SCP Containment Breach Wiki:Role Playing/The Discovery/Part 1

The only thing that broke the silence of patrolling the halls was the heavy steps of Wilson's black boots echoing throughout the corridor. The knowledge of what is happening outside the site he was in weighed him down like a boulder, the anxiety of knowing 90% of Earth's most important organization is overwhelmed with chaos almost crippled him. After the intercom announced that all other sites than this one suffered a huge span of irreparable breaches over the last year, everything was awkward. Every conversation was swift and uncomfortable. The knowledge that hundreds of inhumanly dangerous anomalies are roaming around your residence wasn't much of a conversation starter. He only hoped that this mountain strain they were in would be enough to hold their destruction off for a little while longer.

The only reason the doctors and guards acted as if everything was normal was because they know they'd be put down like dogs if they didn't. No one cracked a smile, no one said hello, no one talked with others for too long. Wilson actually liked it this way. As the Foundation's world-wide system was reduced into a small corner of Earth, swarms of MTFs roamed the hallways, usually guarding any exits/entrances to make sure no one got in or out. A mixture of the white uniforms of guards and navy uniforms of MTF colored the hallways like a grim mural, and one of these MTFs was Staff Sergeant Lander, another quiet fellow. Right as the two military-men passed, Wilson yanked Lander into the empty lightless rec-room just as the clock leaned towards break-time.

"Lander," Wilson whispered. He had a great tremble as he spoke in his low voice. "I heard a pair of MTFs say Site-19 just went out. Do you have any idea how close death is? Our sites have been falling too constantly lately! We can't just sit here and wait until a horde of SCPs break in." --Fireworks888 (talk) 21:52, 19 June 2014 (UTC)

Lander could tell from Wilson's voice that he most likely hadn't slept in several days. With all of the recent power outages at this site and the constant need for containment chambers to be repaired, it's no surprise that just about every guard and MTF unit were patrolling 24/7 to ensure the site's safety.

While this was something that any Task Force member would be used to, Wilson on the other hand was just a simple guard, who wasn't use to this much pressure. Lander could hear the paranoiac tremble in Wilson's words, which signified that he was letting the stress get to him, though Lander really couldn't blame him for it.

Ever since the Foundation began to crumble, the site's been paranoid with defending itself. However despite all this Lander knew that it was only a matter of time before this site eventually succumbed to the same fate as all the others. Everybody knew this, but they still carried on business like nothing was wrong, including Lander. However that's not to say that the thought never creeped into his subconscious. At this point it was the only thing that was keeping him sane through all this madness.

Lander shrugged off the thought and tried to calm Wilson down as best he could.

"*sigh* Look, just.....try to calm down. It's just the stress getting to your from all the extra shifts you've been having...."

Lander tried to think of something else comforting to say, but nothing was coming to mind. -- CommanderMark (Talk) 22:15, 19 June 2014 (UTC)

Gale glared at the sealed window of the watchtower. Once upon a time, a white mountain strain existed, but now all that remained was the grayness of this wall. Musings of escape manifested his mind. It seemed the only thing on his mind next to keeping escape as a last resort. Everyday, death seemed to peer at this site, waiting for a chance. Everyone in the site felt its gaze.

Gale dropped down the ladder of the tower on and on until he slowed to a halt before reaching the floor. He felt cheated, he'd hoped to spend another day seeing the world outside, but it would not be so. From there he walked past countless hallways, scientists running about with all manners of objects, MTF jogging about for the many problems in the site, random personnel casting glances at the workers. On he went and for some reason he thought,

"Every damn time"

He let the thought fade before heading to his pathetic excuse for a bedroom. Books, documents, folders spilling paper everywhere; it almost looked like a paper bomb detonated. He went straight to the closet pile, shifting through several office documents, newspapers, even Gilgamesh which he'd promised to himself he'd read. Never.

At last, he pulled out a small slip labelled "tunnels". Lines and circles lay about in an unorganised fashion.

"Just like the rest of this site"

He took the slip and headed out to Light Containment. --TheCab (talk) 23:15, 19 June 2014 (UTC)

A withered and worn scientist flops down on a seat. He looks through the small window not filled with sulfur like the rest of glass cylinder to see the black Labrador and his menacing smile made of holes stare back at him. The thing was surrounded by a ring of sulfur dust. The old doctor wipes the dust from his wrinkled face and begins to use the intercom on the command table in front of him. The stress of the inevitable Armageddon was put under ropes by his everyday work. In the midst of the storm, there was a calmness and familiarity of working like it was any other day. In the depth of his mind, the doctor knew good and well that denial wasn't healthy, but it was the only thing that helped him restrain his anxiety and anguish. It wasn't about him anymore, it was about keep everyone else simmered down.

"SCP nineteen-thirteen dash three," Doctor Lavrov began, "this is the fourth time today. If you wish for the ring to be washed away, then cooperate with me. How are you contacting Dash Two?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," said Frank.

"Stop lying. We both know Dash Two refuses to do much of anything unless it's getting orders from you or Dash One. Dash Two escaping its containment and putting two of Dash One's researchers into insensitive care is no mere coincidence. If you continue and fail to comply with us, something drastic will be done."

"You are a fool. Telly has done no such thing. I refuse to say anything more."

Dr. Lavrov was hazy, and did not fell on pursuing the interrogation. "Fine."

Lavrov left 1913-3 to remain trapped in his little circle. There was no point in trying to get anymore information out of the stubborn beast. He'd have to report it to some of his other peers to further the job. Feeling his pocket as he walked down the stairs to the empty hallway, Lavrov looked at the folded piece of paper he printed this morning. He knew, with much sadness, that it would soon be time to use what was written on this paper. That it was becoming a reality almost crushed Lavrov to his core.

After much time walking, somewhat aimlessly, Lavrov sat down in the recreational room, opened his lunch, and began to eat his cold BLT sandwich. It was a solitary time.

--ScavengerOfHumanSorrow (talk) 04:38, 20 June 2014 (UTC)

((This is Trialtrex21 typing this. Typing it from my Ipad as my hard drive failed. Sorry if the quality in this section is lacking.))

Being a absolute abomination of nature is not fun, despite popular belief. Wait, is that actually popular belief?

One of many questions that plagued Nicole's mind. Endless streams of questions constantly filled her mind, and she answered them with a speed that could only be matched by a super computer.

No, it can't be...people wouldn't want to be like me, would they?

Ever since her infection, Nicole hardly had anything to do within the site she worked in. She was told to just sit back and let others do the research, leaving her to either typing at her computer or wandering the empty halls of the facility. Most people avoided her due to her condition, even though they were fully aware that the virus could only be spread through her blood, and most of the time the virus died out before it could even reach it's first stages.

Nicole, however, did not feel lonely. Computer's can't feel loneliness, and nor can human-computer hybrids.

As of the theme of any normal day, Nicole typed away at her computer, writing up some new documents and updating old ones per request. Yes, a desk job. A world filled with horrible abominations of science, and she got a desk job. Did she care? No. It was something to do, and at least she had that.

However, recent events were nagging at her from the back of her mind. Foundation sites across the globe were falling apart and she was sure this one was next. Still, she had a job to complete. She finished typing up the last log and uploaded it to the Foundation network, taking a note that there was significantly less data on the network then there had been a week ago.

With that, she sat up from his computer chair and left her office. -- Trialtrex21 (Talk) 06:06, 20 June 2014 (UTC)

In one of the various secluded offices located around the site, a small group of Ethics personnel all hurriedly went about sorting through the ever-growing pile of work that was resulting from all the recent facility breakdowns. Choice words flew around as they whispered amongst themselves, outwardly asking if things could get any worse while simultaneously answering themselves mentally.

Yes, yes it really could.

However, there was one member who sat further away from the others. Thomas stared blankly at the wall, tuning out the hurried ramblings of his peers. This was all he was able to accomplish at the moment; last night was yet another late night spent vomiting from all the anxiety that the situation had been causing him. It didn't help that he already had an especially weak stomach and was prone to bouts of nausea, either. How the others managed to keep chugging along at the pace they've been going was beyond him.

For probably the umpteenth time today, a familiar thought wriggled its way to the forefront of his mind: Where is Lucas, and how is he faring right now? --TheIncredibleHibby (talk) 03:57, 21 June 2014 (UTC)

A tremor? Was it happening? No, no, just a rumble, an intestinal one. Wyn stirred around, the disgruntled rumbling in his stomach rattling through his body like a wolf call. He leaned over in his bed, looking at the clock situated on the desk to his side. 8 o'clock.. AM? Parity groaned, slouching back before his stomach reminded him why he was up at such an unusual time. He briefly mulled over what the events of the night before brought. A night of answering queries regarding the recent changes to the S-COM user interface, then contacting the local supervisor to have the necessary changes reviewed. It seemed as if every worker of the site encountered the same error that night. When replying to a single report, it seemed as if two more took its place in his inbox. By the time the changes were in place, it seemed as if the only reasonable thing to do would be to sleep until dusk and respond to the delayed responses then. He must have skipped out on eating, again. Eating always seemed to be the least of his worries, and Parity tended to eat in sparse amounts.

Taking his ID card and casing the hallways with the peephole in his door, he hurriedly made his way towards the facility cafeteria. He wondered what soup of the day awaited him. --Omniary (talk) 06:53, 23 June 2014 (UTC)

In one of the many offices bustling with people overloaded with work, Lucas stood in a corner near filing cabinets containing information about SCP’s. To his colleagues he as pretty stand-offish because he himself was an outsider, he felt that he had no real place in the Intelligence Agency, the only reason he was there were his uncanny skills in the field. The only place he felt he belonged, was beside Thomas, who he knew was probably wondering how he was faring with all that was going on with the facility lockdown. Lucas was equally worried about Thomas, because he knew that if Thomas worried too much, he would worry himself sick. While he pretended to be doing something important, he was scribbling a tiny map on a tiny piece of paper; a map of his route that he would take to “sneak” out and see Thomas. Lucas only needed to watch himself make the tiny map in order to remember the route he wanted to take.

“Besides, who would even notice I’m gone when everyone is running around like chickens without heads.” Lucas thought to himself.

Of course Lucas planned to make it look like he had something to deliver to the office in which Thomas worked.

All he knew was that he needed to see Thomas’ face in order to stay sane because he hated not being able to go anywhere without a million eyes watching every move he made.

Lucas picked up a small stack of papers and moved nonchalantly to the door of the office. He stepped out into the hallway and began to follow his planned route to the office that Thomas worked in. Some of the hallways weren’t very crowded but no matter what Lucas felt that he had to duck and weave through people the entire way; which of course got really old really fast.

After what seemed like hours, Lucas finally came to the door of office Thomas was in. He slowly opened the door and walked back to the table where Thomas sat as the other people awkwardly stared at him. Thomas was completely zoned out, so Lucas gently knocked on the table causing Thomas to blink a bit.

“Hey, how’re you feeling today?” Lucas asked softly. --TimberWolfSpirit (talk) 10:38, 23 June 2014 (UTC)

Lander was obviously trying to calm Wilson, but it didn't help in the slightest. Site-18 was dangerously close to theirs, and a city-sized swarm of SCPs were probably heading towards them as they spoke. A bell rang and echoed through-out the halls that signaled it was break time, and Wilson wanted to get out before the room was crowded with terrified peers. The guard did as so, leaving Lander in the rec room without speaking another word to him, and hopped on a trolley headed towards the guard dorm. On the uncomfortable bench housed in the slow moving tram, Wilson saw a pile of items the former riders left behind. Books, chip bags, pocket change. But one thing in the pile caught his eye, or ear, being a small radio with an idle, static sound radiating off of it. Curiosity overwhelmed the guard and he picked the device up before listening to the transmission.

A creepily calm voice spoke over the radio. The voice you hear over the intercom in only the most serious emergencies.

"Attention every MTF unit receiving this message. A shipping incident lead to the containment breach of SCP-280 at block six of the Heavy Containment Zone. To make certain this site does not erupt into chaos, we are only sending Beta squads 5 through 7 to handle this breach before it evolves into something serious. I repeat, all units in the Beta squads, report to the HCZ's block six immediately."

If the stress of the Foundation's current condition weighed him down as it hung on his back, then those few words just crushed his spine. Wilson simply sat on his bench, quiet as possible, absorbing the shock of what is going to inevitably happen. There were only going to be a handful of MTFs attempting to re-contain 280, and they were all probably going to get slaughtered. Then Wilson remembered Lander was in Beta 6. --Fireworks888 (talk) 18:41, 23 June 2014 (UTC)

As soon as Lander heard the order come through that 280 had breached containment he immediately dashed out of the break room and into the hallway.

"Heh, guess I was wrong. This site's gonna fall by itself before anything outside gets to it."

Lander reached the elevator at the end of the hall only to see a note on the door reading 'Out of Order. Scheduled to be repaired Tuesday.'

"Damn..."

Lander then went to the door at the far end of the hallway marked 'Fire Escape, only use in case of emergency' and proceeded to head down the stairs to the Heavy Containment Zone.

--

Upon arriving at Block Six of the HCZ, Lander took note of how quiet the place was. Every floor of the zone is usually clocked full of researchers and guards patrolling, but for some reason it was dead quiet, with nothing but a low buzzing sound which signified that there was still electricity flowing through the place. Even if this specific block was evacuated he should still be able to hear the sounds of footsteps coming from the upper floors.

Lander simply shrugged off the thought and walked down the silent corridors of the area. After about 6 minutes of wandering, his radio went on.

"All Beta units, we have traced SCP two-eight-oh to Sector 4C. I repeat, all Beta units report to Sector 4C immediately."

--

As Lander was sprinting towards 4C he came across a horrifying sight as he passed by 4B. Just about every wall in the place was soaked in blood, and limbs were scattered everywhere. It was clear that a huge firefight had happened here, with not many survivors from the looks of it, if there were any at all. Ripped fabrics of white lab coats and kevlar vests were everywhere, and the foul stench of rotten flesh made Lander almost want to throw up.

Lander also took notice of the fact that there seemed to be a trail of blood leading all the way to Sector 4C.

"Guess I should continue heading down there then."

Lander then followed the trail of blood, keeping his P90 reading at his side.

--

When he got close to the sector, he started hearing gunfire in the distance. The gunfire continued non-stop for nearly 30 seconds, which made Lander nervous. Then suddenly the gunfire just stopped, and the whole area went silent again. Even the faint buzzing noise went silent, which made Lander even more nervous. He was thankful that the lights were still working in the area.

The radio suddenly crackled, making Lander jump.

"All MTF units abort mission! two-eight-oh has breached Block Six! I repea-" Lander heard the sound of a bone being cracked before the transmission stopped and was replace with static.

Before Lander could even react to the situation he was hit in the head with a flying object. He regain his composure and realized that the object was an arm grasping a radio. Lander then ducked behind a wall outside the entrance to Sector 4C and held his P90 high.

He proceeded to grab his radio to try and contact any other surviving MTF units.

"Contacting any MTF units in the surrounding area. We have a major SCP two-eight-oh breach and the site administration must be alerted immediately." He waited a few seconds before repeating his message. He repeated it twice before another voice eventually picked up.

"This is Max of unit Beta-7, I have just alerted site administration and they're putting the whole area on lock-down, try to hold out until the other task forces get down there."

"Copy that." Lander put down his radio and began walking back towards Sector 4B he saw drops of blood coming from the ceiling. He turned on his flashlight and looked up. In an instant he rolled out of the way as to avoid a dead MTF corpse falling from the ceiling.

Lander then went over to the corpse and check their ID tag.

"Sergeant Carloff, Beta-5...."

Lander checked his pulse just to confirmed that he was dead.

"Rest in peace." Lander then got up from his spot and continued walking. However, as he was walking a thought occurred.

"Wait, why was the body hanging from the ceiling? I mean, unless someone had purposefully dropped it on him in the first pla-"

That's when it hit Lander. He immediately turned around to reveal the creature standing right behind him.

"....shit" In that instance he opened fire on it, even though he knew it would have no effect. -- CommanderMark (Talk) 03:11, 24 June 2014 (UTC)

This is one of the stupidest things I've ever done... Wilson thought. He changed the trolley's destination to the Heavy Containment Zone via a small control panel, and after a few minutes of boring waiting, the tram came to a dead halt. Wilson slipped the MTF radio into his pocket just in case any other unfortunate news arrived. He slung his rifle over his back and yanked a flashlight out of his pocket, as the empty tunnels of the HCZ were flooded with darkness. He couldn't tell if it was because of a power outage or because he was near 280's cell, which is required to be bordered by complete darkness. Both were bad, but Wilson prayed for the former as he trotted through the halls. A large sign reading "BLOCK SIX" was sealed to the wall, and the guard could tell by the sickening stench of recently shed gore that the re-containment was not a success.

After going down a flight of stairs, Wilson's flashlight ray just happened to illuminate an MTF corpse. His stomach was...ripped apart. Severed intestines and gallons of blood oozed out of the poor man's torso. While internally expressing disgust and horror, Wilson kept on, as he knew now was not the time to puke. More severed body parts donning ripped MTF uniforms littered the halls, and the wandering guard came upon an extremely secure, yet partly destroyed, trolley labelled SCP-280, being the shipping cell that contained the monster before its breach. Several minutes piled up as Wilson inspected the rest of block six, not a single living person to be found. That was until he arrived to sector 4C, as after a few minutes of walking around in its offices, Wilson's hearing was infested with gunfire.

His jog evolved into a mad sprint as he desperately ran towards the gunfire. A familiar bloodcurdling scream echoed through-out the tunnels. A scream that made Wilson's heart sank a mile down. When arriving at another tunnel intersection, Wilson saw a line of blood dragging off into the darkness, looking like a large swipe of red paint. After following the trail, Wilson stumbled upon a person, clad in heavy riot clothing and writhing on the floor in pain. Almost all of his left thigh was ripped out of his leg, leaving a gaping wound that showered the ground in blood and would already be infected if it wasn't for the Foundation's lock-down. A name tag marked "LANDER" donned the poor soldier's vest.

Wilson inspected his wound. All that was in the hole were shards of bones and muscle tissue drowning in blood. The guard scattered about but couldn't find anything that could help the injury for the life of him. Getting ready to drag Lander out of the block, Wilson looked for a light-source to illuminate the dark tunnels. He then spotted a pair of small, rounded lights in the distance both side by side, yet it didn't radiate any light to be seen. After getting close, the two white "lights" began to move towards him. --Fireworks888 (talk) 04:19, 24 June 2014 (UTC)

As he walked about in the chambers, he saw a fellow soldier carrying several folders. He came up to him and bumped, causing the folders to spill guts full of white paper. He apoligised for this and, as he helped the young man to pick up papers, he inserted the slip in the topmost folder.

However, as he finished, the soldier slipped a detonator to him. Gale stared at in surprise, but nodded and was just walking off. However, a broadcast on the radio reported a breach. Gale glanced back, as did the MTF, who hurried off. Gale stared off as at this man before he disappeared down a set of stairs. Not long after, that man would have fulfilled his purpose before running to his death and being attached to a ceiling in Heavy Containment.

Though it wasn't his unit, he began a walk down to Heavy Containment. On the way, he heard the radio transmitter become panicked, before at one point, static stopped him midway.

Glancing about, Gale was now just arriving in Heavy Containment. The lights had gone down. He heard gunfire, and it stopped. Before proceeding, he took a moment to remember 280. Corporeal being or something, like a black shroud of smoke...

Something, but he couldn't quite recall. He continued on and, upon seeing the sight of blood, knew the worst had occurred. He sighed and, seeing all the bodies, decided it would be better to collect tags later. This was all a shame. But then, a wounded cry rang against the metal walls.

Light! Gale switched on the light on his weapon and sped forward. The scream rang out again, and as he came to the source, he was only able to see Lander and Wilson, sitting in a pool of God knew who's blood, before he looked up to see another source of light. Who it was, he couldn't fathom. --TheCab (talk) 06:15, 24 June 2014 (UTC)

The pair of lights, obviously 280's eyes, lunged for him, ripping his left wrist and forearm open, striking a spear of stinging pain into his arm. He desperately clawed his flashlight out of his pocket and shined it towards his attacker. What stood in front of him was a huge puff of black smoke shaped like a human and peaked with those two damn eyes. Just looking at them made Wilson feel like he was having a panic attack. 280, disturbed by the light, began "walking" backwards, still training its insanity-inducing eyes right on Wilson. Yet another source of illumination spawned in the room, being the shining rays produced by an MTF's rifle light, yet Wilson was too busy focusing his sight on 280 to notice. The guard then dashed over to Lander's now unconscious body, probably passed out from pain, and picked him up before slinging him over his shoulder. Wilson then sprinted out of the tunnel as fast as he could, weighed down by Lander's armor, and didn't stop running till he reached the western medical wing. Gently laying the passed out soldier outside, Wilson ventured inside the infirmary in search of some medical supplies.

The security officer cautiously inspected the wing, until he found just what he was looking for. A roll of gauze, a black syringe holding a dose of morphine, and some rubbing alcohol, all housed in a medicine cabinet hovering over the sink. Wilson dabbed some disinfectant on his bleeding open wrist, which burned like hell, before wrapping the injury in the smallest amount of gauze he could rip off. He then bundled up the supplies and going back outside, where Lander was still leaning up against the wall. Wilson cluttered Lander's open wound with several ounces of alcohol, causing the bloody rip to disgustingly fizz, and wrapped the rest of the gauze around the MTF's thigh.

Wilson readied his back to pick up Lander again, but the smell of...bitterness flooded the air. The smell of sullen burning. The guard jerked back, an activated flashlight still in his hand, to reveal the eyes in the dark still slowly approaching him, smokey arms extended out like a zombie. The flashlight's battery was dying, so the illumination barely made 280 flinch, still nearing him at a mockingly slow rate. Knowing his rifle would do nothing against the beast, Wilson picked up his friend yet again and sprinted away from 280 into a very small office littered with papers and adorned with desks, only to find out that he was at a dead end and just cornered himself. --Fireworks888 (talk) 08:09, 24 June 2014 (UTC)

He hadn't been able to even speak before the guard carried a limp body off in another direction. Gone. Gale pointed the pistol at the smoke approaching him, the light shining, its eyes flaring. The smoke started to lose cohesion, but not enough, the light wasn't strong enough.

Smiling at this success, he started to direct the being away and, after finding a chamber to place in, he directed the being inside. Keycard ready, he clicked it in and...

Nothing. Power here was completely out. So, Gale backed away a few steps and sat down, aiming the light at the being, as it stared back.

"Beta 7-3 here, looks like we got another breach, can't tell which, but our umpire here is dead. SCP-280 is still out, somewhere in Heav-

"I got him here" Gale yelled into the radio, "The power's out and I can't keep this light on him for long, can you get the doors working?"

"I got a door override, but pay close attention. The lockdown closed doors leading outside. The next phase of lockdown involves NEARLY all doors in the facility. The thing's glitchy as hell, but it's sure going to keep 280 in it's room. As soon as the door closes, get topside at light containment as fast as possible. GO!"

There was a moment of silence, and with that, red lights flashed everywhere along with the sound of the blast door closing. Before 280 could lose cohesion, he was enclosed in darkness.

Gale began to run. --TheCab (talk) 20:39, 24 June 2014 (UTC)

After Thomas had finished blinking and regaining focus, he looked over to the young man sitting next to him.

"Lucas!" He exclaimed, holding back a fierce hug that would cause the others to continue staring. It was already odd and stare-worthy enough that someone stationed all the way across the facility had barged into their office to visit, better to not add any more reason for them to continue eyeing the pair of men. He returned the stare of some remaining gawkers, which caused them to look away and cough awkwardly. He turned back to face Lucas.

He started fidgeting with a corner of paper that was poking haphazardly out of the huge manila file set out in front of him. He really didn't want to go through more goddamn paperwork, especially not when he had a hard enough time focusing on anything other than his best friend and partner sitting next to him. Despite knowing what he SHOULD do, he decided to drag out this conversation for as long as he could before he ultimately had to continue on with the snooze-worthy mundane bullshit their superior had them doing during these slow times.

He almost wished he had another job here, but quickly logged away the thought, slightly scrunching his nose at how foolish the notion was. Sure, the other departments may have been more busy, but he simply didn't have the stomach to do anything else involving being any closer to the skips than he already was. He could hardly handle this job. Okay, that was a lie; he loved this job dearly, even when his stomach didn't love it.

"It's as if you knew I was wondering about you. How've you been?  I've been doing...alright, I suppose.  Couldn't hardly sleep a wink last night, what with all the reported failings of the other sites.  I could go into more details, but I have a feeling that you know just how my stomach has been reacting with all this worrisome crap happening.  I-"  He didn't realize just how bad he was rambling in his sleep-deprived state until Lucas laughed quietly and set his hand on Thomas' shoulder to gently silence him. --TheIncredibleHibby (talk) 20:43, 24 June 2014 (UTC)

A quiet sound of munching could be heard in the hallway if one listened very closely. The door to rec room was opened and Lavrov hadn't even bothered to turn the light on. He was alone, unhurriedly eating his BLT. It gave the old doctor time to think. To think about the future of this secret organization, to think about how everything to this point in his life has come to boil like this, to think about the finality of life after death. Lavrov, for once after so long in his life, started to have anxiety about the rest of his life. Everything to that point had been easy for him and he simply never noticed. Passing high school, going to one of the best universities in the United States, being highly respected in both his fields of nuclear energy and behaviorism. Despite all these accomplishments, he felt nothing of them. Wasn't that what he was supposed to do? Wasn't this suppose to be hard? He felt as if he could do all of it, then anyone could. There was no challenge in it. Even here at the Foundation, he was pressured but could still come up to a satisfying conclusion, regardless of how trivial or sometimes hopeless they were. He could still get something out of it all.

As Lavrov thought of this all, the lights flicked on. Surprised, Lavrov looked up to see Dr. Nguyễn standing at the door. She was an Asian researcher whom he worked on and off with, mostly since she specialized in memetics and anomalous locations while he worked with behavior of sentient and sapient objects. "May I speak with you for a moment, Mr. Lavrov?" she asked. "Thank God," thought Lavrov, "I needed a distraction to get my mind off all this worrying."

Stuffing what was left of the BLT in his mouth, Lavrov stood up and listened what Nguyễn had to say. "Since four-seven-eight is one of your objects, I'm curious if you're interested in seeing this document. What do you know about all this?"

Lavrov swallowed and took the document. He read in bafflement as read that new developments in SCP-478 behavior: erratic movements, red coloration, and... attacks on people who have already replaced their deciduous teeth. He looked up in horror, "This is news to me. Why wasn't I warned earlier?"

"Because they just now sent this out. Since I worked on the project with you for a limited time, I got the message as well."

"These are all hallmarks of a virus, or some sort infection. But that can't be, four-seven-eight doesn't even breathe or eat. I don't understand..."

"Well, everything considered, we should hope four-seven-eight doesn't breach. Since your heading anything related to four-seven-eight, send a report to the site director to monitor their containment more closely now."

With that, Nguyễn left and Lavrov had something other than his personal life to worry about.

--ScavengerOfHumanSorrow (talk) 21:47, 24 June 2014 (UTC)

The ray of light that shot out of Wilson's flashlight began to weakly flicker before succumbing to the low battery and died. Fuck.... Wilson desperately scavenged through the office to find anything, but nothing. After a few minutes of building up bravery and endurance, Wilson open the door and peaked out, scanning the nearby halls. No sign of 280, probably went off to go bother some other bastard. Due to the flashlight's passing, everything was engulfed in darkness, and only a scatter of red emergency lights gave the guard any vision. As such, Wilson approached Lander and crouched over, dropping a loaded pistol and morphine syringe near his body just in case he woke up to feel the unfathomable pain of his thigh or run into something dangerous.

It took a lot of discipline to stop Wilson from pumping himself with morphine, even recreationally seeing the situation. Planning to leave Lander to scout out the perimeter and come back, Wilson left the office and charged through the hallways, hopelessly feeling around for anything. Like a checkpoint, the officer took a break any time he touched an emergency light, and after running past at least 10, Wilson heard the hurried footsteps of someone, or something. Jerking around, Wilson spurted out a yell towards the echoes of the heavy running.

"Who's there?!"

Just enough luminescence from the emergency light allowed Wilson to see a humanoid figure donning the most casual of clothes with caramel hair and alarmingly red eyes. ''This has to be an SCP. Why would such casual clothing be in a hell-hole like this?'' --Fireworks888 (talk) 19:48, 28 June 2014 (UTC)

Lander awoke with a jolt of pain. The last thing he remembered was 280 lunging at him before passing out shortly after. However, he was surprised to find that he could still feel his arms and legs and that we wasn't being mauled to death.

Lander then opened his eyes to reveal a tiled ceiling, which was a clear indication that he was not in the same area he was before. As he tried to get up to get a better idea of where he was he felt another jolt of pain when he attempted to move his legs. He slowly lifted his head and looked down at his thighs. A large portion of his upper thigh was wrapped in gauze.

Lander assumed that someone must've saved him from 280 and patched up his wounds. As he pondered this the pain was starting to become unbearable. It was at this moment that Lander noticed an injection of morphine right beside him.

"Eh fuck it." Lander grabbed the injection and stabbed himself in the neck.

--

After a while the pain eventually died down enough for Lander to get up without wincing. He proceeded to look around the surrounding. It was safe to assume that he was in an office, although he still didn't know who it was that brought him here.

Lander pushed the thought aside and focused on his original plan, trying to find a way out of the Heavy Containment Zone. As he walked around the office he noticed that there was an elevator nearby. Lander then remembered that every elevator shaft had a maintenance ladder which would lead all the way up to the office complex. However, due to the lockdown the elevator doors were shut tight.

"Well, so much for that idea."

Lander was about to leave when he noticed a landline site-wide phone on the wall adjacent to the elevator.

"Hmmm...sector 4C is on lowest floor of the site. And the force of an elevator crashing down would...." It was a stupid idea, but at this point there wasn't really another way out. Lander proceeded to take the phone and dial.

It rang twice before the other line picked up.

"Hey, Wyn? Yeah, I'm gonna need a favor from you." -- CommanderMark (Talk) 04:25, 30 June 2014 (UTC)

Gale halted halfway through flight when he caught sight of the guard, yet the few moments he'd lost were enough. The crashing sound of doors closing was deafening. Only seconds after that, a silence pressed on their ears. From that, the radio buzzed so loudly, he jumped.

"Oi, Sergeant, Beta 7-3, your umpire here. All doors locked, but I told you the system is glitchy. A few blast doors opened, but I can't tell, the switchboard is haywire. Anyways, get to the clinic if you can, wait it out and I'll see if another team can pick you up.

"By the way, I'd hurry, I'm pretty sure 027 got out, btu considering how sterile it is, I wouldn't be too worried... 457, perhaps, you'd see him from a mile away, though. I'd run if I were you."

The two had been in the same position as if frozen. Gale took the guard's arm without thought and ran. --TheCab (talk) 20:41, 30 June 2014 (UTC)

The blaring radio that announced 457's and 027's escape and hung on the figure's pocket led Wilson to believe that he was an MTF, out of uniform for some reason. Wilson didn't need to know this man's name, all he needed to know was that he wasn't going to rip him apart. After passing yet another hand full lights with the military-man, a memory was revived in Wilson's conscious. Lander. The guard yanked his still hurting hand out of the MTF's grip and starting sprinting towards the left, praying his thought of Lander being down that hall was correct.

"I need to get something!" Wilson shouted to the soldier as he ran off into the distance.

The MTF swiftly followed, annoyed by the guard's disobedience. Nearing the infirmary, Wilson foraged throughout every office he could see, but Lander, nor a syringe or pistol, were to be seen. Disappointed that he let one few people he didn't hate down, Wilson continued to follow the soldier around Block Six's corridors, despairingly looking for the clinic apparently filled with hope according to the radio. This was probably an empty promise.

Meanwhile, an image outside the cluster of the Foundation's few remaining sites lurked. The pitch black sky blanketed the mass of mountains that protected the Foundation like a fort, and rained down heavy showers of snow to make the grim environment even colder. One of the world's most fortified blast doors acted as an exit to the site, but due to the lockdown, it was dead near impossible for a human to get in or out thanks to dozens of AI controlled sentry guns, heaps of thick snow, an impenetrable amounts of steel that made up the blast door. However, 058 was not human. An unlucky power-outage in Site-18 allowed the monster to escape its imprisonment and punish its gaolers by ripping them to bloody shreds. It sprinted unseeably fast outside the secured walls of the next site, absorbing thousands of sentry gun bullets before slicing them to half with its jagged tendrils. Rows of stone-cold military tanks lined around the site like a moat, as the drivers didn't have the chance to bring them into warm storage. A strong dent painted one of the site's walls thanks to a fortunately contained breach that happened no earlier than two days ago. 058 "saw" this dent and spat out an explosion of acid from its sharp stinger. The steel was no match for the corrosive liquids, and its materials began to dissolve until there was a horse sized fizzing hole adorning the wall. The site was officially exposed to the cruel outer-world, and not even the administrator knew it as 058 slipped its way into the hole it made. --Fireworks888 (talk) 23:13, 30 June 2014 (UTC)

Wyn Parity had spent the past 13 and a half minutes thinking. While under normal circumstances, he'd be thinking in front of an acutely bright screen, however, these minutes were spent under a cafeteria table. When the alarms had dropped, Parity had been enjoying a bowl of cheap tomato bisque in the teeming cafeteria, surrounded by office workers fixing their day with equally cheap coffee and donuts. His presence wasn't particularly typical at this time of day, but he made the best of it while he could, sitting cornered in the closest table to the exit, with a spork, coffee stirrer and a napkin branding the three remaining seats occupied, listening as the free-riders or paper pushing lackeys filed in and out. Now, he sat under the hard table, contemplating in the dim, red light. The bisque had grown cold and announcements flooded the halls. The most frequent of announcement lead-ins begin with, "Warning."

While many believed the sane notion would be to make a mad dash to the nearest blast shelter when the alarms began, it would be an equally protracted experience running all the way to either OZ Lockroom 4A, or into the Light Containment Zone to LCZ Lockroom 1B. By the time Parity would have reached either, it would seem, the timelock would most likely have expired. One of the many reasons Parity's outer journeys remained infrequent was due to his insufficient stamina. The sturdier and more stable personnel fueled with 368 calories of cheap breakfast and caffeine to boot would probably reach either more than a valuable minute before him. Once the 2 and a half minute time locked expired, the chamber doors would electromagnetically seal, keeping the occupants secure until safety clearance is deemed.

While he looked at the blood orange painted stripes on the wall, casted over by a red shade, he began to feel an immense sense of dread within him. Echoing in the nearby halls broke the silence, intermittent roamers and gunfire. Tremors groaned through the facility's body like a wounded creature, shaking the marble floor to the very bone. A roar sounded almost seemingly below him, not unlike that of a warm breath of anger, welling the floor with a resonant wave of heat. Parity quickly stood to his feet, and his soles felt the vibrant swelter. Before he could react, his mobile phone blared the tacky default ring-tone straight from 2003. Quickly muffling the speaker as to not attract unwarranted attention, he waited a beat, before answering.

"Hello?" ...

"A-a favor? Of what kind, at a time like this?" ...

"Err. Okay... I'll see what I can do. Stay on the line." ...

Parity made his way towards the electrical center. The hallways seemed eerily quiet, and it felt as if the walls had been watching him. Upon reaching the electrical room nearly minutes later, Wyn managed to find the correct breaker for the stretch above 4C. The elevator was situated 6 floors up, outside of a maintenance siding for the tram system. Should the elevator sheave be released, it would gain enough speed to activate the preliminary brakes, but not the elevators safeties.

"Alright. Gonna disable the electromagnetic braking, so the whole shaft and the area around it will be down. You have a flashlight on you?" ...

"Okay, it'll be down in about 40 seconds. Mind your head, and stay a fair ways back." ... --Omniary (talk) 13:59, 1 July 2014 (UTC)

Lander proceeded to distance himself from the elevator doors as much as possible. He kept waiting until he heard the sound of an elevator coming down the shaft, only much faster. The elevator collided with the floor of the shaft. Luckily the site didn't seem to invest in a shock absorber system so the force of the crash was enough to severely damaged the blast doors.

"Thanks Wyn, you should probably get going now. This site isn't really gonna last much longer."

Lander proceeded to hang up the phone and walk over to the shaft. He managed to get around a bit of the wreckage from the fall and was able to reach the maintenance elevator.

"Alright, now it's time to find Wilson and get the hell out of here." -- CommanderMark (Talk) 02:55, 2 July 2014 (UTC)

Gale followed a ways before stopping at the entrance of the clinic. Everything there was in place, even the chemist's shop right before Wilson invaded it. While Wilson searched, Gale had looked back to find another dead body, but this was different. It was really the shock of jet black hair that gave it away.

Gale checked the body and found the tag, "Jacobson" or as he'd liked it before, Jacovi. Why? He could not fathom. But beside that, this was the man he'd received a detonator from. A thorough search found no explosives, so perhaps he'd planted...

Gale decided to entertain the idea that Jacob was successful. He then stripped the body of a the ammunition and battle rifle. Who knew? it could be useful.

"All stations, the HCZ is currently experiencing break outs (Gonna hamstring the idiots that fixed up this system). By all means, seal off any entrances to the HCZ and keep the MCZ in check.

"Sergeant, umpire here, I suggest you get out now. And for God's sake, don't forget the nuclear device. It's two floors up. See to I that it doesn't blow, eh?" --TheCab (talk) 20:06, 2 July 2014 (UTC)

Skulking around in the chemist shop, Wilson gazed upon the walls of drugs that towered before him with great desire, looking for pain-killers. A small carton of ibuprofen came into Wilson's sight, and he ripped box open before shedding his balaclava and tossing a tablet down his throat. Luckily, Wilson hadn't eaten for almost an entire day, so the pain-killer's effects spawned in his system after just a few minutes. The stinging pain in his arm started to lift as he settled in on a waiting chair, but he was greatly startled by a faint distant crash that slightly shook the ground. Right before he readied to investigate, Wilson eavesdropped on Gale's radio call with the umpire.

"Nukes?" Wilson asked Gale. Even the drugs couldn't rid him of his voice's tremble. "Why aren't those already disarmed? Christ, as if the SCPs weren't annoying enough."

Knowing Gale would think less of him due to his cynical complaining, Wilson quickly changed the subject before he could say anything.

"Look, two stories up? The zone's on lockdown. There's no way we're getting up there without a plan. I'll go look for a map or something to plan our escape."

Wilson exited the clinic with no intent to find a map. He knew it'd be extremely easy to get two floors up thanks to the Foundation's current condition. His real mission was to find Lander. He couldn't have just wondered off. If he wasn't in a clinic or infirmary, he was probably in the armory adorning himself with more weaponry. After running through a handful of secure tunnels, Wilson came upon a large lobby with a huge blast door that led to the Medium Containment Zone. Waiting chairs were flipped over, the receptionist room was grazed with destruction and fire, and bloody MTF corpses littered the ground. History repeated itself as a call from a creepy voice radiated off a soldier's body via a dying radio.

"Attention anyone receiving this call. A majority of the site has been infested with SCPs and we already have over 57 casualties. Due to several power outages and electronic jams, evacuation is virtually impossible, so as such, all personnel must barricade themselves in the safest area they know. Waves of extremely dangerous SCPs have already invaded the HCZ, specifically blocks five through nine, and it is only a matter of time until the Keters break out."

Wilson stood over the radio in awe and anger. If it was for one fucking 280 breach, the MTFs wouldn't have been so occupied in the HCZ so they could deal with the bigger threat going on. He felt like he had inoperable cancer, and he was so close to reaching his death but it's taking so mockingly long. Then a realization hit Wilson like a train. If that call was live, then the SCPs are on their way, coming in from the back. The clinic was deep in the back. In a blazing dash, Wilson bolted towards the clinic, flinging past several screams and inhuman sounds as the approaching SCPs infested his hearing. Stopping dead in his tracks, Wilson remembered the main reason he came here in the first place. The armory. He could use a weapon or six, as he gave up his one firearm for the sake of Lander. Back tracking just a few meters, the guard sneaked his way into the armory where he saw a small humanoid wandering around the room's walls, which were painted with batons and light firearms.

"Hello?" the figure spoke in the most innocent of voices.

Wilson, blinded by the darkness, approached the little girl, and wrapped his gloved hand around her arm to comfort her. Her entire body was fitted with what felt like thin rubber, donning every spec of her skin tightly.

"Hello..." Wilson said in an awkward voice. He hated children. He knew this child, no older than seven, was an SCP. Why else would a kid be here? But children tended to be the least dangerous SCPs for obvious reasons, so Wilson didn't fear her in the slightest. Right before he asked her name, a metallic growl stabbed both of their ear-drums. Urgency came back into Wilson's voice, but he tried to soften it with a comforting tone.

"Okay, little girl. T-There are some very bad people coming to hurt us, and though it may be dark, you're going to have to keep up with me. Don't let go of my hand no matter what happens, okay?"

Tears of fear oozed out of her eyes, being one of the only features Wilson could see, and she shook her head with a small "okay" and a raspy tone as she tried to hold back her crying. The two then hastened out of the armory at great speeds, but after a few minutes, Wilson soon realized the poor girl couldn't keep up with him. He then picked the small girl up, as she weighed less than a hummingbird, and cuffed her in his arms before picking his speed back up and sprinting towards the clinic. The more screams and sessions of gunfire that echoed throughout the halls, the faster Wilson's legs moved. He pressed the girl's small head up against his chest lovingly in hopes of making the gunfire sound quieter, but it hardly helped. Finally, with what seemed an eternity of bolting through hell, the two returned clinic. The strangely clothed soldier was still inspecting the medical center and jerked his head towards the entrance as he saw Wilson arrive.

"YOU! Officer!" Wilson spoke to the MTF in overwhelming fear. "We HAVE to get out of here! A huge breach has been happening up there at the peak of the site! A fucking tsunami of SCPs is about to hit this clinic!"

The girl was obviously scared of Wilson's yelling and swearing, so he then sat her on a medical table, where he witnessed her to be the smallest human he'd ever seen. She had that same suit from before, covering every single part of her body other than her eyes and hair. The skin tight-suit she donned revealed that she was underfed, sickly thin. --Fireworks888 (talk) 03:05, 4 July 2014 (UTC)

The tip-tap of black business shoes could be heard pacing back and forth down a fluorescent-lit hallway. Dr. Lavrov was in a state of tension now, worried about this sudden unfathomable virus. "Why me, why now?" ran through the doctor's mind as he paced down the hallway. He would've been panicking had he not kept in mind that it would incite fear in others, which would certainly start a chain reaction in the form of mass hysteria considering how high stress already was with all the sites collapsing.

Lavrov waltzed back to his office. His desk, which had been adorned with a picture frame of a younger Orion Lavrov with his now-deceased adopted son, a cup of spare work supplies, a lollipop, some caramels, a rusty trophy of a Queen chess piece, and his prized laptop. The laptop was developed here in the Foundation and was one sturdy chunk of technology. The Foundation's logo hung above the screen. Opening up his email, he quickly typed away, warning the Site Director of the new developments in the tooth fairies' behavior. If the virus reached the contained subjects, hell may break loose when a breach occurred. Some would need to put into an especially safe container for future study, again, if something ever happened to this site. He smashed the send button and laid back in his chair with a sigh of relief. Lavrov rubbed his pocket, assuring that he had the paper still with him. Feeling the thin bulge in his pocket, he closed his eyes and was content, at least for now. He hadn't even seen the pencil-neck that entered his office in his hurried daze.

"Uh, e-excuse me sir," said the man.

Inhaling too quickly, Lavrov coughed as he choked on his air. "What is it, Barnaby!? Can't you I'm trying to relax for a moment?"

"Well, excuse you, princess! I didn't realize that you were too busy goofing off. Clearly your rest is more important than the notice on this new report for Nineteen-Thirteen Dash Two and Three!"

"Oh God," Lavrov pinched his temples, "what is it now?"

"Dash Two got Valence this time. You better get to interrogating Dash Three again, and how about this time, get something out of it!" And with that, Barnaby slammed the door and stormed down the hallway. Lavrov was getting headache after headache today, and little did he know that it was only going downhill from here on out.

--ScavengerOfHumanSorrow (talk) 04:11, 6 July 2014 (UTC)

When the guard had returned, Gale had regained his composure at the shock of the body. However, it was partly lost when he saw the girl. She was a sad, dilapidated thing that was supposed to be an African-American child.

"YOU! Officer!" Wilson spoke to Gale in overwhelming fear. "We HAVE to get out of here! A huge breach has been happening up there at the peak of the site! A fucking tsunami of SCPs is about to hit this clinic!"

Not wasting a second, he dragged the man, to which he now identified as Wilson due to a name-tag. They reached a service lift and pushing the guard in, he punched a button at the bottom of a skyscraper of buttons. "Tunnels" it read. He stole a glance at the girl, who looked terrified beyond recognition, yet Wilson's presence seemed to be a reassurance.

"Listen, now, when you get to the tunnels, you stay in one of the storage rooms and wait for any others, I'll make sure we make it out of here alive, got it?" Gale said in a voice that had nearly lost it's composure. Before the doors closed, he grinned slightly, "Name's Gale, pleasure to make your acquaintance"

Just then, he pulled out the rifle. It almost seems he was going to shoot the both of them, but as the doors closed, Gale positioned the rifle between the doors. The casing came close to cracking, but held fast. As for Wilson and the girl, they descended into the abyss. Gale took a breath and pulled out the radio just one more time.

"Umpire, Sergeant Gale here, get any survivors to the tunnels."

He didn;t waste an answer. Climbing into the shaft and crawling up, the only thought in mind was a red-hot bomb and whether is plan would work. --TheCab (talk) 00:23, 9 July 2014 (UTC)

Gale. A burst of wind or another loud sound. First he was looking for Lander, now he's about to stop the Foundation from bombing themselves, the connection between those two being Gale himself. Wilson then crouched down in front of the girl, who was too terrified to speak. Even when kneeling, he still towered over the little youngster like a giant.

"Hey," a surge of awkwardness still infected his voice. "What's your name, darling? My name is Tyrone-" Wilson stumbled his words for a second. He realized how he hasn't been called his first name in years. Only "officer" or his surname. He hoped the child wouldn't be confused.

"S-Sonya."

"Sonya? That's an adorable name. Say, have you ever been called anything else? Specifically by someone wearing a lab-coat?"

"SCP-something," she said shyly. "It had a few numbers, like a one and seven."

"Are you hungry?" Wilson sincerely asked. The girl hardly answered, giving out what could've been interpreted as a nod. Wilson arose to his feet and simply stood there, watching Gale climb out of the lift. The MTF was then swallowed by the shaft's gloom as he climbed up a series of ladders before he disappeared. The gritty service lift, ornamented with flickering maintenance lights, came to a halt, and the duo were already plunged within the tunnels. This time they looked like those rounded overpasses cars bolt through, but swamped with even more darkness. The lack of illumination throughout this damn facility annoyed Wilson and terrified Sonya, but they trudged on. Gale told him to find a storage room and wait for survivors. Is he insane? Wilson thought to himself. ''In a shadow of a facility invaded with monstrosities? The nicest ones are always the sociopaths...'' The two came upon a cafeteria. What one was doing down here this deep, Wilson would never know. As the two walked through rows and rows of empty, sometimes flipped over, food benches, they finally came upon the kitchen.

The only thing on the menu was spinach, plain bread, and a cup of salad illegally small. Seems that all of the good food was out, only remaining the D class meals, but Wilson found a tipped over barrel of granola bars that were going to be shipped to the rec rooms. The guard grabbed a handful of bars and stuffed them in his pocket before giving one to Sonya and telling her to eat it. They then retreated from the cafeteria in search of a way to get out. Throughout their entire travel, she silently munched on the bar as Wilson looked for an escape. No weakened walls, no secret passage-ways, not even the vents were big enough to crawl through. Just as everything seemed hopeless, Wilson remembered his very first day at the Foundation. As was every personnel on their first day, the guard was informed that in case of an utter atrocity, any surviving personnel were to retreat to an underground bunker two miles away from the site. With Sonya squeezing his hand as hard as possible, he headed his way to the bunker via the dark as night mine. ((as a disclaimer from Mark and I, everyone should be heading to the bunker too now, so scadaddle. If you didn't have anything to post about, now you do.)) --Fireworks888 (talk) 01:42, 9 July 2014 (UTC)

A flustered Lavrov dragged his feet down the hallway. ''This really isn't what I need. That stubborn ass is not going to play ball anytime soon. Why do I even bother?'' thought Lavrov. He wondered how long it might take before this site becomes like all the rest. It didn't even occurred to him until now that he hadn't seen the outside world for weeks, months even. As he passed through, very few people wandered the halls. Most were locked up in their prison of an office. All seemed calm, like the calm before a storm. A tension was rising, yet Lavrov chose to ignore it.

At last, Lavrov came to the room which oversaw 1913-3's chamber. He took out his keycard, put it into the slot, and slid through the door. Sitting at the intercom table again, he fiddled with the mic adjustments before starting. "Hello SCP Nineteen-Thirteen Dash Three. Why am I not surprised that you're at fault again for the assault of Dr. Valence?"

"You are much too persistent for your good. Whatever happened to this 'Vah-lance' is through no cause of mine, therefore it is not Telly's. Away with you."

Lavrov rubbed his eyes. This day felt like it was going to continue into infinity. Groggily, he squinted his eyes to look at Frankie for the first time. He had previously been staring off into space with his introductory statement. He realized he should've observed sooner: the sulfur surrounding Frank was not as it originally was. It was more oblong than circular. Instantly Lavrov was rattled, knowing exactly what this change implied. He began to yell into the microphone, "Dash Three, what is the meaning of this!?" Frank did not yield to his question. "Tell me, now!" Frank only stared at him with his soul-piercing eyes. They glazed over Lavrov with a silent but ever-present authority. Dealing with the emergency as appropriately as he could, he flipped a switch under the table with great urgency. The chamber became infested with sulfur that collapsed from the ceiling. The monster writhed in pain and let out a number of obscenities toward the doctor.

Lavrov ran out of the room, down the stairs and darted toward Agatha's room. ''I know what those fuckers are after. I have had it with all this shit lately. I'll show that mutt what happens when you cross the wrong Foundation researcher.''

. . .

Cadet Morison was off-duty. He was part of Mobile Task Force Gamma-17. Must of his comrades had already been sent to deal with breaches in the Heavy Containment Zone at the site while he was left to make sure nothing happened to the armored transport vehicle. He kicked the dirt around on the ground; there was nothing for him here. Just as he started to nod off, he witnessed a doctor in work cloths dashing down the stairs leading down to this garage, carrying with him a sizable metal container. The aged man ran up to Morison, "I need your help right now. Is this vehicle being used right now?"

"Oh! Well, um, no but-"

"Good, then start driving to the safest area you know within proximity of this site. I'm about to pop the lid on top of some saboteur."

--ScavengerOfHumanSorrow (talk) 06:42, 10 July 2014 (UTC)

Nicole ducked behind a corner as she listened for further screams that would indicate the presence of Skips in the area. When she heard nothing but silence, she poked her head out from behind to confirm her suspicions. Empty.

Satisfied that she wasn't going to get killed today, she proceeded down the dark corridor slowly. The site had fallen and she was determined to escape. In fact, she already had an escape plan. She was going to catch a ride from one of the Foundation garages and drive to the bunker two miles away.

Simple enough plan, but there was only one flaw. How was she going to get into the garage with the site under lock-down? Sure she had a high-enough clearance level but all doors to the surface were effectively sealed. She shrugged off the worries, though they were more like simple variables in a computer-like mind, and continued in the direction of the service lift leading to the surface.

This went on for what felt like forever in the silence of the dark facility. While Nicole could not feel fear, something within the confines of her mind kept nagging at her. Everything was silent, unnaturally so. She should have at least heard the buzzing of electricity or release of steam from within the walls, but instead he heard nothing. Absolute silence.

However, the silence was broken by a faint rhythmical tapping from an approaching hall. It sounded metallic, like a dull piece of shrapnel hitting the floor several times. This was followed by the illumination of the onward hallway, like an unseen person was carrying a flashlight from across the hall.

Like previously, Nicole ducked behind a corner of an intersection and waited for the unseen thing to come into view. The tapping grew louder and louder as Nicole considered running away, to continue searching for an escape.

Finally, some sort of blinding light, the source of the illumination, fell into view. Nicole had to shield her eyes when she saw it. Sne could not see what was generating such a light, but she tried her best to get a good look. Whatever it was looked away, taking the light with it and allowing her to steal a glance.

It's body was flat, like a sheet of metal, but it was warped into the shape of a house cat. It had a long, thin, tail-like object protruding from it's behind, which resembled a wire. It waved back and forth as the creature walked, generating a little 'clack' as it collided with the ground. The creature did not seem to have a head, but instead a large, spot-light-like object that was generating the bright light. In the center of the spot-light was a solid-black circle with three struts protruding from it.

Thinking for a moment, which in real-time took nearly half a second, she realized what this strange spot-light creature was. SCP-1619-2-C, one of the inhabitants of Floor 24 of Site-45-C. This specific instance of SCP-1619-2 had been selected for domestication due to it's behavior similar to that of a house cat, and a few packs of them had been sent to other sites, this one included. This one must have gotten separated from it's pack, and it was now wandering the site aimlessly, probably frightened.

Finding it ridiculous that she had taken to hiding because of one of these creatures, Nicole stood up and continued down the hall without hesitation, disregarding it. It turned and looked up at him, but she still paid no mind to it, as it would only impede her progress in escaping. Passing it by, she pulled out her S-Nav from her coat pocket and looked for the surface lift that could carry her out of the facility. The familiar tapping of the -2 pulled her out of concentration, and she looked back to find the creature following close behind her.

“No, no, shoo.” She said while motioning down the hall. “I do not have time for whatever it is you want from me, creature, so please go away.” The thing merely tilted it's 'head' and did not do as it was told. Nicole continued with her little charade before sighing in defeat, as this creature was clearly not going to leave. “Fine, if you really want to follow me so desperately, than I suppose I can adjust a few variables to accommodate you.” She mumbled as he continued down the corridor.-- Trialtrex21 (Talk) 09:07, 10 July 2014 (UTC)

"Where the hell could Wilson be?"

Lander had been aimlessly wandering around the site looking for Wilson for the past half hour. He checked his quarters, his patrol routes for that day, but had no luck. It also didn't help that there seemed to be a bunch of MTF units and guard running around, more then there usually was. Lander presumed that they were all going to handle 280's breach, but since he lost his radio after he was attacked by it, he couldn't be sure.

After about another 10 minutes of walking, the hazard lights suddenly went on all across the site. An announcement over the site's intercom followed it.

"Attention all personnel, the site is currently being overrun by SCPs, and we're showing several Euclid containment breaches all across the site. Emerging evacuation plan Echo is being put into effect as of immediately. Please proceed into the tunnels as quickly as possible."

Suddenly, the halls were blooming with more people then Lander had ever seen. He took this opportunity to go into an opened office to wait out the chaos in the hallways. Even though the announcement told everyone to go down to the tunnels, Lander knew that wouldn't make a difference. Once the site became too overrun, they would activate the Omega warheads and blow up the entire site, including the tunnels. At this point the safest place would be to head to the surface to try and create as much distance between him and the site has possible, but since all the exits are blocked off, it would be useless to try.

It was at this point though that Lander recalled something Wilson had said to him a few weeks ago. They had agreed that if the site ever went to hell, they would meet up at the bunker closest to the site. If Wilson was still here then we would definitely be heading. Lander quickly went out of the office and headed for the nearest emergency stairs to make his way down to the tunnels and to the bunker.

--

After Lander was about a mile through the tunnels, Lander was able to spot Wilson, along with a little girl that he was holding hands with.

"Hey, Wilson!"

Wilson turned around and waved to Lander from across the tunnel as he made his way through the crowd and over to him.

"Where the hell have you been?" -- CommanderMark (Talk) 23:16, 10 July 2014 (UTC)

Irretrievably wedged deep within the tunnels' shadows, Wilson and Sonya jerked around to see Lander of all people sprinting towards them, asking the guard where he's been.

"Lander?! Fuc- christ. You should ask yourself the same thing. I searched all of block six, but I couldn't find you. Anyways," Wilson shifted his gaze to the girl who stood loyally by his side.

"This is Sonya. She's an SCP, obviously. Dunno how dangerous she is. I don't seem to have crippling insanity, though, so I doubt she poses a threat," Wilson cynically spoke to Lander. The little girl hid behind Wilson's leg, terrified by the heavily armored soldier who loomed over her like a spire. Wilson forever wondered why she wasn't afraid of him. Before the Foundation went to hell, Wilson recalled himself regularly being stationed in the watch-towers for hours, his only friend being his right hand and coffee machine that produced the most bitter cups of joe on Earth. When the site was under construction, he had to access the towers through underground maintenance ladders near the guard dorms. Wilson babbled his plan to Lander as he listened with tasteless uninterest.

"--so, I'm thinking we could at least get to high grounds through one of those ladders. It's better than being in a hell-hole like this. I'm sure it's there's some way we could get out of it and get to the bunker."

After what felt like an eternity of tromping through the tunnels in desperate search of the dorms, Sonya spoke up.

"T-Tyrone?" The two military-men halted in shock at the rare event of this child speaking. "My legs hurt."

For a second time, Wilson picked Sonya up, as she weighed no more than a rip of paper. He slung her over his back and she gently clung on like a book-bag, and the three continued on. Finally, they arrived on this floor's block of guard dorms. Halls and halls were lined with automatic steel doors, and each were marked with a family of numbers and a surname. If only my dorm was down here, Wilson mused to himself. A barrack was stationed near the dorm block that had anything the guards needed. A small rec-room, bulletin boards embellishing the walls that had the guard's duties for the day, ramparts of name-marked mail-boxes, and even cabinets of weapons. Wilson was greatly annoyed each gun could only be accessed by its assigned user.

Finally, they spotted a maintenance ladder draping the wall, and with Sonya still gracing his back, Wilson scaled up it with Lander following. Reaching the top, the trio still had to plod through flights and flights of stairs all bunched into a steel fort posted up thanks to the lockdown. Stomping on the highest stair, Wilson inspected the watch-tower's interior and was struck with boring nostalgia. Looking identical to his tower (just with uninviting plates of steel boarding up the windows), the structure was lined with desks that had stationary radios and whatnot laying on top of it, and a broken down coffee machine lonesomely sitting in the corner.

The roof had a small hatch Wilson was able to reach after tenderly setting Sonya into a comfy waiting chair. Now on the roof of the tower, Wilson was doused with the sharp sting of the night's cold and a sprinkle of snow that still fell from the sky. After a solid minute of squinting towards the distance, Wilson was able to see a small pillbox glazed with snow.

"I think I see the bunker," Wilson's yell spoke as it was dragged down into the watch tower's main room. "I don't know how we're gonna reach it up here, though."

Wilson then spotted a small emergency ladder dangling off the ledge, but it was folded and bundled up by a steel lock.

"Dammit. I didn't even know they used traditional locks at the Foundation," Wilson swore to himself. Picking up his voice, he yelled back to Lander again. "Lander, I found our escape. There's a lock up here, though. Think you can take a look at it?"

((taking small control of Lander to avoid redundant posts)) As Lander approached the hatch, Wilson pulled the soldier up on the roof before the latter walked over and crouched down by the lock, picking it open with his combat knife. The ladder slid open and dragged all the way down the tower's side, making a perfect escape for the three. Wilson then climbed back into the tower, warning Sonya of the bitter coldness, and slung her over his back yet again before the trio descended down the emergency ladder, finally out of the site for good. With his arms wrapped around the girl's freezing torso in hopes of warming it, the group slowly plodded through the ankle high snow towards the pillbox. --Fireworks888 (talk) 01:06, 11 July 2014 (UTC)

"Thanks Wyn, you should probably get going now. This site isn't really gonna last much longer."

Wyn paused a beat. The true scope of the situation welled through him, with very little impact. Huh, the ground above and below him would be subject to a nuclear firestorm, or maybe even worse. Perhaps a ZK would drop, ending everything that is, before anything could be done to delay it. Parity knew quite well many of the dormant heralds locked deep below could bring intangible repercussions. Perhaps it had already happened. Perhaps everything was now a mirage, a parody of reality, or perhaps all was now locked in a limbo between notion and reality. Regardless if he were real or not, Parity decided that best course of action were to reach topside, if even that was real. Then from there, he'd find some means of transport in the facility motorpool. The tunnels would be full to the brim with people, the last place Wyn would accept dying in.

The journey was eerily peaceful. Almost all was quiet, save for the dying murmurs of the facility, which sang through the halls feebly. The walk through the hallways, without all the bright, without the eyes, without the clamor, all following him, it felt... tranquil, like he was the only one in this bare world, with only himself to mind. He occasionally found himself making a wrong turn, absorbed in the silence almost far too much to bother. He knew where he was going, it was where quite a few of the staff left to smoke during their down time. A simple door. A door without mechanical bolts, or an electromagnetic lock. Just a simple door, with a handle, that clicked when turned. Administration chose to leave it so, as convoluting the entrance to a 2-doored stairwell wasn't of their primary interests. Parity had only ascended and descended it when on mandatory vacation 2 and a half years in, all that he remembered was that it was bright, far too bright. Now, it was dark, far too dark, even for his liking. Wyn pulled out his phone, and turned his screen brightness all the way up from minimum to maximum, and opened a new note file. As he walked up the stairs, brandishing his phone like a officer would a gun, he typed random letters into his keypad to keep the screen at its brightest. The stairwell was 45 floors from top to bottom, and he slowly made his way up. In no particular hurry, he monotonously climbed the stairs, hitting a random key every 10 or so seconds, failing to do so immediately plunging him into darkness. A voice spoke up several flights down.

"Hello?" Wyn continued walking.

"Is someone there? Hello?" Quickening his pace, Wyn continued upward without hesitation.

"Who's there? Hello?" Several flights closer, Parity could now hear footsteps. An additional two steps accompanied a normal two.

"Hello? Hello?" Like a broken record, the voice called out from beneath him.

Parity's heart was beginning to feel weak from exhaustion when the 4 feet broke out into a sprint, the voice clearly more distressed.

"HELLO? WHO'S THERE? PLEASE, JUST WAIT FOR ME, I DON'T WANT TO BE ALONE."

Chills ran down his spine as he broke into a sprint up the stairs, his phone reduced from a light source to a flailing glare that only outlined the stairs vaguely. He ran for what felt like forever, until his legs felt frail. Whatever was below him was making high ground faster than he was, and still screamed out, not even for help, just screams of pure agony and distress like those he had heard through the walls of the dying complex only shortly before. Running for so long made it an abrupt change of pace when he slammed into the door, almost falling to the floor. He burst through, and rolled under a transport van only seconds before his pursuer tore the door from its hinges and emerged. Its sickly red hide gleamed in the moonlight, and slowly made its way towards the topside dormitories. Parity pressed his face against the gravel as to keep his exasperation at an inaubile level. It then called out, but not in the voice it had earlier.

"Is anyone there?" Wyn heard himself say, as the massive creature prowled towards the dorms, and away from the van. Almost two minutes passed before he decided to move from his position, rolling out from under the vehicle. He stared at his phone, looking at the note file on the screen. He sighed.

"asadfdfdffdssavaeewsvddasssdfsaasddss"

--Omniary (talk) 10:34, 18 July 2014 (UTC)

The sharp wind penetrated Wilson's thick jacket like a knife, and that fact alone proved Sonya was on the verge of hypothermia, as she donned nothing but a crisp jumpsuit. The guard ripped off his heavy black vest and coated Sonya with it. It cutely sagged on her due to her small size, but just watching her trudge through the snow dulled the adorableness. Finally, the group reached the bunker, but it was nothing but a steel pillbox with the window sealed up. Wilson violently punched the rectangular window, enraged. He expected the safest spot on the planet, but all they got was a pillbox they couldn't even open. The punch shook the window abusively, and Wilson soon realized it was nothing but a weak shutter door, which donned a sticker reading "lead-lined". Raising it up to reveal the box's comfy interior, the three climbed into the window and slammed the shutter door back down, finally protected from a cold that matched the arctic.

A dead scientist slumped up against the wall in a stripe of his own blood, with bulging veins and disgusting tumors spotting him. Wilson covered Sonya's eyes before dragging her into the corner and softly telling her not to look. The scientist neared a hatch imbedded in the floor, and Wilson yanked it open to reveal a large room trimmed with supplies, the bunker he's been looking for. Rolling the scientist's mangled corpse down the hatch out of sight, Wilson followed the lifeless body via a strong ladder down into the bunker. Barrels of filtered water, shelves loaded with rations that could feed all of New York, tanks of fresh oxygen, and a cabinet graced with weaponry and medical supplies. Just looking at the rolls of bandages in the med-kits reminded him how itchy his bandage was as it groped his wrist.

Carrying a trio of rations in his arms, stepping over the scientist's freshly deceased body, and climbing back up into the pillbox, Wilson handed his friends a can of ripe food before cracking one open himself and drinking some warm soup. Wilson, like he did when she ate the granola bar, gently peeled off Sonya's face mask so she could eat. However, immediately after drinking a few sips of soup, she quickly covered herself again. Wilson didn't ask why, feeling she didn't want to be asked about the supernatural features that got her locked up in this hell-hole in the first place. In the middle of their awkward dining session, the sound of rooming filled the air. The sound of a vehicle approaching. New guests already... Wilson muttered with an annoyed sigh. This was backed up by a soft pray that it wasn't an SCP. Most SCPs couldn't drive to his knowledge. He had some sick delight for a few minutes at the thought that he had an entire bunker for himself, but this was quickly diminished at the sound of their new roommate. Raising up the shutter door to look for the source of the noise, Wilson saw an olive jeep approaching, the kind MTFs drove. It was extremely difficult to spot in the blizzard, but the one thing that stuck out of the foggy mist that laid before him was a piercing red light shooting through the wind-shield. --Fireworks888 (talk) 10:42, 18 July 2014 (UTC)

Morison's hands shook as he took hold of the wheel. ''Is he nuts? What the hell is this guy trying to prove?'' he thought. The light metal container was placed behind the passenger seat where the wrinkled old labcoat (a term Morison used for all researchers he met) sat. His pupils were wide but he acted as if everything were ordinary, his hands in his lap, prefect posture, he even crossed his legs. Morison got the feeling as if he was trying to hide something.

"Listen, sir, you need to tell me what exactly you're doing before I take you anywhere," said Morison. Though, he felt as if he should've asked this sooner. The heat of this sudden development must've caught him off-guard and made him compliant.

"In this cage is SCP Nineteen-Thirteen Dash One, otherwise known as Agatha. I'm baiting on the fact that someone is sabotaging the assigned researchers to the ER room here on the site for whatever reason. I know it must have to do with Dash Three's obsession with Agatha. You are going to take me to a shelter," responded the doctor.

"You can't be serious, sir. I can't just up and break protocol without reporting to a superior. Especially if you're just going off a gut react--" Morison paused. The labcoat had taken out a glock pressed it against Morison's skull quite forcefully.

"You'll do as I say. Now before we leave, where is the mini-armory located in this garage?"

. . .

With a turn of a key and the roar of an engine, the armored vehicle left the unit and sped Northward. Morison was a bit anxious. He'd been around psychos like Bright and thought he wouldn't have to face a scenario like this again. There was a line of rifles stacked up against the left side of the vehicle, all of which rattled a metallic symphony as the behemoth mobile drove over the rough terrain. ''Five miles. All I need to do is survive five miles and I can have breathing time to figure everything out,'' Morison said to himself in his head. The labcoat was more than nervous, physically looking excitable and ready for action, which was peculiar for someone who worked in controlled environments. If he didn't know any better, he would fancy this deranged labcoat as a warrior in disguise.

As they made it to the four mile mark, off in the foggy distance they could make out the outline of a not-very-large station with a watchtower to boot. Lavrov swore in his head, ''This is what I came out here for? A shitty little bunker? I better not have had my time wasted.'' As the cogs in his heads moved, all of a sudden the vehicle trembled. Morison looked out to his rearview mirror to see a hairy, skeletal abomination hooked to the side of the steel transporter. Horrified as the monster came to his window, all he could do was stare into its pale, animistic eyes as it poised for an attack. Lavrov grabbed the wheel and with one violent tremor shook Telly off their convoy. The doctor raised his voice toward Morison, "Keep driving, I'll handle this."

Grabbing a hefty-looking rifle, Lavrov knocked open the vehicle's back entrance doors, to reveal a sprinting Telly and an enraged Frank. White-hot flames brimmed at Frank's mouth, waiting for the right moment to aim and fire at the doctor. Lifting up the rifle, it gave a distinct whir noise as it charged. When the sound reached its peak, Lavrov launched a devastating wave of pressure and successfully sent Telly flying backwards. Frank, on the other hand, saw it coming and responded with an attack of his own. Releasing a ball of Biblical white flame, Lavrov leaped to the other side of the vehicle that didn't get demolished by the heat of the attack. By some miracle, none of the fire made contact with his body. He charged his rifle again, this time aiming downward and blew a gigantic indent in the ground below Frank's feet. Frank tumbled and became a black speck as the car drove further. Unbeknownst to either in the transporter was that Telly returned in full fury and snuck her way on top of the moving metal mobile. It smashed Morison window and began to rip into his flesh. Reacting, Morison grabbed a high-powered shotgun and blew Telly off of him. The recoil caused the butt of the gun to jerk into his jaw.

Coming to screeching halt, and almost tipping over the damn thing, Lavrov existed the back and armed himself with another rifle and watched as Telly and Frankie came back for more. Meanwhile, Morison tried to open his door and make it into the bunker before this psycho labcoat caused him anymore trauma. Unfortunately, he couldn't ground his feet and instead fell out of the doorway like a fool. Aiming this ray gun-esque looking rifle, Lavrov took hold of the situation like a calm professional. Both these monstrosities came blazing forth with a blistering pace. The trigger was a very tough to pull, and Lavrov was beginning to wonder if it had jammed. But with another attempt, this time the two too close for comfort, the doctor successfully fired. With an amazing array of colors and distortion, the blast hit both of them. Lavrov covered his eyes, but when he looked back to the furies, they had simply... stopped. As if they were frozen in time. The new tech the Foundation was developing was becoming more interesting than Lavrov had thought.

With the fire gone from the smoldering car, Lavrov took Agatha's container and aided Morison back on his feet. "Let's make ourselves home. We both deserve it." They walked toward the now-visible bunker. It was only a half-mile away from the looks of it now.

--ScavengerOfHumanSorrow (talk) 08:16, 19 July 2014 (UTC)

(This post accounts for both Nicole Kerensky and Wyn Parity.)

Now topside, Nicole and the lampcat bee-lined for the motorpool. The lampcat followed slowly behind Nicole, illuminating any dark rooms or corridors that they encountered.

"Shut off your light", Nicole mumbled. He had been silent for most of their journey. The lampcat simply responded with a nod, whilst shutting off it's light and lowering it's head.

Both she and the lampcat froze at the sound of a bloodcurdling scream for help that echoed from the direction they came. The lampcat was scared stiff, but Nicole simply processed the new data in her mind, attempting to identify its source.

''Voice Signature Identified as... Engineer Wyn Parity...''

Scanning Personnel File...

''Minimal Data recoverable. Generally quiet and reserved. Chance of match... 27%''

Searching SCP Database...

''Origin of sound identified as SCP-939. Proceed with caution...''

Carefully, Nicole proceeded towards the motorpool, the lampcat following closely behind. They did not hear any further screams from the Skip, but that didn't do much the relieve the tension. Finally they came upon a door that read 'Garage' and quickly opened it, revealing that very few vehicles were left. Nearest to them was a simple Foundation jeep driven by the MTF during recovery missions. There was a small flash of light emanating from the window of the jeep, followed by a faint zapping sound. Nathaniel approached the vehicle with hesitation, as there were plenty of Skips that could be inside it.

When he reached the side window of the jeep, he peaked inside, his enhanced vision revealing a scrawny man with long black hair who was thankfully wearing a Foundation Uniform. Nicole rolled his eyes and simply knocked on the window. The man simply froze in place, not making a single sound. It was an eternity before the man finally turned towards Nicole, who simply had a carried a look of irritation.

"Would you mind unlocking the door, Mr. Parity?", Nicole asked in an voice of indifference. Wyn stood silent for several seconds, as if processing the question with outdated hardware.

"Err...right...", He simply responded, fumbling with the lock until a faint click sounded from the handle of the door. His gynophobia made him tumble over his words, plus the random appearance of this woman confused him, but now was not the time for fear. Nicole gripped the handle of the door and flung it open, revealing a series of wires hanging from the dashboard. Nicole grunted.

"Your hot-wiring skills are lacking, Mr. Parity.", She remarked with her usual coldness. "Move aside and I'll finish the deed." When Wyn did so, she pushed up her glasses and climbed into the drivers seat.

"Are you heading for the bunker?", Wyn asked shakily as Nicole proceeded to hot-wire the jeep. For a few seconds, she did not respond.

"Indeed, and I'm also guessing you are doing the same?", She turned her head towards Wyn for a moment before returning to the wires.

"Yah...", He went quiet after that, staring out the window while he waited for Nicole to start the jeep.

Several moments passed before the engine of the jeep roared to life, and while Wyn sighed in relief, Nicole did nothing.

"I'll drive. I have the path memorized.", She said as he gripped the wheel. Wyn simply nodded, resting back against his seat.

"Ah, yes, I almost forgot...", Nicole said, climbing out of the car and opening the back door of the jeep. Wyn said nothing and watched as Nicole carried a strange lamp-like object into the vehicle. "Stay back here until we get to the bunker, -C.", She said to the lampcat as she climbed back into the drivers seat of the jeep. With the car finally started and the path to the bunker fresh in her mind, Nicole drove the car out of the garage and headed down the path. --Trialtrex21 (talk) 05:31, 25 July 2014 (UTC)

Just a few meters from the bunker's face, the jeep's driver slammed down on the breaks, causing a halting swerve that kicked snow up against the pillbox and put the vehicle at a dead stop. Quite smug and annoyed at the fact new survivors have arrived, but the red glowing eye that jabbed Wilson like a laser pointer disturbed him.

"Stay here," Wilson whispered to Lander and Sonya as he hopped through the shutter window. The ground crunched as Wilson marched on the snow towards the halted jeep, and both car-doors flew open to reveal a bizarre sight. An attractive young woman, probably a scientist judging by the ripped lab-coat hanging on her like rags, stared at Wilson with a terrifyingly emotionless gaze. Her skin was adorned with cybernetics and curly wires, her right arm was just a robotic limb embellished with pumps, and her left eye was nothing more than the puncturing red orb from before, the one that shot through the windshield. Wilson had seen many things at the Foundation, but he'd never seen a cyborg before.

Standing on the other side of the jeep was another cute female, no older than Wilson, with draping black hair and the attire of flip-flops and a purple vest coating her white dress shirt. Approaching the cyborg with a fearful lump in his throat, Wilson spoke up.

"Uh, hello. I take it you're another survivor?" Wilson overlapped his stupid question with another before the scientist could speak. "What's your name, ma'am?" He tried to sound confident, but he just came off as awkward.

"Doctor Nicole Kerensky," the woman said. Her voice was obviously straight and metallic, having nothing other to say.

"Well then. Make yourself at home, Dr. Kerensky," Wilson said as he gestured to the pillbox's shutter door. The two strangers quickly hiked their way towards the bunker past the guard before entering it. Wilson noticed how the second woman didn't even speak to him, but he also noticed a small lamp of all things following Nicole with a quick pace, shuddering from the harsh cold. The guard didn't notice it due to its small size. The lamp had the back arch, legs, and overall behavior similar to that of a frightened housecat. While Wilson didn't recognize the SCP, he simply didn't care what it is and went along with it. Following Nicole and the other woman into the bunker, Wilson picked back up on his conversation with the scientist.

"I'm Tyrone Wilson, a security agent. So, if you don't mind me asking...what's with...?" Wilson didn't need to specify the rest of his question as he gazed back at Nicole's scarlet eye.

"An effect of SCP-217. Transmitted by touch and converts organics into machinery. Oh, and before you panic about infection, I was infected with a modified strain with a significantly reduced infectivity level. You have nothing to worry your little organic mind with," she explained as she strolled around the bunker, eventually finding her place at the side of a window. Wilson didn't like this person. But it's not like he could do anything about it, so he moved on to the other female, who kept to herself as Sonya petted the lampcat.

"Hey there, ma'am," the officer spoke in an easy tone, wondering if he could make another friend. "I'm Tyrone Wilson, what's yours?"

She turned to him. "Wyn Parity." The utterly pissed off tone in his voice sent a jab of embarrassment into Wilson's spine as he blushed. No more friends for me, I guess, Wilson said to himself, knowing he just instantly broke the short relationship he had with Wyn. Backing away, Wilson turned to Nicole again.

"Well, the supplies are down that ladder," Wilson said, shifting his sight to the hatch in the ground that lead to the bunker. "It has everything you need down there." --Fireworks888 (talk) 07:25, 25 July 2014 (UTC)

Lander greeted the two new guests with a silent nod. He wasn't particularly in the mood to exchange pleasantries, but he was glad that the bunker had a bit more company now.

Everyone headed back down to the bunker. Wilson handed Wyn and Nicole a can of soup each, before he taking a seat across from them. Lander could tell that he was trying to put as much distance between him and Wyn as possibly, considering he just insulted him before, though to be fair Wyn's appearance can be mistaken for a women's.

Lander then turned his attention to the metallic cat that the child was holding. It was an SCP no doubt, but he wasn't sure which one exactly. Nicole didn't make an attempt to mention the feline, so he assumed it wasn't a threat.

He kneeled down in front of the child to get a closer look at the cat. The girl abruptly let the cat go then got up and ran over to Wilson.

I need to remember to ask Wilson about that girl.

The feline slowly walked over to Lander. He reached his hand out and scratched the cat's belly. It seemed contempt with being scratch in that spot as it rolled onto its stomach. Part of him was glad that the bunker had some form of a pet now, while the other part wanted to know what exactly this thing was.

Lander then turned to look at Nicole.

"So, what's this cat's story?"

As soon as the words left her mouth the man looked up from her soup. She spoke in a rather neutral tone.

"SCP-1619-2-C, it's harmless." She then went back to eating her soup.

The woman looked tense, so Lander refrained himself from asking her what exactly 1619 was, let alone 217. He was starting to wonder if the bunker kept some sort of SCP database handy.

After stroking the cat enough, he walked over to the group and took a seat beside Wyn.

"So, where'd you find this guy? Did he come with the ride?" -- CommanderMark (Talk) 09:22, 25 July 2014 (UTC)

After Thomas muttered a sheepish "Sorry" for the rambling, Lucas gave him a smile.

"No need to apologize, silly. I've been doing okay, mostly worrying about you worrying too much," Lucas laughed. "I've also greatly mastered ignoring basically every other being on the planet but you," he said smiling.

Suddenly, the intercom crackled to life with a site-wide alert: "Attention all personnel, the site is currently being overrun by SCPs, and we're showing several Euclid containment breaches all across the site. Emerging evacuation plan Echo is being put into effect as of immediately. Please proceed into the tunnels as quickly as possible."

Lucas saw the color drain from Thomas' face. He never even noticed the same ghosting of the faces of the other seven Ethics members. Seeing Thomas' face go pale put Lucas into protection mode, Lucas firmly griped Thomas' arm and rushed out of the room with him. Lucas knew a short cut to the evacuation tunnels, and his mind was in overdrive with only one objective; protect Thomas. Lucas panicked as he tried all of his usual short cuts to the bunker, but everyone was in such a panic that every route was clogged. Seeing all the people blocking his routes Lucas began to get a bit angry.

"Hang onto me," he told Thomas.

Thomas put his arms around Lucas' waist as he pushed his way through the crowd with Thomas right behind him. By the time they made it to the bunker Lucas's clothes were nearly soaked with sweat from pushing so many people. --TimberWolfSpirit (talk) 23:17, 25 July 2014 (UTC)

An exhausted Lavrov and a foggy-minded Morison trotted uphill towards the bunker. The nearly capsized mobile, the left rear-side nothing more than a gaping hole, smoldered in the distance. The two had left behind two of the rifle they carried with them. The sound weapon and strange ray-gun were sticking out of the backpack on Lavrov's back that he had brought with him, Agatha's container under his right arm, and Morison dragged the shotgun in the dirt. Morison felt warm blood dripping onto his chin and humidly slide down to his neck. Taking his red handkerchief, he wiped his busted nose. It ached to touch the wound, but at least it would bade the time it took for the blood to run out. He had also twisted his ankle at a rather nasty angle after he fell out of the armored car. ''This bunker... even if I think he's a lunatic, this is the safest place from those abominations. I have to go with him, no reason to kill him. Lest, not yet,'' Morison thought. Morison slowly followed behind Lavrov, unable to keep up with his pace, even though the scientist was both older and tired than Morison. Lavrov knew this cadet would require medical treatment once they made sanctuary in the bunker.

To break the boredom of the trek, Lavrov decided to break bread with this nameless face he had forced into this situation. "I never got your name, soldier. It must've been the heat of the action," he said, knowing good-and-well he didn't ask because it hadn't matter then and there.

"Uh, Morison. Rakshasamardini Morison. But everyone just calls me Morison, sir," the cadet responded.

"Quite a mouth-full for a name. With a name like that, I take it your parents are Hindu followers?"

"Y-Yes, sir. My father is of Indian descent but my mother came from India. She was the one who gave me the name."

"Do you know what it means?"

"Excuse me?"

"Your name, you do know what it means, right?"

"My mother told me once upon a time but I don't remember anymore."

"It means 'destroyer of demons.' Your mother must've had a lot of faith in you to give you a name like that."

"Oh," responded Morison. He wasn't sure where to continue the conversation after that remark. They walked a distance some more until Morison resumed the conversation. "I have to give you credit. For a labcoat, you sure handle hands-on action like... that really well."

"Thank you. With age just comes experience I suppose."

"Aren't you too old to do shit like that?"

"You're never too old for it until your body is six feet under. I rather take a bull by the horns than sit back like a stereotypical researcher." Lavrov thought of Barnaby when he said that.

"Have you ever given thought into joining the MTF? They have a basic training program you can enter here at the Foundation. You'd make a fine commander."

"Well, I prefer gathering information over action. It's not that I'm incompetent, it's just--" The two paused. As they came nearer the bunker, a jeep was visibly parked in front, something neither noticed from half a mile away for some or another. Clearly Lavrov wasn't the only one thinking of taking refuge in the midst of this chaos.

Lavrov put his ear against the door, hearing the shuffle of feet and sound of muffled voices. As he meticulously turn the knob, he hears everything inside go quiet. Gripping the glock tucked away at his side, he opens the door slowly to see all in the claustrophobic room staring at him. He saw a tall figure with a mechanical eye near the side window look at him coldly, then look away after analyzing the situation. Another person, with rather long black hair, bright attire, and holding a can of food, glared at Lavrov somewhat confusingly. He saw a petite figure, donned with a jet-black rubber suit and curious eyes, crouched in a corner all by itself. A cat made of metal sat in place near the right side of the bunker, "staring" at the man in the doorway. Lavrov turned his focus to the central figure in the room: a face he recognized well. Nodding to Morison, the two of them entered.

"Wilson, I haven't seen you since our bout with SCP Ten-Thirteen. Didn't expect to see you here of all times." Looking back, Lavrov grabbed Morison and brought him in front of Wilson's line of sight. "Morison here needs medical assistance. Where could he find anything to abide his bleeding?"

Wilson could tell from his uniform that the man was a MTF troop. "Oh, yeah, there's some first-aid down stairs," Wilson pointed. Morison limped past Wilson, mumbling a soft "Thank you so much," as he made his way. Wilson wasn't sure what happened to him.

Changing his face and tone, Lavrov addressed the immediate issue. "Wilson, I'm afraid there's a serious predicament that needs resolution now. SCP Nineteen-Thirteen Dash Two and Three chased us here. I stunned them with this strange MTF rifle, and unfortunately I don't know how long it will last. I need your help to conjurer up an idea and expose of the problem without killing. If it's possible."

"Doctor, I sort of... can't do that."

"What? What are you talking about?" Lavrov took Wilson aside and softly whispered to him as to try and not alert the others in the bunker. "If we don't do anything, those two will kill everyone in here without pause."

"Doctor Lavrov, there's nothing we can do. It's just that... the site's going to be nuked. Like, really soon."

Lavrov stared at Wilson in complete bewilderment. Wilson continued, "There were massive containment breaches in the Heavy and Medium Containment Zones. I heard over radio that they were going to activate the nuclear defense system." It suddenly sunk in. Lavrov now understood why Wilson, and all these others, were here now. He almost couldn't believe it. ''So this is how it all ends. Typical.''

Wilson gave Lavrov a moment to take in his surroundings. He saw the long-haired person sit back down with his can of, what Lavrov could now tell was, soup. Next to him was a man in MTF uniform, with the metallic cat rubbing against him. The tall machine-esque researcher stoically looked out the window, not moving at all. Then Lavrov turned towards the direction of the small child. Squinting his eyes, even more thoughts ran through his head.

((Following dialogue was collaborated with Fireworks)) "Wilson, why is the child here?" asked Lavrov.

"I found her in the armory. I couldn't just leave her."

"Are you out of your mind? You know as well as I do that it's a SCP. It's not wearing that skin-tight suit for no reason. It could be a danger to everyone here."

"I would've been dead hours ago if she was a threat. What do you expect me to do? Just leave her in the middle of a blizzard?"

"Yes, because it's still a SCP. Why take a chance like this? Why care about what happens to it? What happens when it shows it's real nature?"

"I....Have you ever had a child, doctor? Or a pet? Have you ever had a creature that depended on you? That would die without your care?"

A sharp pain made the doctor twitch as it traveled down his spine and into his stomach. "...Yes. I did. But this is different. This thing is probably a wolf in sheep's clothing. But fine, let's say it is a child. Once that nuke goes off, going outside is completely out of the question due to fallout. There are only so many supplies here. We're just suppose to let it bleed us out of that?"

"Doctor, this bunker could feed an entire country for decades. You know how advanced this facility is. We'll never run out of food even if we burned this bunker to the ground. AND HER NAME IS SONYA!" Wilson shouted. Everyone was watching now.

"If this th-'Sonya' is a child like you claim it to be, it will additional attention. 'She' gets priority over all of us? Three researchers, two MTFs, and yourself? Why let 'her' live a life when it probably will be put back into containment where 'she' can never be "normal"? And that's a best possible outcome, which probably won't happen. 'Sonya' has lived most of 'her' life in containment, you're not being reasonable. Dying would probably be the best thing that ever happened to 'her'."

"You're fucking delusional. In denial. Put back in containment? The Foundation is irreparably destroyed. Any SCPs that have escaped? They're free, and will stay as such forever. We can't lean back on TWo-Thousand every time we fuck up. It's over."

Lavrov took a deep breath. "Fine. Have it your way, Wilson. Given enough time, maybe you'll come to your senses and see my way of thinking once this thing starts killing us off slowly." Lavrov saw the rage in Wilson's eyes as he took off to sit in a corner.

Feeling the hard gun pushed up against his waist as he sat down, the clinical doctor thought to himself. If worse comes to worst, I will handle this situation by myself.

--ScavengerOfHumanSorrow (talk) 20:04, 27 July 2014 (UTC)

((Taking control of Gale momentarily due to Ltn's inactivity)) The rattles of Gale climbing out of the service lift shaft were almost rhythmic, like banging on drums. What felt like a half hour of walking and climbing, Gale was finally on Block 4. Snooping around the lobby and analyzing a stationed map, Gale spotted a bullet marked "Administrative tower" on the plot, and Gale sat himself in a trolley after marking the destination, headed for that very tower.

"Sergeant, it's umpire. We've remotely unlocked the tower for you so you don't need any level 5 clearance or whatn-" a barrage of static plagued the radio before shutting off.

"Umpire?" Gale questioned? "Umpire! Damn..." MTF radios just don't randomly shut off like that. Not even the most sophisticated of jammers could deactivate them. Something was wrong. A tram ride later, Gale had arrived to the admin's tower, and after getting over the annoyance of climbing up a mile of stairs, the soldier had arrived to the peak. No O-5 commanders, or any life for that matter, were in sight. Spilled papers, arrays of chairs and computers, security feeds that stalked the personnel, all of it was stationed in the tower's top, but Gale had no time to snoop.

Rummaging through the computer's files in desperate search of the nuclear device document, the MTF finally found it. He assumed he didn't need to enter a password due to the umpire's hacking. After opening the document, a status report read of the nukes' silos, which were countries away from where the site stood.

'Status: Nuclear detonation in progress. Site-wide alarm deactivated.'

Shit... With his heart slamming up against his lungs at a dangerously fast rate, Gale scanned the computer to input any commands that could cease the detonation. Nothing. The site was fucked, and there was nothing he could do about it. Why the hell was the alarm deactivated?, said a thought rushing through his mind. Gale bolted out of the tower, tumbling down the stairs back down the trolley. Time for plan B. Mushing some C4 onto the trolley's suspension wire, Gale sprinted out of the hall before detonating the explosives and returning. The destruction of the wire dropped the trolley and propelled it into the ground, sending the flaming vehicle down the site like an anvil and leaving a convenient searing hole leading straight to the sewers. Crawling through a system of disgusting pipes with a flashlight stuffed in his mouth, Gale got his first breathe of fresh air in months after rising out of the site. However, he was almost smothered by the volley of blizzards that rained down upon him, quickly retreating to the bunker which was surrounded by a pillbox and snow coated jeep.

A handful of people flooded the pillbox, and Gale locked the shutter door before hopping back down to the bunker with the ladder, no different from the pillbox in terms of population. A hatch hung from the walls, and the soldier pushed through a crowd of people to open it and reveal a small red button. Ramming his thumb into it, the bunker was instantly put on lockdown. Layers of steel and lead slid down from the pillbox's walls, completely coating it with the most protective jacket on Earth. A familiar face, which was heavily coated in riot armor, stared at Gale.

"Gale?" Wilson spoke, still cooling down from his argument with Lavrov. "What th-"

"EVERYONE!" Gale shouted with a firm tone. "The site is about to nuked! Come down to the bunker," he spoke to the few people who lingered in the pillbox, "and cover your ears!"

With a panic, everyone evacuated to the bunker, with towers of fresh food and water looming over them, and protected their ears with a cupped pair of hands. With a few seconds of heart-stopping silence and waiting, the loudest sound human ears could process ripped through the arctic like a tornado. With an explosion that incinerated all life in an instant, a shockwave hotter than the sun plowed through miles of the Foundation's snowy fort. Mountains were reduced to smouldering rocks, almost all of the ice melted that spawned another ocean, and the sheer force of the shockwave almost ripped the pillbox from its very supports. One of the last remaining sites on the planet. Cremated in the blink of an eye. --Fireworks888 (talk) 21:57, 27 July 2014 (UTC)

End of part 1, click here for part 2.