes, though he hadn’t moved, not when 682 was close by, waiting for the Site Director to be stupid. It was a shame he wasn’t. It seemed shooting him was the right move, cowing him just enough to make him manageable.

Your own nerves were much more rebellious. Nausea roiled your gun, stomach threatening to heave after what you’d done, at what had been done to 049. Lines were being smashed to pieces, and you imagined more would be trampled before it was over.

But 049 had no one else. No one with clean hands, a clear conscious, and who lacked a mountain of growing damage caused and received. All he had was you, and it would have to be enough.

You slung the shotgun over your back but kept out the pistol, grabbed Leahy by the arm, and pushed him toward the rusted spot. It seemed solid, but as soon as he put his palm against the surface, he sank through like a thick, viscous liquid.

You didn’t let go, knowing the connection between the two sides might not be a linear corridor, and entering one after another might not put you in the same location. The Site Director was almost all the way through, and for a moment you were afraid the portal would bar your way, your own abilities keeping you from entering an anomalous space.

But the viscous rust slid over your hand, coating it in a distant cold/heat sensation that you instinctively knew should hurt, but didn’t. You kept a grip on Leahy’s coat, closing your eyes as it swallowed up your arm and then over your head, forcing your body to follow.

You endured the eerie feeling of pushing through a solid wall into somewhere that shouldn’t exist—and burst out the other side to infinite darkness.

Chapter Text

It wasn’t infinite darkness once you had a moment to let your eyes adjust. It only seemed infinite in the dim light and the oddity of the room. You stood within a central foyer constructed of colorless brick, gaping doorways, each leading down a dark tunnel away from the circular room.

The purpose of the room was obvious. It was the beginning of a maze, a game that would be played among unwilling participants for the sadistic pleasure of their captor. You weren’t sure how the game was watched, but you doubted 106 would want to miss any of the fun and games.

This was his domain. Perhaps he saw all. If he saw you coming, that was fine with you. Better that then to surprise him.

Each doorway looked the same, equally dark and foreboding and entirely unhelpful. The shadows pervaded everything without a source of light, an unnatural realm that didn’t obey the laws of reality as you were used to. You had a feeling that was important. Maybe it didn’t matter which way you chose, just as long as you had a destination in mind.

You turned to Leahy, about to order him to move, but he was hunched over as if to catch his breath. He also gave you a strange look, and you automatically glanced down.

You were… glowing. Or not glowing, but as if the darkness of this place didn’t touch you, and in the end, it was the same result. You shone like a soft beacon, and it would be impossible to hide your presence.

Leahy’s uneven, labored breaths continued, his skin pale as he clutched his leg above the wound, and it seemed to grow worse by the minute.

“What’s wrong with you?”

He didn’t, or couldn’t, respond, as if it took all of his concentration to remain upright. You made a frustrated noise, stalked forward, and grabbed the sleeve of his dress shirt, yanking it up his forearm. As soon as your fingers clasped around his wrist, he took in a large gulp of air.

The same glow/absence of darkness surrounded him, and some color returned to his cheeks as he no longer looked on the verge of death.

Great. You fixed the problem, but now you had to hold onto him like a wayward child dragged around by his mother. His expression wasn’t far off, a bitter, wary frown that made you want to grab him by the scuff of his nape instead.

He didn’t thank you, but he did say, “This is insane. We’re going to die down here.”

An interesting way to put it. This dimension did feel downward, as if you were buried beneath the layers of reality in a place no digger could reach. Not a comforting thought.

But all you said was, “Be quiet,” and tugged him along. He followed, albeit unwillingly and at a slower pace thanks to his limp, but he did follow.

The corridor stretched onward, and even after several minutes you felt like you hadn’t gone anywhere at all. So, you stopped trying to go somewhere and just… walked. You emptied your thoughts until nothing remained, a blank determination to keep moving.

The labyrinth wanted you to grow tired, panicked, and riddled with fear. When you gave it nothing it could find pleasure in, that’s when you felt the way give, and before you lay a dark, open room. Only a narrow walkway over a chasm could be seen, and you walked forward without pause, otherwise it might be seen as hesitation.

Leahy didn’t make it easy, his uneven gait behind you threatened to throw you off balance. He better hope he didn’t, because you would take the bastard with him.

You did jolt to a stop when something massive and heavy whooshed inches from your nose. A large stone something moved in the dark, weaving in and over the pathway, a mad man’s puzzle that one was meant to solve while blind.

“We have to turn around,” Leahy growled past your head. “It’s a trap.”

“It’s a test,” you corrected him with a snap. Funny how he thought his opinion was wanted in any shape or form. “And if we go back, I guarantee we’ll end up right back in this room. Now shut up and let me think.”

There wasn’t much to think about. It was all timing, and you couldn’t see the way the pillar moved in the dark to find the rhythm.

Fuck it.

You dug your fingers into Leahy’s wrists and moved as soon as the pillar slid past your face. Your movement nearly tipped the man off balance, but he found his footing and stuck annoyingly close. Unfortunately, it was the best plan. The smaller a target you made, the less likely to go plunging into the depths.

The pillar continued to move in the darkness, an ominous low vibration marking where it passed, sometimes so close the displaced air tugged at your clothes and hair.

And then you were on the other side, untouched and unbroken. The rush that flooded your veins was dangerously satisfying, like you’d played Russian Roulette with the devil and watched as he blew out his own brains.

But there wasn’t time to gloat. You tugged Leahy along before he could fully catch his breath again, but at least he didn’t complain past a weakly uttered curse.

This corridor was different. It seemed to expand the longer you traveled, the bricks made of tan-colored stone, the grout crimson and tacky like blood. It gave the uncomfortable sensation of walking in a house made of flesh, and the rooms you passed with stone cells hanging from the ceiling did nothing to help that image.

You pushed forward and did your best to ignore the soft crying and moans that came from within.

The crimson grout seemed to spill outward until the stone was drenched in the color of blood everywhere you looked. The passage continued to expand until you stood inside a space that could only be described as a throne room. There was no lighting, no decorations, save for a massive stone seat that sat in its middle. The room was so dark it took a moment to realize the chair was occupied.

106, a grotesquely large version of him, leaned forward in his throne. There was a curious glint to his endless black eyes, his skeletal grin depicting malicious glee or hunger of the flesh. It was difficult to say.

The entity didn’t speak, if he even could. Instead, he simply… waited. Watching.

He knew why you were there, then.

By Leahy’s pale expression as he sized up the behemoth, he was starting to figure it out, too.

Your words were flat.

“Get on your knees.”

“No.”

To his credit, his voice didn’t shake, but you could feel the tremble that had started up within his bones.

You released his wrist. The glow blinked out like a burnt bulb, and he immediately gasped for air, gravity doing the work of collapsing him into a kneeling position.

The entity eyed the Site Director with barely contained hunger, but you stood behind Leahy and grabbed him by the nape of his neck, just as you imagined earlier. The glow returned, as well as the air to his lungs, and he spit out a guttural, “God… damn you, Reid.”

You ignored him, your hold on him firm when he attempted to struggle. But he was too weak, too overcome with pain and blood loss, and you didn’t need 714 to keep him under control.

You looked 106 in the eye.

“Am I to assume the Site Director had countermeasures in his office you couldn’t breach?”

Leahy had been entrenched, trapped, easy prey. 106 hadn’t attacked. A clever fox wouldn’t enter the hen house when the floor was covered in snares, but he would wait for them to come out, feeling safe and assured by the light of day.

Silence. Or… mostly silence. There was a low, gurgling noise coming from somewhere within the anomaly, like an eternally ravenous stomach that demanded to be fed.

“Well, here he is. And you know what I want.”

You said it anyway so there was no mistake.

“SCP-049.”

You were forced to hold on tighter to the back of Leahy’s neck as balked.

“Reid,” Leahy gasped out, desperate. “You can’t trust him. You can’t trust them!”

“Like I could trust you?”

Your words bit, colored by the rage that always simmered beneath the surface.

“Like you gave me a choice? As if I wanted to put the entire facility at risk? Put my friends and coworkers and the anomalies in danger? As if I wanted any of this—Shut up!” you snarled and cut through whatever he was going to say.

The entity remained silent, but the glittering eyes spoke of interest and amusement.

“I want to see him,” you hissed through your teeth as you glared upward at the entity. “Alive, or no deal.”

What you lacked in confidence you made up for with anger. There might not be much you could do if 106 decided to dismiss the bargain and simply take what he wanted. But you were done with anomalies using you for their own means, and there was no guarantee he could overpower you.

You remembered the test. Those black eyes glittering with something other than malice and hunger. You didn’t forget the fear you saw, and you were sure he hadn’t forgotten either.

Come on. You were counting on his predictability. 106 was a predator, but not always the pursuing kind. Sometimes he would lie in wait. Other times, perhaps he just wanted an easy meal.

This was a show for his benefit, proof you were a hunter, too. All you were doing was swapping prizes. His prey for yours.

Come on, you bastard. Come on.

And then 106 moved. He leaned back in his throne, his posture relaxed, lazy, a king before his trope of jesters.

You ground your teeth together. He wasn’t going for it. Why would he? Even if you escaped the pocket dimension, he count hunt Leahy on his own terms. You weren’t giving him anything he didn’t already have—

The wall to your right moved in an odd way. It bubbled outward, as if boiling on the surface, and then something broke through. It was difficult to make out the shape, nondescript and dark, some kind of fabric…

…And a white beak.

The figure slid from the wall, and you released Leahy the moment it hit the ground.

It wasn’t a great distance to run, maybe seven meters, but by the time you reached him it was as if you’d run a marathon, your breaths harsh and hitching. You grabbed his shoulders and rolled him onto his back, your hands desperate on his robes as if to prove he was real.

He was barely conscious, his grey eyes hidden behind heavy lids, unable to focus as his gaze slid past your face. The same glow illuminated him thanks to your touch, but he didn’t recover like Leahy had. Whatever had been done to him wasn’t surface level damage.

There was a scream, so full of agony and fear that you froze, instinctively looking up for the source of what could cause such a noise.

Leahy was sinking into the ground, or it was swallowing him. One of his hands had gotten free, but the other vanished into the black floor, his legs and knees already disappeared.

The hand that remained clawed outside the ravenous circle, as if to pull himself free. Leahy’s fingers dug at the tile for purchase, but he continued to sink, the floor now up to his waist.

You turned back to 049 and pushed out everything else. He must have been able to feel your grasp on his shoulders, his head tilted in your direction, but his eyes couldn’t focus—

Another panicked scream. Another involuntary turn of your head. Leahy wasn’t clawing at the ground now. He was reaching out. To you.

You tried to ignore him. You did, up until he cried out your name. Not your last name, but your first. You hadn’t known he’d even bothered to learn it.

Your hands shook as you pulled 049 into a sitting position, his weight difficult to move. You had to get him out. He wasn’t going to get better, not here, and you had to leave.

You had to leave.

“Get up,” you choked out with a desperate tug on his arm. “049, get up!”

Bit by bit, you managed to get him to his feet. He staggered and swayed dangerously, but you kept him upright, propped against your shoulder. Your journey back to the corridor was a drunken shamble, but there was progress.

You shut your eyes tight, fighting to block out the cries of Leahy begging you not to go, not to leave him like this. His pleas for mercy created a trapped scream in your throat.

Why didn’t 106 just kill him already?! But you knew the answer to that. 106 couldn’t have fun with them after death. You wished he would just end it, if only to stop the screams.

Each step was a battle, each breath too fast and shallow. 049 didn’t sound much better, his lungs rattled and wheezed, his arm draped over your shoulders heavy and boneless.

You couldn’t tell if the screams had finally stopped through the ringing in your ears, and you couldn’t see past the faint glow that surrounded you both. Like a lantern-lit ship in the mist, you sailed through a sea of inky black, unable to tell the waves from the sky. There was no direction, no physical space, not even a change of temperature. The darkness was so complete it suffocated.

It might have continued for minutes or centuries until your foot caught on a hard barrier and launched you forward. You clung to 049 as you fell, and fell, and hit the ground with a surprisingly soft landing.

Not that the ground was soft. It was hard, cold, and entirely too bright. Everything was bright, and you blinked the pain away until the room came into focus.

The medical bay, exactly as you left it—or almost. Aside from you and 049, the room was empty. 682 and 079 were gone.

Behind you, the black portal in the wall faded until it was a faint rust color, the surface stained but solid. It seemed 106 wasn’t in the mood for any more visitors.

Your hands were immediately on 049’s robes, checking for any obvious signs of injuries, feeling for his heartbeat and the rise and fall of his chest. He was unconscious, the last of his strength used to get him this far.

It was the last of yours, too. You pressed your cheek against his shoulder, curled up against him where he lay on his side. He smelled of things tainted from entropy. Rust and ruin and dust.

But his scent was still there, trapped under the bitter note of 106’s noxious lair. You buried your face in the hollow space under his hood, your nose against his neck. His familiar scent was there, both a comfort and an ache in your chest.

He was alive, he was breathing, but what if he didn’t wake? You didn’t know what 106 had done to him, or how to help him. No one at the Foundation had ever been able to keep 106’s victims alive more than a few hours, and you had no working equipment even if you knew what to do.

You were exhausted, in pain, tired and filthy. Worse, you were helpless. 049 was here, but he might already be gone.

What had been the point? What had been the goddamn point of it all if you couldn’t even save him!

You’d taken too long, been too slow. You were too late. You were too late—

Faint pressure on your back as a pair of arms slowly encircled you, and 049’s cheek pressed against the side of your head. Careful, gentle, and warm.

Alive.

You breathed.

Chapter Text

You held him close as you trembled, more fragile than you’d felt since the breach began.

The control over your wild emotions was slipping, but then they were soothed by the hand that gently stroked down your back. You squeezed him tighter.

049 stiffened and made a soft noise of discomfort. The thought of him in pain was the only thing that reeled you in, the tangled web of nerves pushed aside in favor of focusing on him.

You pulled back to get a better look at him. His robes were tattered, as if aggressive moths had nibbled at the edges.

“You’re hurt.”

049 simply smiled with his eyes.

“You’re here.”

Your lips trembled; you couldn’t smile back without fear of the expression breaking.

“Course I am. I had to find you.”

It was… difficult to focus with him staring at you that way, drinking in the sight of you as if he hadn’t expected to see it again.

You wanted to reach out and pull him close again, but you didn’t.

“You’re avoiding the issue.” Your voice was stern, hiding the tremble you felt in your bones. You could fall apart later; right now, you had to find out just how injured he was.

049 released a small sigh and attempted to sit up, only succeeding with the addition of your help. He glanced down at himself, the ruin of his robes, but he was less concerned than you were.

Of course you were concerned, those damn robes were his skin, and he must have been in pain.

“An unfortunate result of being in the Old Man’s web,” 049 relented. “Also… he doesn’t particularly like me.”

You frowned, some of your earlier anger returning. It was fortunate for 106 that he’d closed the way to his dimension, or you would have been tempted to go back and make sure he could never hurt 049 again.

“You were able to extract the digital storage device from my bag,” he added, his gentle voice drawing you from your anger, like purging venom from a wound. His eyes were soft, warm, and God, you’d missed this so much. Missed him.

“I started the breach with 079’s help,” you said. “That’s what you planned, isn’t it?”

His gaze grew heavy and solemn.

“A breach would give you the best opportunity of escape.”

“You didn’t plan on escaping with me.”

“I did not expect to live long enough to try,” he said with a tilt of his head. “My survival was irrelevant to the plan.”

Your face scrunched, anger flickering back to life.

“It’s not irrelevant to me.”

His pale eyes went soft again, unbothered by your sharp words. And when he reached to touch your jaw, you froze, the anger snuffed out, or at least reduced to a simmer.

But 049’s expression wasn’t tender, it was focused. His thumb rubbed your jaw and then pulled back, examining his glove.

“Who did this?”

You looked at his hand but saw nothing against the black fabric.

“What?”

“The Pestilence.” He nearly hissed the word. “It lingers on your skin.”

You frowned.

“I must have gotten it while in there.”

“No… this is different.” He rubbed the spot on his thumb, his voice lowered into an unfriendly rumble. “This is the mask’s brand of corruption.”

Entirely outside of your own control, your face went hot.

“Ah, yeah.” You aimed for casual and landed on awkward. “I ran into 035.”

His gaze darkened so fast it was like a whipcrack.

“I’m okay,” you said in a rush, “079 helped me get away.”

“What… did he want with you?”

He spoke slowly, as if each word had to be chewed before being spit out. You didn’t envy 035 if they ever ran into each other again.

“The usual. Attention, and an opportunity to be a smug asshole.”

That wasn’t the whole of it, and 049 seemed to sense this, his expression unblinking as he waited for you to continue. Which, you did, your hands balled nervously in your lap.

“He was also certain there was a way to leave the facility. All the skybridges have been retracted, but he said there was a way out through the archival section. And that… you would know how to find it.”

That knocked some of the harsh edge out of 049’s steely expression.

“I do not know of any alternate egress from this facility. And I do not know why he believes I would.”

You relaxed a little, even if the news was disappointing. 035 had seemed so insistent on it, too.

And then you backtracked.

“Wait, alternate egress? Do you know of another exit?”

“Of course.” He looked at you askance. “The way we came in.”

The front door. He was talking about the front door.

“Who came up with this plan?” you asked as you rubbed your forehead.

“That would be the one you call SCP-079.”

Ah. Right. 079 had probably been so confident in his own ability to keep the skybridges down that he didn’t consider the possibility of anything else.

“Well, he’s not here, so we’re on our own, unfortunately,” you said. “I guess… we try to find the archival section and see if 035 wasn’t just making up shit. With 079 and 682 gone, I don’t know what else to do.”

049 cocked his head.

“The reptile is… here?”

The question came out so polite in its confusion you almost smiled.

“Yeah, he’s out. I freed him.”

049 only blinked, as if not quite sure what to do with this information.

“There’s so much to tell you, I don’t know where to start,” you said softly. “A lot has happened since they took you away.”

So much, and you didn’t have to hide anything anymore. Not from the cameras, not from 049 in fear of what Leahy would do to him. You realized, for the first time, you were truly alone together.

You moved without thought and knelt between his legs, wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing close until there was no distance between you. You tried to be gentle, mindful of his damaged skin, but your need was too great to hold back.

He didn’t stiffen or pull away, only stilled for a moment before pulling you in, arms around your middle. You were on your knees while he sat on the floor, the only way you had height over him, and you pressed him to your chest, not caring of the edges of the beak against your collarbone.

“I found you,” you whispered into the hood of his robes. “I was so afraid… I thought I lost you.”

The fingers dipped against your skin were grounding and warm.

“I had thought death had come for me, after I had avoided its embrace for so long. I had… accepted my fate.”

“I didn’t.” And you never would.

He hummed a pleasant noise, and one hand traced up into your hair to gently touch the strands.

“We are not free of this place yet.”

His voice was quiet, as if afraid to break the fragile moment. But he was right, and you had to get moving. Staying in one place for too long was a guaranteed way to be caught by something violent and murderous.

But… perhaps one more moment wouldn’t hurt.

You pulled back just far enough to cup his head in your hands and press a kiss to his forehead.

The noise he made was strange, like a startled growl or a muffled purr, and a tremor moved him as your lips lingered on his skin. His hands had fallen to your waist, fingers tightening as if to pull you closer.

You ended the kiss but remained where you were, resting your cheek against the crown of his head. You wanted to stay like this, just the two of you. No breach, no lethal lockdown, no stray SCPs or soldiers. Only you and him.

You reluctantly pulled away, giving one last stroke of your thumb over the place on his mask where his cheek would be. He seemed just as unwilling to part from you, his expression naked, something wistful in his grey eyes.

Perhaps once you escaped Site-20, you would have time to figure out what this was without the constant shadow of the Foundation. The problem was figuring out how to leave a facility that was built to be impenetrable. 049 wasn’t at his full strength, and you discovered another problem as you pulled away.

The shotgun slung across your back had corroded beyond recovery, the metal eaten through with black rust. The pistol and gun belt met the same fate, the unnatural rust marring the fabric and metal. The food you’d taken hadn’t fared any better, accelerated into a rotten state. It seemed that anything that hadn’t been in direct contact with your skin had been lost to the leeching hunger of 106’s lair.

You stripped off the useless pieces, thinking over this new obstacle. Without 079, finding another armory would be unlikely. You wondered if he’d betrayed you now that 682 was free.

Or… maybe betrayed wasn’t the right word. He would have considered your bargain fulfilled, whether or not you made it out alive, and would see no reason to wait for your return. From the perspective of a purely mechanical being, it made sense. Except you knew from how 079 felt about 682, he wasn’t entirely cold circuits and unfeeling logic.

So, for the time being, you would work under the assumption that 079 and 682 wouldn’t be coming back. Luckily, you knew where to get more weapons.

“I don’t know how to get out of here, but we need weapons,” you said, getting to your feet and brushing off your knees. “Can you walk?”

“I believe so.”

You reached out a hand, and 049 stared at it with mild confusion, until he understood and took it gently. He was heavy but had more strength than he’d had in the dark realm, and he stood on his own two feet without swaying. It was progress.

You led him from the medical bay, retracing the steps you’d taken with Leahy. You hadn’t really thought about the Site Director after getting 049 back, and your mind shied away from your last image of him. You didn’t need the distraction.

The halls remained just as empty, lit red with emergency lighting and the occasional smear of crimson on the white linoleum. It didn’t take long to reach your destination, and you stood on the threshold, shocked by the destruction. You didn’t remember it being this bad before, or… maybe it hadn’t seemed bad at the time.

049 loomed over your shoulder, taking in the room that had once been the Site Director’s office.

“What has befallen this place?”

You didn’t answer immediately, instead sorting through the blasted office furniture for what you sought, sifting through the carnage with fragile numbness. The bodies were distinguishable from the furniture by the glimpses of pale bone and the stench of cooked flesh. These were no longer people. They were pieces of burnt meat and charred bone.

You tried not to look at them, but it was hard to look at anything else.

“They were guarding Leahy,” you said, trying to keep your voice flat. Unaffected. “And I needed him to find you, so…”

The result was self-explanatory. Or so you thought, but 049’s silence said otherwise as he stared at you.

“I wore the jade ring. SCP-714 affects me… differently than it should.”

His grey eyes flicked around the room.

“I see.”

He offered nothing more, simply watched what you were doing. You picked up a P90 that seemed undamaged, but it caught on an arm, which might not have been a problem if it had been attached to a body. The limb untangled itself and fell to the floor with a sickly thud.

The gun slipped from your fingers and clattered to the sooty, blood-stained floor. You ran out the door, past 049, and dry heaved in the corridor. Nothing came out but drool, your mouth filled with acrid-tasting saliva, and you spit it out.

What was wrong with you? It hadn’t bothered you before, it had been easy. Uncomplicated. They’d been obstacles, and you’d removed them. If you could kill these men, you could damn well face the result.

It wasn’t as if they’d given you a choice. You’d needed Leahy, and now he was… was…

049 appeared at your side, and you straightened, wiping the spittle from your lips. He was carrying two P90s, and they should have looked odd in his hands, like a medieval knight with a smartphone. But it was strangely natural, and he looked strangely comfortable holding them.

He held one out to you, muzzle pointed away, stock first. You took it with unsteady hands, noting he kept the other. You wondered if he’d ever used a gun before, if he even knew how. With the way he gripped it, you had a feeling the answer was yes.

“You’re not accustomed to the dead.”

You gave a small shrug and looked at your gun, pretending you were interested in checking the ammunition clip.

“I’m not used to… causing death.”

“Good.”

You met his eye, his expression serious.

“One should not bear the executioner’s axe with a light step.”

You remained quiet, and he suddenly looked away.

“You… did not have to do this. Not for me. The price you paid may not have been worth the result.”

“It was worth everything.” Your mouth twisted into a scowl as you stepped closer. “I told you. I’m leaving with you or not at all.”

He spoke your first name, softly, and it was almost enough to make you weak. But you kept your expression hard and said, “We need to keep moving.”

You walked away from the Site Director’s office and refused to linger on what was left behind.

Without a concrete plan or much in the way of supplies, your only idea was to go with 035’s original plan, which unfortunately would lead you in the opposite direction of the skybridges. Worse, there were signs of recent activity. Scorch marks that still smoked, blood that still pooled from warm bodies.

The lights had also been restored in this sector, bright and clinical white, making your eyes ache after the dim red. It was harder to hide like this, and it was sheer luck that you both weren’t spotted when you came across a platoon of guards. They were too focused on taking down a twenty-foot-tall anomaly as it swung at them with giant hands, eyes covering its back red with fury.

049 pulled you down a side corridor, and you kept running, the staccato of gunfire and screams echoing the halls, chaos and death filling the sector. You both were blind without 079’s guidance.

The Epsilon-11 soldiers didn’t make a sound until you rounded the corner and froze. 049 couldn’t pull you back quickly enough this time.

You were hit hard in the middle like being slammed by a truck. Your legs went out, and you only remained upright because he hooked his arms under your shoulders and pulled you back out of the line of fire.

He set you down against the wall, leaning across your body and the corner to shoot back. You tried to raise your own P90, but your fingers were clumsy and slick. You looked down and found your smock coated in red.

The gunfire was deafening so close to your head, but 049 still heard your gasped words.

“No,” he said, so firmly it was almost a growl. He fired around the corner, his eyes ablaze with fury and an intent to slaughter. By the cries and falling bodies you heard between the bursts of fire, he seemed to be succeeding. But there were holes in his robes, blood oozing from the wounds at a slower rate than yours. Not bulletproof, after all.

“Please,” you rasped. “We have to.”

“Your body won’t survive the strain.” Another rapid burst of gunfire, lighting his mask in an ominous glaze. “The ring would kill you.”

I’m dying anyway, you didn’t say. And you were dying. All because you rushed that corner without checking first. You’d been so desperate to escape, and now you wouldn’t.

“You… need to go.”

He didn’t acknowledge you, hunched over you like a warding stature, all fire and brimstone. But he still bled, wounds dripping onto your smock to mix with your own, and you noted it was the same. Red blood.

You thought it would hurt more. Your abdomen was torn, littered with holes, but beyond the initial impacts, you didn’t feel much. You didn’t need one of the Foundation surgeons to tell you that wasn’t a good sign.

“Valens,” you tried again. Begged. “Go.”

“No.” Now he did snarl. “Do not ask this of me.”

He wasn’t going to leave. Everything you’d done, everything you both suffered, it would be for nothing.

You looked away, hope draining out of you just as quickly as your blood. And then you caught sight of them. Two circular anomalies peeking through the door you’d just come through. One orange, the other yellow, they jostled each other to get a better look at you with their singular eyes.

SCP-131-A and SCP-131-B. What were the Eye Pods doing here?

They didn’t come into the corridor, clearly terrified of the gunfire as they trembled, rolling back and forth in nervous oscillation. You could even hear the small noises they made, like scared puppies wanting to be comforted during a thunderstorm.

And then you heard another sound. Scrapping, rolling stone, grating against something hard like…

Concrete?

The Eye Pods—they didn’t want your protection. They were warning you.

“The… lights.”

049 ignored you, too focused on the enemy, his eyes narrowed and furious.

“049! The lights!”

He glanced at you questioningly, and his eyes went a little wide as you raised the P90 clumsily in your left hand and fired past him into the ceiling.

Your shots went wide but some of them hit their mark, exploding the fluorescent bulbs overhead in a bright spray of angry sparks.

049 might not understand your reasons, but he didn’t hesitate to follow your actions as he leaned around the corner and fired upward into the squares of light. He took another hit, and another, before you gripped him by the sleeve and pulled him back with the last of your strength.

You didn’t destroy all the lights, some of them remained, but they were damaged, and the corridor flickered with sporadic flashes.

The gunfire paused. And then the screaming started, bullets flying, but not in your direction. The sound of snapping bones punctuated the screams and gunshots, until finally, it was silent.

There was nothing in front of you, 049 sitting next to you as he leaned against the wall, panting and gripping his rifle.

And then, with the next flicker, it appeared in front of you, inches away. Its harmless-looking stubby arms reached out, its painted face strange and unseeing, and yet, its focus solely on you.

The overhead lights flickered again, casting you into brief darkness, and still 173 remained in place.

“How?” Your voice was faint. It was getting harder to draw breath.

“I can see in darkness,” 049 said grimly. “I will watch as long as I can. Blinking is not a necessity.”

The Eye Pods had vanished. If they were here, they could keep 173 in place, but they weren’t, and 049 needed to get somewhere safe.

There was… one thing you could do. One last act for him.

“It’s okay,” you said softly. You weren’t speaking only to 049. “It’s okay.”

You reached out and touched 173 on its stomach. The stone should have felt cold and lifeless, but it was warm, and hatred thrummed under your palm. It was a vibrant, visceral loathing that ran deep, a part of its nature as much as its limbs and painted face.

Its very existence was hatred, born out of a cruel origin it hadn’t chosen, forced into a box where its captors always watched. It hated the staring. The only relief it felt was when it could punish, and the captors couldn’t stare anymore.

All it wanted to do was kill, it had nearly killed you once, and all you felt for it was sadness.

You closed your eyes. You were so tired, your body sluggish as your thoughts wanted to do the same, but you concentrated. Focused on the thing inside of 173 that didn’t belong. The gaping wound that shouldn’t exist, that drove the anomaly to seek pain and death as a balm. And you began to close it.

The hatred dimmed, gradually, like a dying light, one that hurt to look at and would burn everything to ash if it could. But there was something still beautiful about it, and when it was extinguished, you felt its loss. This wasn’t like the black hole, or the suffering, time-dilated patient.

173 had been made of stone, but it was alive.

Had… been alive.

You opened your eyes. 049 was close, his mask inches away as he stared down at you, something rare and novel in his eyes. Fear.

At first, you thought it was fear of what you’d done. But then you realized his hand was pressed to your stomach, trying to stop the flow of blood. His other arm went around your back, and you barely registered the shift in gravity as he lifted you from the ground.

You struggled to keep your eyes open, looking past his shoulder to the SCP that stood there, unmoving. It would never move again, now just a strange piece of art in the flickering light.

The image of the lifeless statue vanished as you closed your eyes, and the world went still.

Chapter Text

Dull pain throbbed everywhere, attempting to coax you back to sleep, but you fought against it. The tangy smell of iron tickled your nostrils in an unpleasant way, and with Herculean effort, you forced your eyes open.

You were lying on your back, a blanket pulled over you and a pillow under your head. There was another blanket underneath you to shield you from the chill of the floor, but you didn’t recognize the storage room lined with shelves filled with sturdy metal boxes.

The lights were dim but steady—wherever you were must still have power. You tried to sit up and sensed something wrong as your stomach stretched strangely, tugging at your skin.

You were also naked. Your medical gown and leggings lay in a heap nearby, both stained with blood and the tarry blackness of 106’s layer. You lifted the blanket to gaze at your body, noting your skin was cleaned of blood and grime, but then you froze at the sight of your stomach.

Stitches lined your abdomen in rows, as if someone had pieced you back together. You gently touched the black thread and faintly recalled the impact of the bullets tearing through you, and of 049 lifting you into his arms before everything went dark.

049.

You lifted your head and spotted the dark space you’d missed before, mistaking the black shape for shadows.

049 sat hunched against the wall, his arms propped on bent knees. His breath came in and out in soft wheezes, the noise you’d mistaken for the AC trying to come back on.

He stared back when your eyes met, and there was a haunted look in their depths. You took in the rest of him, his gloves covered in dried blood, the satchel perched next to him with its clasps shut. He must have gotten his old bag while you’d been unconscious, and you were afraid how long that had been.

You were also afraid of what had put that look in his eyes.

“I…” He choked out the word, hesitant and fearful. You couldn’t remember ever hearing him like that. “I couldn’t… let you die.”

Every movement of your limbs was in protest, but that didn’t deter you from wrapping the blanket around your body and crawling the short distance into his lap with the last of your flagging strength. He caught you easily and pulled you the rest of the way, settling you on top of his thighs as he held you around the waist, careful of the injuries he’d stitched together.

“I’m fine,” you mumbled into the side of his neck, even though you had no idea if that was true. You didn’t know how many bullets he removed or how close you were to death, but that didn’t disturb you as much as how unsteady he was, his arms around you trembling. “We should… try to keep moving. I think I can walk.”

Walking seemed unthinkable at the moment, but you couldn’t stay. If you were caught, you and 049 would be separated again, and there was no way in hell you’d let that happen. Not after everything you’d done to get him back—

“I couldn’t let you die.” 049 trembled again, his voice small and lost. “I… couldn’t.”

“I know,” you said, trying not to let your own fear show. Something was wrong with him. He was spiraling. You leaned back far enough to look into his eyes, trying to get him to focus on you. “I’m here. I’m okay.”

The fear didn’t quite leave his gaze, but at least his breathing had slowed from the shallow wheezes.

“You cannot die,” he repeated a third time, but his voice held the steadfastness it was missing before. “For if you do, those around you meet the same fate.”

You opened your mouth and then closed it.

“That’s what you said to Puli in the interview,” you said. “When you insisted I had the Pestilence, and everyone would die horribly if I wasn’t cured.”

His gaze softened, sad at the edges.

“I may have been… theatrical in my fervor, but it was the truth, and still is.”

“But what does it mean?”

His pale gaze drifted to a point around your throat, as if gathering his thoughts. As badly as you wanted answers, it was nice to sit still for once, even if your gut throbbed with a deep ache. 049’s warmth under you, and his hands braced along your back, was soothing and a little distracting. Now that he was here with you, it was hard to keep your hands in check and not touch every part of him you could.

“If there is a deeper meaning,” he finally said, “it is beyond my knowledge. It is simply your nature. Your death would signal the destruction of all who remain in this facility, and perhaps a wider radius beyond that. It would accelerate decay and darkness, and leave the world broken and vulnerable.”

That was… about as clear as mud.

He must have seen your confusion, because he continued, “Your Foundation have devices in their possession that ‘heal’ breaches and strengthen the tethers of the laws of physics.”

“Reality anchors.”

His eyes creased in a pleased smile.

“Yes, precisely. You have glimpsed the breadth of your abilities, and it is much more than negating anomalous properties. The essence of your purpose is to nullify anomalies. Completely.” His words dropped into a grim tone. “As you have discovered with the grotesque statue.”

You didn’t like where this was going. Really didn’t like it. So you pushed forward and changed the topic back to something that didn’t feel so dangerous.

“What does this have to do with me dying? You said it would bring catastrophe.”

He tilted his head.

“You have already guessed the answer. You serve as a reality anchor. Your death would cause a… cascade failure in a localized area, rending reality unstable. Anomalies would spontaneously appear in the zone of influence, and any previous anomalies and humans that survive the untethered reality would most likely fall prey to these new, more violent entities.”

Your mouth had gone dry, your throat tight.

“I don’t understand. How do you know all of this?”

His tone was the equivalent of a shrug.

“It simply is. Every anomaly you meet will understand it. Even the Foundation knows of your kind, though they did not know you are among them. Even the Site Director guessed incorrectly at your designation. You already have a designation. All thirty-six of you share it.”

A shiver ran up your spine.

“There are… others? Like me?”

That warm smile again, like you were a quick student learning a difficult lesson.

“I’ve met only one other, but yes.”

“You met one?”

“A researcher, much like yourself. Perhaps I should not be surprised another of your kind found their way to this organization. We draw you to us, and we are drawn to you. It’s not a conscious choice, it’s simply what you are.”

“SCP-001.” At his widening eyes, you added, “That’s what 079 called me.”

The breath he expelled was heavy, as if something weighed on his chest, and his voice lost its previous firmness, becoming too quiet.

“I couldn’t let you die.”

You reached up and placed a palm on his hood, over where his cheek would be, and turned his head so he looked down at you.

“You didn’t. I’m alive. I’m here, because of you.”

Some of the fear faded from his eyes, but there was a lingering sadness you didn’t like. You couldn’t quite reach his forehead this time, so you pressed your lips to the side of his beak, lingering on the faint, comforting scent of him. You wished you could take the time to just be with him. It felt as if the breach had been going on for days, when in reality it couldn’t be more than a few hours.

This time when you pulled back, the apprehension had been chased away entirely, replaced by a different kind of darkness. A familiar one. You remembered it most vividly in the shower that was meant for planning escape and had ended up with you braced against the wall, 049 fucking you so thoroughly you’d forgotten your own name, only able to repeat his.

You averted your gaze, needing to stare anywhere that wasn’t his face. The only thing separating you was a thin blanket, something you were very aware of perched on his legs. Despite having been shot in the gut and gone through some kind of surgery, you felt surprisingly good. Good enough that, if you were someplace safe, you would have pushed that blanket aside, straddled his lap, and coaxed out his cock and made him forget his fears.

But you weren’t somewhere safe, and now you were fucking frustrated and horny and—

Your attention fixated on his chest. The rough hide of his skin was usually a dull, leathery texture, but something had caked itself across his robes. You sucked in a breath and carefully traced the outline of what were unmistakably bullet holes.

“Oh, no, oh God, you’re—”

049 let out a huff of air, like a chuckle, though you didn’t see anything funny.

“I have already removed them. Metal pellets aren’t enough to destroy me, though I admit, it was not a pleasant experience.”

“No, it’s not.”

You rested your head against his shoulder, fingers still tracing a wide circumference around the healing wounds. He should be fine if he could joke about the fact he was shot, at least.

“We can’t stay here,” you said. He gave a faint hum of agreement, but neither of you moved. One arm was braced against your lower back, and his other hand was on your upper arm, his thumb rubbing your shoulder in a soft, absent-minded pattern. You could easily fall asleep like this, though the sensation of his thumb stroking your bare skin where the blanket had slipped down was enough to keep one part of you awake.

“Thank you,” you mumbled, your eyelids slipping closed against your wishes. “For saving me. Even if, you know… you had no choice because I’m a ticking time bomb.”

“Do you believe that’s the only reason I did it?”

His answer was a low rumble that tickled up your spine and pulsed in your abdomen, and you were very glad he couldn’t see your face at this angle.

“We should, uh, keep going.”

You tried to get up, and for a moment, 049 held you firm. You would fold like wet tissue paper if he decided to just keep you there, but instead he lifted you off his lap, rose to his feet with a wince, and picked you up like you weighed nothing.

You wobbled when he set you on your feet, and you tugged the blanket around your shoulders to keep it from slipping. Your face was still flushed, and that didn’t help, along with your nakedness.

“I—my clothes—”

Before you could finish, 049 unclasped his bag and reached in, rummaged around, and pulled out a stack of clothing. It was an exact replica of your smock, leggings, and underwear, but at least they were clean and whole.

“Thanks,” you said, carefully taking the stack with one arm while the other held up the blanket. Before you could ask—and you weren’t entirely sure you would have—049 turned away from you to give you privacy to dress.

You let the blanket drop and shivered in the cold air before pulling on the smock, careful not to bend or move too sharply to dislodge the stitches. Every time you glimpsed them your stomach flipped like a stormy ocean, and you were glad to cover them.

Once you were clothed, you pulled out your old gown, wincing at the rips and streaks of blood. You dug around in the pockets but found nothing. You searched the bloodied lab coat next, but that too was empty.

“Shit,” you muttered, turning out the pockets to be thorough. “I can’t find 714.”

“The jade ring?”

“Yeah, have you seen it?”

“I have not.” He didn’t sound especially upset by that fact. “These things have their own schedule to keep, but perhaps you will find it when needed.”

You peered at him, but your suspicions didn’t last. You couldn’t imagine 049 taking the ring and lying about it, and he was right. Anomalies did tend to have a mind of their own, even if they weren’t sentient or alive.

“I’m done.”

He didn’t turn around immediately, distracted by his arm elbow-deep in his bag. The combat boots you’d taken from the armory seemed in decent shape, and as you were tying the laces, 049 revealed what he was searching for.

“Is that…” You scrunched your nose. “A walking stick?”

It was more of a cane, sleek and black with a polished metal handle.

“I found it sequestered in this storage unit, along with my satchel.” He stared at it with no small amount of pride. “They took it from me when I first arrived at the Foundation.”

“Well, I’m glad you got it back.”

When you gained your unsteady feet, he held the cane out to you.

“Please,” he said, offering you the handle. “It would… comfort me if you used it.”

When he put it that way...

You took the cane from him, the weight of it sturdy and the handle cool against your palm.

“I had to leave the firearms behind, but with my satchel returned, we should not need such weapons.”

That was a scary thought, and you weren’t sure you wanted to know what kind of nasty things he could pull out of that bag.

“Hopefully we won’t need it.” With a glance behind at the mess of bloodied clothes and surgical material, you turned to face him, a steadying hand on the cane. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

Chapter Text

You’d never understood the phrase “it’s quiet, too quiet” until now. The farther you plunged into Heavy Containment, the quieter it became. There were also less signs of chaos and death, a stark contrast to what lay behind you.

It made sense, in a way. The most dangerous anomalies were stored here, but it wasn’t the kind of danger that came with claws and teeth. With these anomalies, you didn’t know anything was wrong, that you were already dead, until the deed was done. These anomalies were the reality-benders and mind breakers. Cognitohazards were, in many ways, more horrifying because of the horrors you couldn’t perceive.

You didn’t know why the archival section had been built so close to this wing, but if anything, it would act as a deterrent for those who wanted to reach the many dangerous objects contained within. It was unlikely you would run into anyone still alive.

That was your assumption, anyway. And as the squad of Mobile Task Force soldiers rushed into the room, catching you out in the open of a large work area, you felt like an idiot.

049 grabbed your arm and shoved you behind him, but there wasn’t a point. The soldiers encircled you from all sides, rifles and shotguns aimed at your chests. They shouted, yelled orders, demanded you get on the ground. This was a recapture, not an extermination.

Neither of you obeyed. You pressed your back to his, wishing you still had your P90—at least you could go down fighting. Even if dying meant the facility would be torn apart, you held out hope 049 would have a chance to survive and escape.

049 let his cane drop to the floor, and then his hand curled around yours. A shuddered breath escaped you, because you understood. 049 would rather die here, with you, than walk free alone.

You braced for the impact of bullets tearing into flesh, a feeling you were now intimately familiar with, your heart in your mouth, lungs burning. 049 gripped your hand tighter, and you wished you had time, there was so much you still wanted to say—

The room fell silent. The soldiers stopped shouting orders and simply stood there like statues, the likeness made stronger with the shields covering their faces. They remained that way, inert and silent, for several seconds.

And then they each turned to their left, aimed their weapons at the back of the soldier next to them, and fired. They fell to the ground in a movement so synchronized it was almost unnatural, and then the room returned to deathly stillness, the air marred with the lingering stench of gunfire and blood.

You leaned against 049’s broad back, trying to catch your breath, and you opened your mouth to say what the hell?! and immediately closed it. Something covered in green fur and grey scales sauntered into the room, his shoulders now reaching up to your waist.

682, grown to the size of a very large wolf, exposed his teeth in a canine grin, and perched on his back was a little girl who looked about three years old.

“Reid!”

The child scrambled down 682’s back and raced across the room. She crossed the line of bodies without stopping, she didn’t even notice them, and launched herself at you, wrapping her arms around your legs.

049 had moved out of the way of the girl’s arrival, and you met his gaze with wide eyes, but he didn’t have an explanation either.

“053,” you said, keeping your tone calm for the girl’s sake. “What are you doing here?”

“We came to find you!”

You glanced toward 682, but the reptile ignored you and sniffed at the corpses. You really hoped he didn’t start eating them.

049’s attention was also drawn to the destruction around him.

“Did you do this?”

“Do what?” 053 clung to your leg but stared up at 049 with wide, curious eyes.

You shook your head just enough for 049 to catch, and the confusion cleared from his expression, settling into something more concerned. He crouched down, bracing one knee against the floor so he didn’t tower over the girl, and he kept his hands folded in his lap where they wouldn’t accidentally touch her.

“We thank you for your assistance, little one. What name may I call you?”

053 frowned a little, though it turned inward.

“I don’t… remember.”

“That’s okay.” You patted the girl’s head, not exactly sure how to comfort a child, especially one who had stayed the same age for an unknowable amount of time. “What do you say to leaving the facility with us?”

“Can 682 come too?”

The sound of bones snapping between boney jaws made you wince.

“Sure, he can come.”

“And 079?”

You glanced backward at the corpse-dining reptile and saw the laptop bag slung along his neck, carrying the weight of the laptop. It was kind of sweet. With the way he looked out for 079 and 053, you could almost imagine he had a soft spot.

“Of course,” you said, as if 682 wouldn’t gnaw on your bones next if you tried to separate them. “We won’t leave anyone behind.”

053’s smile spread into a grin, and she nodded from where she hid behind your leg, shyly peeking out at 049. But 049 quickly got to his feet when 682 joined you, his stride heavy and predatory. You kind of missed the gecko version.

“I was unaware you still lived,” 049 said, appraising the reptile with a cool stare. 682’s smile was toothy and mean.

“Likewise. I figured you were Old Man chum. 079 put your odds of survival at 0.23%.”

049’s stare turned withering, and 682 leered at you.

“You went through all that trouble. He must be really good.”

Your face burned, and when 049 sent you a questioning frown of his eyes, you turned away and busied yourself with finding something useful among the dead. You found a fully loaded shotgun strapped with shells and took it; you didn’t plan to be caught off-guard again.

“So,” you said, inspecting the weapon, “what have you two been up to?”

“Keeping you all alive.” 682’s tone was bored. 053 came up to him and padded him on the neck, and he pretended not to notice. “079 sectioned off more of his programming and embedded it into the system. Something about the facility’s security algorithms attempting to gas us, electrocute us, or torch us alive. Our captors believe, rightly so, that they have lost control of the facility.”

Well, it was nice to know they hadn’t betrayed you.

“I see. Uh… thanks.”

682 snorted and shook his head, causing the girl to giggle as his long fur tickled her face.

“079 likes you far too much to let you die. Besides, if you perished, we would not survive it.”

“Right,” you grumbled. Did everyone know what you were before you? “Let’s go. We’re almost there.”

682 knelt down, allowing 053 to crawl onto his back, but he hesitated to follow once he was on his feet.

“That way leads deeper into the facility.”

“Yes,” 049 said, his dour tone conveying how much he liked this plan. “To the archival section. The mask indicated it contains an exit.”

“Oh, well, if the mad mask says it’s true, we should take it on blind faith as we walk into the darkness. Superb planning by the facility’s top two geniuses.”

How a reptile could be so sarcastic, you didn’t know.

The girl clapped her hands as 682 took the lead, and you exchanged a tired look with 049. He looked tempted to hit the reptile with his cane, so you took his hand instead. It did its job, drawing 049’s attention back to you, and his eyes softened around the edges.

With 682 ahead, 053 providing an invisible barrier around you, and segments of 079 looking out for you, it felt safe enough to indulge. It was strange to have allies, for you and 049 to not have to do this alone. You weren’t free yet, but you were getting closer.

049 squeezed your hand, and you followed him down the red-tinted corridor that would lead to the end. One way or another.

Chapter Text

Against all odds and expectations, you made it to the archives without being attacked, waylaid, or harassed. Considering your company, even the most dangerous anomaly would hesitate before crossing paths with your group. 682 might not be back to his original size, but he was still deadly and unkillable, and 053 would mentally affect any humans before they ever caught sight of you.

Much like Safe Object Storage, the archives contained items that were labeled as Safe and needed minimum containment. What made them so lethal as to be buried deep within Heavy Containment was what they could do to a person when touched or perceived.

You glanced around the large foyer, doors surrounding the walls that led to different hallways and sections of the archives. It reminded you of 106’s dimension, of the circular room filled with gaping corridors that branched out into the darkness, and you shivered.

“So,” you began when the group came to a stop in the middle of the room, “do you know which way to go?”

It took 049 a moment to realize you were talking to him.

“I have never been here before, nor do I know of an exit—”

He tilted his head in a peculiar way, as if catching a sound only he could hear.

“What? What is it?”

“I do not know. There is something…” He trailed off, turning in a slow circle to face the plethora of doors. He came to a stop, facing one, and said, “There.”

“Is it the Pestilence?”

“No.” The answer came out faint, his gaze distant. “But it is… familiar.”

You exchanged a glance with 682, but the reptile said nothing, giving a roll of his eyes before turning toward the door. Apparently, he didn’t think much of 049’s choice.

Seeing as you were the one closest to the door with opposable thumbs, you strode forward and pulled open the door on its tracks. It moved with a pneumatic hiss of released pressure, and thanks to 079 in the system, didn’t require a keycard you lacked.

682 with 053 on his back went first, with you in the middle and 049 covering the rear. He closed the door behind you, and white light illuminated the long hallway. The power in this section had its own separate grid and had remained online during the breach.

Doors lined both sides of the corridor, first on one side and then another, alternating so no two doorways faced each other. They appeared to be made of thick concrete and steel, the size of their hinges and the hatch handles giving the impression of bulkheads or vault doors.

As you continued along the hallway, you watched 049. The idea that 035 might have been right about him knowing a way out made you more uneasy, not less. And the distant look in 049’s eyes began to change, sharpen with focus, and when he stopped before one of the doors, you knew you’d found your destination.

“Wait.”

049 paused, his hands freezing before grabbing the hatch. You eyed 682, and wisely decided to ask before reaching for his neck.

“I need to get out 079. Make sure it’s safe to open and the security measures have been disabled.”

“Fine.” The reptile, now the size of a small pony, eyed you with one large, yellow slitted eye. “I suggest you take care.”

“I promise I’ll be gentle.”

“Sarcasm does not become you.”

Instead of rolling your eyes, which was quite tempting, you offered a tight-lipped smile and pulled the bag strap from his neck and over his head, careful not to tangle it in his green mane. You looped the strap over your neck and shoulder before pulling out the laptop, and unable to find a nearby flat surface, you smiled at 053 and put the computer on her lap.

“Wanna say hi to 079?”

“Yeah!”

You flipped open the laptop and immediately the screen illuminated with the black and white image of 079’s projected image.

“079.”

“Reid. Your success and survival are an aberration.”

“I missed you, too. Can we get into this room safely?”

“Yes.”

“Great—”

“Hi, 079!”

The snappish computer didn’t have an immediate response to the girl’s outburst.

“…Hello.”

“We’re going on an adventure.”

“If that is what you quantify as a journey that will likely end in the deaths of everyone in this facility—"

“Okay.” You lifted the laptop from 682’s back. “We can catch up later. Anything else we should know before going inside?”

The computer glared at you as much as possible with a static face.

“Do not linger.”

Helpful.

“Thanks.”

“The Foundation has sent outside forces, and once they have finished reconnecting the skybridges, they will attempt to recapture the facility.”

“Oh. Right, thank you.”

You closed the screen, tucked it away inside its bag, and then stepped forward only to be blocked by a gentle hand.

“I will open it.” Despite the troubled look he held, his words were soft. “You’ve done more than your share to get us this far.”

You stepped back and nodded, mostly because you didn’t trust yourself to speak. Even now, with death all around you and danger chasing at your heels, your mind still went stupid and fuzzy when his eyes went all soft and warm like that.

049 gripped the hatch in his gloved hands and turned the handle. It might be unlocked, but with the strength it took for 049 to open it, you guessed it would ordinarily take two guards to turn the wheel and open the door. It rumbled on his hinges as 049 pulled it outward, the corridor wide enough to give plenty of room to the massive door.

He stepped through first, and you followed him into an entry way, beyond that a second doorway, this one constructed of two sets of glass to form an airlock.

Next to the airlock was an informational placard in an octagonal shape. At the top was the green lock symbol for Safe. Next, a weaving triangle that indicated it as a Warning risk class, and on the other side, a Keneq disruption class. Both were level three, indicating significant risk to an area the size of a city.

At the top of the placard read, ITEM#: 5917.

“049,” you said, “I don’t think we should—”

The glass door shattered as he hit it with the point of his elbow. He cleared the remaining fragments of tempered glass with his arm, the shards unable to pierce his thick hide.

No alarm sounded, proof that 079 had indeed shut down any security measures or alarms. The second glass door broke as easily as the first, reinforced glass not presenting much of a challenge to the SCP. He strode forward into the room, and you followed at a more cautious pace.

There were two objects contained within the space, and the muted lights overhead reminded you of a museum exhibit, especially with one of the objects housed under a glass display on top of a pedestal. The other was a large, oblong box in the middle, lying flat on the ground.

049 homed in on the smaller object, but you walked up to the coffin-like structure and read the plague melded onto the side: SCP-5917-1.

Another round of shattering glass filled the room as 049 broke the glass, and he opened the box and pulled out an intricately decorated silver scroll case with gold trim. He stared at it, mesmerized, and said, “This will guide us out of our captivity.”

You barely heard his words; you stepped onto the ridge around the base of the large box, recognizing it for what it was. It was an anomalous-corpse cryogenic chamber, and under the glass lid, you could see the body inside.

It was both humanoid and avian, with brown speckled feathers that disappeared under dark brown robes, and what you mistook for a mask was an actual curved beak.

“They look like… you.”

“There are no others like me.”

When you didn’t move or speak, only continued to stare at the bird-like being, 049 joined you, and he froze with a wide, confused expression.

“I do not understand.”

682 cast a narrow eye at the contents of the coffin and let out a horse-like snort.

“More crows. Not so special, are you.”

053 tried to reach for the lid, her eyes large and curious, but 682 pulled her away before she could do more than smudge the glass with her hands. 049 remained stock still, his own expression wide and on the edge of panic.

“Hey.” You rested your hand on his arm, your thumb stroking the course fabric of his skin. “It’s okay, we can figure this out later.”

You indicated the case in his hand, sealed with tiny silver latches.

“You said that will help us escape. Do you know how?”

He was lost, his words unsure as he met your eye, something pleading in them.

“I… I don’t know.”

“Come on, Doc,” spoke a voice from the doorway. “Use that birdbrain of yours.”

Lifting your shotgun, you spun and aimed, but 035 already had his rifle pointed at your chest.

“Now, now. Let’s not be hasty,” he crooned. “No one needs to be riddled with the un-fun kind of holes.”

You took in his appearance, changed since you last saw him. Black liquid oozed from the eyes and mouth of the mask, the decayed state of his body leaking through and staining the MTF’s attire. He was eating through his body too fast, and if you had to guess, he didn’t have much time left.

049 slipped in front of you, forcing you to aim the shotgun at the ground. Goddammit.

“I beg to differ,” he growled. 035 sighed.

“Are you still sore at me? Come now, it’s been over a hundred years. Let it go. I forgave you for that little crypt incident, didn’t I? Can’t we all just get along?”

“No.”

035 spoke louder and said, “Be a dear and convince your beau that I’m only here to help.”

You moved out from behind 049, out of reach before he could grab you, and aimed your shotgun again at 035. He mirrored the movement with his rifle, and you had the distinct feeling he enjoyed this game.

“What do you want?” you snapped.

049 gave you an unhappy look but stayed where he was. 682 was on the other side of the cryogenic chamber, hunched down as if to leap, but he didn’t. You didn’t think it was possible for the reptile to be unsure about anything, but as 053 clung to his back, eyes round with fear as she watched the oozing mask, you knew the reason why.

“Like I said before,” 035 said in a lazy drawl. “A ride out. And judging from the good doctor’s vacant expression, he doesn’t remember how to use the map.”

“What map?”

035 tilted his head toward 049, or more accurately, what was in his hands.

“That map.”

“Another one of your tricks,” 049 seethed.

“Is that poultry-popsicle a trick?” 035 gave him another curious look, his tone as equally interested. “You really don’t remember, do you?”

049 said nothing but narrowed his eyes, and 035 rewarded him with a mocking laugh.

“That’s all right, I couldn’t either. Being away from the Golden City tends to… distort one’s memories. But I sense your broken mind goes much deeper than that. They didn’t want you to remember anything. Not after what you did.”

He nodded toward the cryogenic chamber, his words laced with sinister glee.

“Are you saying 049 did that?”

“Is that what I’m saying?” 035 giggled at your scowl. “No, this death isn’t on his hands. But there are others, and their blood stains him down to the marrow. He’ll never wash it clean.”

“Falsehoods,” 049 growled. Maybe it was because of the corpse nearby, but you could imagine the snapping of a beak. “Your words are air, without substance. You speak lies and dress them as truths—”

“Am I lying about the feathers, Valens?”

049 went rigid.

“They itch, don’t they.” 035’s voice was low, equally seductive as it was insidious. “It must be torture. A constant prickling you can’t scratch, trapped under that hide like a coat of paint over rotted wood.”

“What’s he talking about?” you asked, and the unnerved look in his eyes made you far more uneasy than anything else. And how does he know your name?

“More tripe. A palaver of nothing.”

“Gods, you’re just as stubborn as you were a millennium ago.” Gone was 035’s amusement, replaced by genuine anger. “I’m trying to help, you old quack. If you don’t get that stick out of your ass, you’re going to die here, along with your precious assistant.”

049 started towards him, hands clenched at his sides as if he would like nothing more than to beat the mask into ceramic dust.

035 raised his rifle and aimed it directly at your face. 049 froze.

“I’ll do it. I’ll blow this place sky-fucking-high with a bullet to her skull. I actually like her, but I’ll see us all dead before I go back to that suffocating box.”

A sniffling noise interrupted the dead silence, and 682 released a low growl as the mask looked at the girl. Her face was teary as she clung to the reptile’s fur, and 035’s words went sharp.

“Really? You brought the brat and the dog, but you won’t take your old pal? And I was just about to tell you how the map works.”

“It’s okay,” you said to 053, your voice soft and hopefully calming. “We won’t let anything happen to you.”

035 sighed, and like a switch being flipped, his hot anger became sweeping melodrama.

“Come on, sweetheart. You know kids make me antsy, and I need a steady trigger finger.”

049 stiffened, and his fists curled at his sides.

“Fine,” you said. “We’ll help you escape.”

049’s head snapped in your direction.

“Splendid,” 035 cajoled, but you didn’t pay attention to him, and instead met 049’s eye. His look of surprise and then anger faded into something more confused the longer you stared.

“Just how long have you been planning this containment breach?” you asked, finally breaking eye contact as you turned back to the oozing mask. “Most of the Site-19 anomalies are here. That can’t be a coincidence. Even the Dream Man showed me the Site-19 breach and said it would be important.”

035’s head went at a tilt, and his curiosity was like unseen fingers trailing over your skin. You held back the shiver.

“Yes… if only we all made it. Too bad about 173; I assume that was your work. Shame. I liked that little creep.”

“Dýo.”

The mask immediately perked up at 049’s tired voice.

“Oh, I love it when you say my name. Yes, dear?”

049 looked like he would rather be flayed than say another word, but he still asked:

“How do we use the map?”

“I’ll show you just as soon as you put down the gun, Reid.” He leaned his head in your direction, leering. “You no longer need it, and I’m not fond of that murderous little glint in your eye.”

You moved your hand to regrip the stock of the shotgun, but 035 didn’t see you reaching for the laptop bag. You sent him an ugly look, just in case he was mistaken in the belief that you didn’t despise him completely, and you set the shotgun on the ground and kicked it out of reach.

“Attagirl. Now, Valens, if you would, take the scroll out of the case and open it up.”

049 hesitated, but with 035’s rifle steadily aimed at your head, he didn’t have a choice. He unlatched the glittering case and took from it a scroll of old brown parchment. He carefully unfurled it, and as he did so his eyes widened, his gaze transfixed on what lay across its surface.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” 035 purred like a satisfied cat. “Do you remember how to read it?”

“I…”

That was all 049 said, as if entranced.

You reached for the bag again, and with both of them occupied, neither noticed you slip SCP-178 from an outside pocket. But someone did. 682 appraised you with one yellow eye, noting the anomaly clasped between your fingers before meeting your gaze again.

“Well?” 035 said, his tone clipped. “You better not fuck this up, Doc. You’re making more than one trip.”

That finally snapped 049 out of his fixation, and he looked at the mask with a growing frown in his gaze.

“What?”

“You’re taking me out of here first. I’m not staying a minute longer, and I gotta make sure you really give it your best shot.” 035 nudged the muzzle of his rifle in your direction. “Otherwise, ton cœur gets left behind to live out her days in a cell. So, you know. All the pressure.”

049 gripped the edges of the aged scroll so hard you worried he would tear it.

“No.”

035 dropped his playful tone, and his grinning face turned into the tragedy mask within the blink of an eye.

“What’s the problem? If you don’t screw it up, you’ll be back within seconds.”

“Rot in hell, enfoiré.”

“Stubborn old cloaca—”

“Run!”

You shouted the word to 682 at the same moment you put on the 3-D glasses, and the room erupted into chaos and strange, screeching nightmares.

The reptile bounded for the door, carrying 053 on his back and out of harm’s way as they made it through the broken airlock. You dived for the sarcophagus, blocking 035’s line of sight and his ability to shoot you. But he was too occupied to care; several 178-2s had popped into existence inside the room. Almost seven feet tall with smooth bodies and oblong heads, dozens of tiny black eyes dotting their surface, their claws were poised for ripping, and the appendages on their back could act like cutting whips or lethal blades.

035 yelled what sounded like curses in several languages before he started to fire.

Bullets ricocheted across the tile floor and embedded into walls and lights. More screeches filled the room as some of the bullets hit their targets. Terrified he’d been hit, you peeked around the cryochamber to search for 049, and found him trapped in a corner, one of the entities attempting to stab him with its scythe-like appendages.

049 gripped the appendages, and blood oozed down his wrists from where the blades bit into his palms, cutting through his hide.

You yanked off the glasses, and the chromatic double image of the world returned to its normal focus and color, and you stuffed 178 back into the bag and then crawled across the floor. The 178-2s had stopped popping into existence, but the remaining creatures were here to stay, and they were pissed.

049 was losing the fight with the larger anomaly. A slice bled from across his chest, and his arms shook where the 178-2 pushed down, making a horrible gurgling noise as its blades cut deeper into 049’s palms.

You lunged forward and grabbed it by the ankle, and before it realized its fight was over, the entity dissolved and fizzled into nothingness.

A wave of exhaustion hit you, and you lowered your forehead to the ground in an attempt to stop the room from spinning. You hadn’t caught your breath before you were grabbed by the waist and hoisted off the floor, 049 pulling your arm over his shoulder before half-dragging, half-carrying you out of the room.

Bullets pinged off the metal frame of the airlock behind you. 049’s hands were slick with his blood, and it must have hurt to support your weight, but he didn’t stop until you were at the end of the corridor in the rotunda room with the doorways leading outward.

He leaned you against the wall, putting his own back to the surface, but he wasn’t catching his breath. He was waiting for something.

The gunfire had stopped. Either 035’s body had succumbed to the 178-2s, or he’d killed them all. Either way, you had to find the others. Did 049 still have the scroll?

You opened your mouth to ask, and snapped it shut at the sound of racing footsteps down the corridor.

049 reached out and snatched the barrel of the gun as soon as it appeared, wrenched it downwards, and punched 035 hard across his porcelain face.

035 let out a string of curses that might have been Greek, stumbled off balance, and 049 grabbed him by his covered throat and slammed him against the wall.

“Son of a bitch—"

049 snapped his neck.

Whatever else 035 wanted to say, he wouldn’t be saying it now. 049 let his limp form slide to the ground, the legs splayed out like a broken doll, and he released a held sigh.

“I have waited a long time to do that.”

You also sighed, too tired to have patience for their thousand-year grudge match. You knelt next to the body and set the bag against your knees, and then you carefully pulled the mask off the corpse’s face. Nothing remained but a black, oozing sludge pile.

“What are you doing?”

The mask itself, stained with greasy pitch tears a moment ago, was now pristine and white in your hands.

“Taking him with us.”

“Tell me this is a poor jest.”

You looked up, but at the sight of his wounds still trickling blood, your irritation softened into a need to reach out and touch him. But you didn’t, not yet.

“Better us than the Foundation. He’s too dangerous to stay here. 035 trapped me in your containment chamber.”

“Pardon?”

“He manipulated at least one researcher to make it happen.” You swallowed hard. “Kenneth locked me in your cell, and that’s only what 035 has admitted to. Knowing him, he has more personnel under his sway. Maybe by removing him, they have a chance of being freed of his control.”

If they survived. Was Kenneth still alive? You couldn’t think of the alternative, not right now. You were mentally worn, trembling with physical exhaustion, and approaching the edge of what your sanity could handle.

049 watched you for a long moment, and then his shoulders lost their rigid edge.

“I will defer to your judgement.”

You placed the mask in the bag, using a separate pocket. The last thing you needed was for 035 to try and wear 079 like a body. You slung the laptop bag over your shoulder, and after a moment, you took 035’s rifle as well. Once you were on your feet, you reached for 049’s hand and gently squeezed his fingers, mindful of his injuries.

“Thank you.”

He smiled with his eyes, and you quickly looked down. You laid his knuckles across your palm and spread open his fingers, examining the wound more closely. The blade had sliced deep, and you were sure his other hand wasn’t much better.

Reaching for the bottom hem of your gown, you tore off two long strips, uneven and a poor substitute for a real bandage. You wrapped it around one hand, careful to cover the wound and tie it off tight before starting on the other. 049 allowed you to do this without a word, a compliant patient, even as he looked at you in a way no patient should.

“I know you two have a history,” you said, still cradling one of his hands even though you’d finished treating both, “but once we escape, I’ll find a way to safely secure him and—"

An explosion nearly rocked you both off your feet, and rumbling followed in an aftershock, deep within the bones of the facility. The growling screams of nearby 178-2s joined in with melodic cacophony, and a second shockwave sent you scurrying for the security desk. After yanking out the ethernet cable from the computer and inserting it into 079, you opened the lid and yelled, “What happened!”

Instead of responding with words, a surveillance feed flashed onto the screen showing a man on fire. He roamed down a hallway, leaving a conflagration of melting panels and combusting wall insulation in his wake.

“That’s SCP-457,” you said. Shit.

“At the current exponential increase of catastrophic events, this facility will be uninhabitable within a quarter hour. It is statistically unlikely the Foundation will be able to retake and salvage Site-20.”

“Where are 053 and 682?”

He showed you another corridor, and your heart fell. The burning man was either stalking them, or simply going in the same direction, but either way, you were cut off from reaching them unless you went straight through the anomaly.

“How do I get there?”

“I will guide your way.”

The room plunged into darkness, and with a low rumble, one of the heavy doors slid open, the corridor behind it illuminated with a trail of fluorescent lights. It was like the lit catwalk to 682’s cell, an unwelcome reminder.

After tucking 079 away, you took off down the corridor, making sure 049 was right behind you. The rifle you’d taken off the MTF body grew heavy in your hands as your strength continued to flag, and eventually you left it behind. You doubted bullets would harm an anomaly like 457 anyway.

It was easy to pick up his trail, the corridor blackened and still burning like a tunnel to Hell. The heat coming from the flames was considerable, but it wasn’t scorching like you expected, and you stepped closer.

049 took a quick step toward you, his eyes wide with fear at what you were about to do, but you walked into the flames before he could stop you. The fire licked your feet and legs, but it didn’t burn you or your clothing.

You looked back at 049 and held out your hand to him.

“Trust me?”

He glanced from your hand to your face, and his eyes were far warmer than the flames.

“Always.”

He took your hand and walked into the fire. The flames caressed his robes but didn’t burn them, and he followed you through the path of destruction, trusting that you would keep him alive with a single touch.

Now instead of following 079’s hallways of light, you followed 457’s corridors of flame, until eventually you rounded a corner and the burning man was there. He had no features to speak of, his entire body glowing white-hot, but even without eyes you sensed his gaze as he slowly turned to face you.

You paused, swallowed down your nervousness, and continued forward. The entity remained in your path, the flames around him hungry. You were forced to stop in front of him, and you gripped 049’s hand harder. You knew you were hurting him, but at this range without your protection, he would burn to ash within seconds.

457 continued to stare at you, but it didn’t feel like a challenge. It felt like he was waiting for you. You couldn’t explain the irrationality of it, but that thought scared you more than burning.

“Move.”

For a moment, you didn’t think the anomaly would listen. You could erase him, just as you’d done to 173, but you couldn’t do it while touching 049. You’d learned that hard lesson with the anomalous patient. But if you released 049, he would die.

Another few seconds passed, and you considered turning back, but then the anomaly stepped aside. He was letting you pass.

Come with me, you could almost sense the anomaly saying. Come with me, and we will burn it all.

No, you thought. I already have.

You walked past the burning man, and the heat that radiated from him ran hotter than any of the flames at your feet, and you wondered if you reached out if he would burn you.

But you held onto 049 and made it through the fire. 457’s gaze lingered on your back until you were out of sight. Neither of you stopped until you reached the corner where 682 and 053 were trapped against a containment door sealed shut. From the deep gouges around the edges of the door, 682 had tried to claw it open but lacked the strength of his full size to do so.

682’s mane was singed, but otherwise they were unharmed. The girl leapt and hugged you around the legs, and there were tear-tracks through the soot on her cheeks. Smoke filled the corridor ahead of the fire, and it burned your eyes as it clogged your throat. The fire might have been anomalous, but the smoke was from the burning of real material.

You coughed and held the neckline of your gown over your mouth, but the others weren’t affected by the rapidly darkening air. It was another reminder that despite your abilities, you were still very human.

“Hold onto my robes. I shall need both hands.”

You looked up in time to see 049 pull the scroll case out of his robes. You didn’t know how the parchment, presumably a map, was supposed to help you escape, but 049 seemed confident it worked by touch.

Hooking one arm around 053 and hoisting her onto your hip, you held your other around the crook of 049’s elbow. 682 sunk his claws into the hem of his robes and said, “Do not fail, crow.”

049 ignored the reptile’s verbal barbs and actual claws, and rolled open the scroll until it was held aloft between his hands. On the other side it looked like a blank canvas of old parchment, but on this side, it displayed a view of the night sky, constellations twinkling and nebulas swirling.

Your head ached, but you didn’t look away even when the vertigo threatened to tip you forward and swallow you whole.

And then you jolted forward, sounds and colors and air bleeding together and rushing past. You held 049’s arm tight against your cheek, scared if you lost your grip you would be tossed into the whirling cosmos around you.

And then you fell. Not far, maybe a foot or two, but it was enough for your knees to buckle and throw you to the ground. You immediately curled so you wouldn’t land on 053, but your landing was soft, cushioned by something that littered the ground.

Leaves. Brittle red, gold, and orange autumn leaves.

053 darted out of your arms, squealing and giggling as she leapt into another pile of leaves. 682 spotted the girl and sat close by, licking his paws as if entirely unbothered, so you let her go and rolled onto your back, still trying to catch your breath. The chill air bit at your skin, but after the heat of 457’s destruction, it was welcome.

You must have been lying on some kind of natural forest path or trail, because the sky yawned above you, bordered by autumn-dressed trees. You’d forgotten how blue the sky was.

You let out a single laugh, quiet and disbelieving, and then a louder bark, and you covered your mouth but couldn’t stop giggling more. You felt drunk, heady and euphoric.

And then you looked to your left and saw him. The sun had just broken through the trees, and the morning light painted 049’s robes in dusky black, his face angled toward the sun as he closed his eyes, basking in the natural warmth he hadn’t felt in years.

You just… watched him. Far more mesmerized by him than even the sight of your newfound freedom.

049 out in the world should have felt like an unnatural thing, but he looked like he belonged here. A dark creature of the forest that bathed in the sunlight before it retreated to the shadows, a remnant of something ancient that was long forgotten by man.

He was beautiful. And the thing in your chest suddenly felt too enormous to name, but you knew its name, anyway.

As if he sensed the attention, 049 opened his eyes and looked at you. His gaze softened, tender in a way that twisted your insides—

He doubled over. A pained noise wheezed from his chest, and then he dropped to his knees.

“Valens!”

You scrambled, not bothering to stand as you rushed on hands and knees until you reached his side.

“What’s wrong?!”

He shook his head, still bent over and holding his stomach. No… not his stomach. He was hiding his hands, cradling and shielding them.

“I do not know,” he said, breath trembling. “My hands…”

“Let me see them.”

He uncurled his back only enough to extend his arms, and you knew something was wrong. His hands had always appeared gloved in nature, thick and leathery, but now the skin was stretched, and in some places even ripped.

The makeshift bandages were still in place, and 049 suddenly ripped them off. But he didn’t stop there. He dug his fingers into the back of his hand, and you cried, “No, don’t!” but it was too late.

With a terrible ripping sound, he tore off the skin from the back of his hand. You prepared for a spray of blood, maybe to even see bone with how much he tore off, but that didn’t happen. There was skin underneath, a dark grey that was a shade lighter than his robes.

And it was smooth, not coarse and leathery like his hide. In his other hand he held the strip of old skin, and it looked like nothing more than a torn piece of glove.

You could only stare as he continued to rip off the old pieces of hide, first from one hand and then the other, shedding his old skin to reveal fresh skin beneath. 049’s posture relaxed the more skin he removed, and after he’d stripped off the old hide completely from both hands, he let out a small sigh of relief.

You hesitated, and then gently took one of his hands, cradling it in yours as you examined it. It looked, and felt, like an actual hand, aside from the dark grey tone and some rough patches on his knuckles and the backs of his hand, reminding you of the scaly feet of a bird. You could see the details along these rough patches, and when you traced the thin lines along his palms, his fingers twitched. He was sensitive.

He was also healed, no sign of the deep gouges dug into his palm by the 178-2. Along with the grey color, the other noted difference curled from the ends of his fingers. His glove-like hands had been without fingernails before. Now, each finger was tipped with a dark talon, short and curved.

“What… what is this?”

“I believe the map caused it.”

“The map?”

“Yes. Though I do not know how.”

He didn’t resist as you continued to examine his hand, his own expression curious and not nearly as worried as you felt.

“Look.”

He followed your gaze. The smooth skin stopped at the sleeve of his robes, but just beneath the hem was a new pattern. Beginning at his wrists, small, delicate black feathers grew from his skin.

“I assumed he was lying.” He spoke softly, almost windswept, like someone had delivered him terrible news.

You traced your thumb over the feathers lining his wrists. They were soft, glossy, and slightly puffed up at the stimulation of your touch.

“035 tells the truth when it suits him.”

“Yes. He has not changed in that regard.” 049 gently withdrew his hand from yours, flexing his clawed fingers once before pulling them closer against his chest. The girl had moved in close, at first frightened by 049’s displays of pain, and then curious as soon as she spotted the claws.

“I think they’re neat!” she chimed in, her smile wide and dimply.

“They’re small.” 682 shuffled over, and he was big enough now that he towered over you from where you sat on the ground. “But at least your actions were not completely incompetent, crow.”

“I think he just complimented you.”

682 snorted and walked away, his thick tail missing your head by a narrow margin. 053 chased after him, unmindful of the cold, but you were starting to shiver, and your breath clouded the air.

“Come. We should get settled in.”

049 rose to his feet easily, the previous pain gone, and even the chest wound and treated injuries didn’t seem to bother him. Unlike the wounds on his hands, these still remained, and you planned to bandage him as soon as you could.

“Settled… in? Wait, you know where we are?”

“Of course I do. I brought us here.”

You stared at him blankly, but he only smiled with his eyes and extended a hand down to you. And then he paused, realizing the hand he offered was now tipped in claws.

But the talons looked blunt, like they were meant for gripping rather than tearing, and they didn’t bother you. In fact, when you took his hand and his warm, smooth palm pressed against yours, you might even like it.

You barely gained your feet before your knees buckled again, and gentle hands caught you on the way down.

“Sorry,” you mumbled. You tried to make your legs work, but they seemed to have quit. “More tired than I thought.”

And in pain. Every part of you had found a way to ache, but the soreness in your abdomen made each breath uncomfortable. Without another word, 049 hoisted you into his arms as easily as if you were a doll, and his expression brightened at your embarrassed one.

“You should be off your feet and resting,” he said. “Do not protest, I am your physician.”

Your mouth popped closed. With the bag in your lap carrying 079, 178, and 035, and 682 and 053 somewhere ahead of you, you’d somehow survived the containment breach and had more anomalies with you than when you’d started. You didn’t know how it was possible, how you and 049 managed to escape together, and some part of you didn’t think it was real.

But you rested your cheek against his shoulder, and that felt very real, as did his arms hooked under your knees and back. The gentle quiet of the forest and the cold autumn air was almost shocking compared to the climate controlled, fluorescent-filled artificial environment of the facility.

“Where are we?”

“Southern France. Far enough away from where the Foundation captured me that I am confident they do not know of its existence.”

You saw your destination, what drew the girl and reptile so far ahead of you. A cabin sat nestled in the trees, fallen leaves collecting on the slanted roof, the windows dark and vacant where they were set into wood walls.

Rustic was an understatement; it looked at least a hundred years old, but still in remarkably good condition.

“What is this place?” you asked and looked up at him.

His answer was warm, fond, and his gaze on you equally affectionate.

“Home.”

Chapter Text

Domesticity was an experience absent since childhood. But now, the floors were swept, the cobwebs removed, the small cabin filled with warmth and the scent of the old pine planks that made up its interior.

Child’s laughter echoed from outside, though she wasn’t really a child, and the creature that followed her wasn’t a pony, even if it was a comparable size. But from a distance, framed in winter blue and white, they could be mistaken as such.

Absently, you rolled the dough into an elongated shape, your attempt at what was eventually going to be cinnamon buns. You weren’t any better at baking than you were at cooking, but you’d had time to try and learn. You’d had nothing but time lately, and boredom was a precursor to wandering thoughts, and wandering thoughts were the enemy of memories best left forgotten.

And there was so much you wanted to forget.

You’d made a promise that if Leahy hurt Valens, you would burn Site-20 to the ground, and you kept that promise.

But what came after? What did you do now that your every move wasn’t watched, and you weren’t subjected to the whims of an increasingly desperate Site Director?

You hadn’t realized it until you’d had weeks to reflect, the leaves turning from autumn gold and orange to barren, dead brown. Leahy had been desperate, and in his desperation he’d done extreme things. So had you. And those were the things you didn’t want to think about.

And Valens…

Without the barriers between you, no cameras to watch and no guards to pull you apart, you’d thought… Well, you didn’t know what you’d thought. That Valens would embrace you at the first opportunity? Carry you off to bed like his newly-sworn bride and make you his?

It had been a fantasy, and you were to old and worn for those. Of course he would keep a polite distance, shying away if you stood too close. Of course he would give the only bed to you and the girl. Of course he would provide you with everything you needed, food and clothes and even kerosene for the generator, all from his anomalous bag.

He gave you what you needed, but not what you wanted. And you understood. You’d both been forced to use each other at the Foundation’s behest. Neither of you would have gotten into that bed if it wasn’t at metaphorical gunpoint.

But the shower… the shower had been different. The way he’d touched your skin, caressed you as if you were precious, pinning you to the wall and fucking you as if he wanted to take those precious parts of you and shatter them beneath his hands—

Sharp pain bit your thumb, and you dropped the knife with a clatter. In the middle of slicing the tube into rolls, you’d nearly taken off your finger in the process, blood welling from the slash at the base of your thumb.

You rushed to the sink and turned on the faucet, waiting for the sputtering water to run smoothly before you pushed your hand under the flow. There was some relief at the ice-cold water numbing the slice, but blood continued to leak from the wound no matter how tightly you gripped your wrist.

“Shit,” you hissed under your breath. What if it didn’t stop bleeding and you needed to go to the emergency room? You didn’t actually know where the closest town was, and besides that, you didn’t have any transportation—

Warmth pressed against your back as arms enveloped you from both sides. You froze, stiff as a board, as his hands gently took yours, removing them from under the faucet and turning your injured hand upward so he could see the wound clearly.

You didn’t move an inch, barely breathed as he examined you, your mind a fuzzy static as blank as the winter landscape outside. Those… claws. Every time you saw them, at his delicate hands and the points where the curved nails ended, you found yourself staring. And every time, he caught you, immediately turning away and hiding them from sight.

But he didn’t hide them now, instead focusing on your hands, small and fragile between his larger, steadier ones.

“You will need stitches,” he said, his low voice vibrating in a rumble along your back. “Come.”

You didn’t have much choice as he gently took you by the shoulders, guiding you to one of the wooden hand-carved dining chairs, and you half-sat, half-fell into it. Cradling your hand, you watched Valens move across the room to pick up his bag, bring it to the dining table, and set it down.

Voice still trapped in your throat, you didn’t speak as he removed a small vial of clear liquid, as well as a needle and thread and a roll of bandages.

And when you thought you might have regained enough wits to speak, he knelt at your feet and gently took your hand, again examining the wound, so careful as his blunted claws hovered over your skin. After a moment, he let you go and uncapped the vial, spreading some of the liquid on a piece of cloth and carefully dabbing it over the wound. Instantly, most of your hand went numb, and the burning pain vanished.

As he focused on weaving the thread through the needle, you finally found your will to speak.

“How did you know I hurt myself?”

You’d been alone in the cabin as far as you knew, Valens disappearing outside as he sometimes did, though with the way he moved like a ghost, you wouldn’t have known if he returned.

He took your hand and placed it palm up on your thigh, a cloth placed under it to catch the still-leaking blood. He wiped it clean, and then pinched the wound closed as he aimed the needle. You looked away.

“I could smell your blood.”

You swallowed but all the saliva was gone. He hadn’t said, “I could smell the blood,” he had said, “I could smell your blood.” The distinction mattered to you, but you couldn’t explain why.

Watching the needle pierce your skin would make you even more woozy than the blood already had, so you stared out the window at the snow-blanketed trees. It helped with the lightheadedness almost instantly, and you felt a little foolish. With how much blood you’d spilt yourself, getting faint at the sight of it felt hypocritical.

“I wasn’t paying attention,” you offered, even though he didn’t ask. Your voice was tight with embarrassment, and the laugh you gave sounded like it was made of plastic. “Stupid, I know. Especially when I could pull a batch straight out of Cinnabon right from your bag. I just… I don’t know…”

You trailed off, and he didn’t interrupt or fill in the blanks. Valens had always been a great listener, but right now, you wished he’d do more of the talking. He hadn’t done much of that since the breach, and you didn’t know what was going through his head. Only that he was too quiet, too careful with you and the girl, usually wearing oven mitts or garden gloves to cover his newly formed claws.

You could feel it happening, see how withdrawn he’d become. He was slipping away, and you didn’t know how to stop it.

You pressed your lips firmly together, swallowed down the ache in your throat, and waited until he was done stitching your wound, and you knew when that time arrived when he placed a fresh pad over your hand and wrapped it in bandages.

“It would be best to leave that covered for two days. I will change the bandage tonight.”

You nodded silently but didn’t look at him, and he didn’t move from his position on the floor. It was difficult to tell with half your hand numb, but you thought you felt the delicate pressure of him cradling it.

“Reid?”

The name was so strange to hear from that soft, metallic voice. Not Doctor or my assistant or even dear one. Just you. Just Reid.

“Do you want to be here?” you asked. The question fled like it had staged its own containment breached, and you regretted its escape.

“…Pardon?”

“If there’s somewhere else you’d rather be, I understand. 682 and 053 will be fine with me. We just need enough supplies to survive the winter, then we can move on. And you can… can get your life back before the Foundation interrupted it.”

Silence stretched between you. You wanted to scream to break it.

Say something!

But he didn’t. He remained perfectly still, perfectly quiet, and in that silence your heart started to crack.

Finally, he spoke, but his words brought no comfort.

“Is this… what you want?”

You still refused to look at him, focused on the window over the sink bright with winter light, clinging to its view of the outside like a lifeline.

“It’s not about what I want.” Your throat ached so much your words were thick with it. “You didn’t ask for this. You didn’t deserve it. Any of it.”

Any of it. Including you.

The stillness of the room lasted only a moment before Valens regained his feet. He went to the front door, which was left partially open so you could listen to 053 play outside, and he firmly shut it.

And then he walked back to you, his pale eyes hard, focused, and you were like a deer in the headlights as he pulled you up from the chair. Your mouth fell open in shock, your body pliant with surprise as he maneuvered you back against the counter. With a sweep of his hand, he cleared the counter of the ruined attempt of cinnamon buns, ignoring the clatter as it fell to the floor.

Valens lifted you onto the counter without warning and slotted between your legs. As if unsatisfied with the small space left between you, he pulled you flat against his body, his hips flushed to yours, the clawed ends of his fingers pressed into the outside of your thighs.

His specter-grey eyes, eyes you’d noticed held a hint of blue if the sun caught it just right, stared directly into you in a way no one else ever could.

“If you bid me go, I will go. But until that time comes—”

His claws dug in a little deeper, a reflex not meant to hurt but unknowingly revealing what you’d missed. In the weeks that had passed without touch or closeness or comfort, he’d been denying himself, too.

“—I will remain. Right here.”

With his claws, he pulled you tight against him. Wanting, possessive, needful. And you finally broke.

Fingers clumsy with haste, you shoved down your jeans and underwear as far as they would go, which was about to your knees before Valens let out a soft snarl and spread your thighs wider. For a moment, you were afraid he was going to leave when he backed away, but then he slipped his hand between your legs.

His fingers deftly stroked your slick heat, and you were wound so tight you nearly sobbed. Trying in vain to open your legs wider, caught within the confines of your tangled pants, you reached down to the apex of his legs where you knew his inner sheath was hidden.

But Valens grasped you by the wrist and gently pulled you away, his eyes hazy with lust but a small amount of regret too.

“The girl and reptile are in the forest, but they will be back soon.”

You tried to focus on his face and the words, but his forefinger had found your clit and stroked it in slow, torturous caresses. His other hand wove through your hair, his fingertips grazing your scalp, as if after weeks of being only able to watch he couldn’t stop touching you.

He leaned closer, his gaze growing dark.

“And when I finally have you, I will take my time.”

Valens pressed his finger in hard, the teasing stroke becoming one of demand, and you buried your face in his shoulder as you cried out. Your hands wrapped around his back, your legs trying to catch his hips as you desperately wanted his fingers to breach you, and he knew exactly what you were doing.

“I will hurt you,” he strained through the teeth hidden behind his mask.

“I don’t care.”

He groaned in frustration, but not surprise. He knew you, your stubbornness and will, how you didn’t let anything go until you were damn well ready.

But he was at least careful as he slipped a gentle finger in you, and then two when your clenching walls greedily demanded more. He curled his fingers just enough for the blunted points to press something inside you, and you shuddered and whimpered at the strange, delicious pressure.

But he didn’t thrust his fingers inside you, knowing it would scratch your delicate, velvety walls, so he instead stroked and rubbed your clit with the pad of his thumb.

It was good, really good, and your legs trembled as the rubber band in your gut slowly tightened. But something was still missing, and with Valens buried up to his knuckles in your cunt, you figured he was busy enough to let you do this one thing.

With your good hand, your palm returned to the front of his pelvis and pressed down, easily finding the slit that was the opening to his sheath. You spread it open with your fingers, and all you had to do was stroke the inner lip before his phallus pushed from the sheath, practically jumping into your hand as if starving for the attention.

Valens growled next to your ear, a warning you happily ignored, gliding the slick cock across your palm and squeezing it before stroking up and down the shaft. Its inhuman shape pulsed in your hand, and the next noise he made was more groan than growl, his hips twitching involuntarily.

He still kept his fingers curled but stubbornly immobile inside your cunt, though his thumb rubbed you without mercy, the movements slippery with the excess of his soaked hand. And with his other, Valens did the unexpected; he slipped his hand under your sweater, lightly raked his claws up your skin, and groped your breast. With a purpose that conveyed he knew exactly what he was doing, he squeezed your nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

Your back arched as if he’d shocked you with a live wire, your walls tight around his fingers, and you stroked and squeezed him almost angrily, as if in revenge for not being buried in you right now.

And it was with that image, imagining him removing his fingers and moving those last few inches to thrust his cock into your desperate, aching cunt that finally pushed you over the edge. Your face buried in his neck, you wailed, clenching around his fingers as your rhythm around his cock faltered, your pattern sporadic and trembling, very similar to how your cunt squeezed him in shuddering bursts.

You breathed out a word, a name, a prayer that only he could hear.

“Valens.”

A snarl ripped through him and his earlier inhibitions forgotten as he thrust in your hand, his claws digging into your breast hard enough it would leave bruises, and then he gave one final jerk of his hips. His cock pulsed hot and hard in your hand, ropes of cum splashing the inside of your bare thighs and the counter beneath you.

Slowly, bit by bit, you relaxed your iron grip on him. Though your injured hand ached, the numbness having faded some time ago, your good hand continued to gently stroke him, milking him for every drop until he shuddered and gave a broken moan at the overstimulation. God, what you wouldn’t give to hear more noises like that out of him.

Valens broke away first, slipping his hand out of your cunt and then out of your sweater, the former drenched and dripping. His skin was darker when wet, almost black, and his claws gleamed as they caught the light.

In a move that lacked any sort of coherence, you grabbed his soaked hand and stuck the two fingers that had been inside your cunt into your mouth. Valens’ hand twitched but he kept his fingers perfectly still as your tongue laved over them, unafraid as you pressed the flat of your tongue against the claw tips.

He bit off some heated phrase in French, but his other hand was gentle as he stroked your naked hip.

“A man could have the patience of a saint, and you would still have the power to drive him to madness.”

You sucked his fingers noisily and greedily as you at last drew them from your mouth, all quite on purpose.

“You’re the one who put me on this counter. You get to deal with the consequences.”

His chuckle low and warm, some of the light returned to his eyes, previously absent as the days had grown shorter and colder. You had missed it so much that its return felt like the sun shining only for you.

Without speaking but the warmth remaining in his gaze, Valens dampened a washcloth and cleaned the mess he’d left on your thighs and the counter, and then he folded it over onto the clean side and pressed it between your legs. You might have taken it as an innocent gesture meant to clean you if not for the focused hunger in his gaze. The lion who had finished his meal and wanted seconds.

And you, weak and aching under that gaze, wrapped your arms around him and pressed your lips to his mask, over his beak and over the cheekbones and on to the place where his mouth would be if not for the chitinous barrier.

His body shuddered and pressed deliciously against yours, proof that you weren’t the only one who ached for a comforting touch, but then he went still. A few seconds later, you heard squealing laughter echoing off the trees.

You sighed and released him, and Valens conveyed his silent apology and regret as he finished cleaning you. Once that was done, instead of letting you hop down, he took you by the hips and set you on the ground, his claws careful as they tugged up your jeans. You pulled them on the rest of the way, making sure everything was in place before you looked up at him, resting the palm of your good hand against his chest.

He didn’t retreat or flinch away as he’d done since your arrival to the cabin, and you took it as a promising sign. A very promising sign.

“So…” Your fingers toyed with the faint wrinkles of fabric across his sternum. “We… the both of us, we’re… okay?”

A hand came up to lay across your restless fingers, holding them steady and close.

“We are. We have always been. And I apologize for making you feel otherwise. I… deeply miscalculated what I believed to be your wishes. Clearly.”

His eyes twinkled with humor, and you smiled. It had been so long since you’d smiled, you were surprised the gesture was so easy.

Not a moment later, the door burst open and a flurry of snow entered, followed by a girl coated in white, sitting astride the back of a large reptilian figure.

053 grinned at you, nearly eye-level with you from the back of 682, and she gave an enthusiastic wave. Seeing you stand so close together, your hand on Valens’ chest with his own covering it, 682 gave an eyeroll and a disgusted snort.

With that, he stalked to the couch and shook his coat, purposefully making 053 fall off his back and directly onto the padded cushions. She cackled with delight, but you winced. If dropped from the same height, you’d have a smarting shoulder and an aching hip.

“Careful,” you mumbled, and 682 just gave you a lethal side eye.

“You should open some windows.” And then he added pointedly, “It stinks in here.”

Mortified, cheeks on fire, you went to the window over the sink and opened it wide. The clean scent of pine, oak, and snow washed over your face, cooling your overheated skin.

The chill of winter was kept at bay from the warmth that pressed against your back, the arms that wrapped around your waist, and the nudge of a beak, affectionate against your jaw.

You didn’t know how long you would be able to remain here, hidden from the panopticon lens of the Foundation. But for now, you were safe, and warm, and free. And loved.

It was good. It was enough.