[The Hallway outside SCP-76-1 Containment Cell, Site-25. Two weeks after the SCP-106 mission.]
The sharp clack of Amalia's heels echoed through the bright and sterile corridor. The pacing of each step was deliberate. She moved quickly, her coat flaring slightly behind her with each stride. The hall lights illuminated her glasses as she passed, her eyes focused ahead.
She had been alerted of activity—stirring, to be exact—within SCP-76-1. After two weeks of silence, Abel was finally waking.
She wasn't bringing guards. She wasn't bringing Cain. Not this time.
It was time to address what happened.
The containment chamber was dim, lit only by faint blue panels embedded in the walls. The air was unnaturally still. On the far end, his coffin stood like an obsidian monolith. Silent. Immovable.
Amalia enter the room. It was just her and the coffin. She waited briefly, checking her pad for readings. If they were, correct, he'd be waking any moment now. Then, with a low pulse of red light, glaring from the crevices of the coffin. Slowly, Abel emerged—phasing slowly through the stone surface like smoke hardening into muscle and bone. His eyes stayed shut until his feet touched the floor. Only then did they open, sharp and amber, falling directly on the figure standing across the room.
Amalia. Alone. No safety net.
For a long moment, neither spoke.
Abel could almost feel the pierce of her gaze. He knew she might be livid, but the quiet was much more like her. It made it harder to read her next move. He broke the silence with a crooked smirk. "Where's my new collar?" he asked dryly. "Surely you didn't come here without one."
Amalia didn't speak at first. She stepped forward, never taking her eyes off of his.
"I'm not here to collar you." Her voice was alarming calm. Low, but clear. "I came to apologize—to you, Abel."
That wiped the smirk off his face.
"You--apologize?"
She continued, hands calmly folded in front of her. "In the beginning, I dangled a carrot in your face to get your help. At first, it was enough. But I see now… the flaw in how I treated you."
A breath.
"My method in recruiting you… was a manipulation. Not a proposition. And in doing so...I never gave you the chance to take this seriously. And I'm sorry."
For once, Abel had no words. He stared, expression unreadable, muscles still tight from instinct—but his rage didn't rise. His hands hovered slightly at his sides, unsure whether to clench or fall limp.
Just silence.
Amalia nodded slowly. "I want to make the offer again. But this time…" she exhaled. "I want to do it right. If you'll hear it."
Abel was stunned. His mouth parted slightly, unsure. His eyes narrowed—not in threat, but in disbelief. No traps. No tricks. No armored backup just beyond the door.
He wasn't the only one unsure where this was headed. After all, not much was stopping him from raging again. But he knew Amalia was aware of that. This wasn't protocol. It was something else. Why would she put herself in such a vulnerable position? Something about all this left him feeling...curious.
After a beat, he exhaled through his nose. "…Well. Out with it already."
A small smile touched Amalia's lips. She adjusted her glasses, stepping closer—not out of confidence. It felt more like trust.
"This mission isn't about hunting monsters, you know. Not for me. It's about protecting people—especially the ones the Foundation overlooks. People who aren't useful enough to be saved. I know most of your interests lie with battle and war but..."
Her voice didn't waver, but it was softer now. Honest. She let the silence hang. Abel looked down at his hands. Calloused. Trembling slightly. The battles had surely been adding up. Then he looked at her again. The quiet conviction in her eyes. The stupid, fragile hope.
Amalia tilted her head, her voice just above a whisper.
"The truth is—I am waging war. On fear itself. That's what this is about for me. The world is already terrifying enough, Abel. And every single SCP is the proof of it."
She swallowed.
"I want…need you to care about this. That's the only way this works. But it's your choice now. No collars. No threats. No guns waiting outside for safety's sake. Just you, myself… and the offer."
Abel's eyes darkened, the amber glow flickering as he processed her words. His mouth opened, then shut again. He turned away slightly, jaw flexing. There was a weight behind his silence now—consideration, not hesitation.
At last, he exhaled slowly, almost like a sigh.
Abel remained quiet, his gaze drifting past her for a moment.
Then, without looking looking up: "Before I give my answer...I would know something of you."
"And that is?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
"The Old Man. I wasn't authorized to kill it. Why? Why stop me from eliminating a clear threat?"
Amalia blinked, caught off guard. "That's not the question I expected."
He turned his eyes back to her. "You claim to be doing this for the 'greater good'. But during our mission I watched you carry out your orders like a good subordinate."
Her brow furrowed. "What exactly are you getting at, Abel?"
He stepped forward, voice low and firm. "When the Foundation's orders don't align with this 'cause' of yours… say they order you to do something contrary. What then? Am I to follow those orders as well? What of my brother, or the merc? Are we all to fall in line?"
Amalia hesitated, processing his words.
"You're asking me if I'd go against the Foundation to achieve my goals."
"It's a simple question, Doctor. And I'd prefer you speak plainly." He moved closer, looking her square in the eyes. "What are my orders, then?"
She held his gaze, unflinching. "It's true. My orders were not to eliminate 106. And yes, I did follow through. But 106 cannot be killed—not in the way we view death. You would only have forced him into an evolution by killing him. Much like how he played a hand in yours. I wasn't saving 106 for the foundation. I was saving all of us—from you."
A beat.
"So if the Foundation orders you to do something that isn't for the sake of the people…?"
Her voice dropped.
"Then the Foundation is our enemy."
That brought a genuine smile to Abel's lips. He tilted his head, amused. "You would unleash me on even your superiors to get what you want?"
She nodded without hesitation, eyes firm. "Absolutely."
He studied her for a long moment. Her tone. Her conviction.
Then he turned to face his coffin.
"You're a dangerous woman, Doctor. Your future enemies have much to fear."
She took a step forward. "Does that mean you'll cooperate—with me, and your brother?"
"Fine," he said. "You've convinced me with your words. I'll be looking forward to seeing the aligning actions."
He placed a hand on the coffin's surface.
"Awake me when I am needed. I wish to continue resting for now. Oh and tell my brother...lucky fucking shot."
He then stepped backward into the black stone, phasing through it like mist.
Amalia stared at the coffin for a long moment, a small smile curving her lips.
This time, Abel was no longer just an attack dog. She'd made him a proper ally.
[Cain's Containment Quarters, Site-17. A few days after Abel's awakening.]
Amalia and Abel have both arrived at Site-17, though the news hasn't reached everyone yet. Asher and Amber had been stationed there. It was quiet, and safer than most foundation facilities. Asher knew that Cain had been a hermit since the last mission, and decided to pay him a visit.
His containment cell was clean, almost obsessively so. Sleek walls lined with holo-screens and old texts. In the corners and along the back wall, the faint scent of damp earth and a soft glow hinted at the quiet presence of Cain's plant collection and the hidden irrigation system that nourished it. It gave the space an odd serenity, a living contrast to the cold precision of the tech. Not sterile—but studied. Everything had a place. Every item, a purpose.
Cain sat on the far side of the room, bent over an open console. Tools hummed quietly beside him. He didn't look up when the door opened.
"You're a hard man to pin down," Asher said, stepping in without waiting for permission. "Haven't seen you around in days. Figured I'd have to bribe a Level 3 tech with coffee just to confirm you were still alive."
Cain didn't look back. "Work stuff...you know how it is."
Asher closed the door behind him. "Been avoiding people, huh? You missed two briefings."
Cain tapped a key, bringing a schematic to life on the screen. "I've been busy."
"Yeah, heard you the first time. Whatever you're building down there must be serious—people are starting to ask questions."
Cain kept working. "It's necessary."
Asher stepped closer, watching him in silence for a beat. "You've been down here since the Old Man incident. Wanna...talk about it."
Cain didn't reply.
Asher sighed "He tricked you. I get it."
Nothing.
"Made you kill your brother...again."
Still nothing. Cain moved to another terminal.
Asher followed. "So what, you're just gonna bury yourself in upgrades and call that healing?"
Cain paused. His hands rested on the console, unmoving.
"He doesn't blame me. Apparently."
"But you do."
Cain looked up at him finally. His voice was quiet, like the words hurt coming out.
"I know I'm beating myself up for nothing. I know Abel isn't furious with me. I just…"
He hesitated. Then said it.
"How many times must I commit the same sin? It almost feels like I'll never have a choice in the matter."
Asher blinked. "Okay… damn. That's heavier than I was ready for. I mean, I still flinch when the microwave beeps too loud. But you're here having a moral crisis about fate and free will. Talk about difference in perspective."
Cain let out a low breath—half sigh, half chuckle.
Asher nodded toward the wall. "So what now? You gonna keep sulking or are we doing something about it?"
Cain walked to the wall panel and keyed in a command. The intercom crackled to life.
"This is Cain. Amalia, Abel, Amber... meet me on Sublevel 9. I have something to show you all."
He clicked it off.
Asher raised an eyebrow. "What exactly have you been hiding down there?"
Cain just stared at the screen, a smirk forming on his lips.
"In due time, my friend."
Moments later:
[Site-17 Rooftop.]
Amalia and Abel had just disembarked from a chopper that touched down on Site-17's rooftop pad—its engines still winding down as they entered the facility. She tapped the small receiver in her ear, just as Cain's voice faded from the comms.
"Cain just called a meeting," she said calmly.
Beside her, Abel matched her pace, arms folded across his chest. "So he finally crawls out of his cave."
Amalia offered a faint smirk. "Apparently with something to show us. Come on."
They turned the corner, headed toward the nearest lift that would take them to Sublevel 9.
The lift doors opened with a quiet hiss. Amalia, Abel, Asher, and Amber stepped out onto the catwalk overlooking the training chamber—then stopped.
The facility below them was vast. Walls shimmered with embedded nodes, platforms shifted their elevation in smooth mechanical pulses, and dozens of drone units hovered silently in standby. It looked like a testing ground built for gods.
"You built this?" Amber asked, wide-eyed.
Cain stood at the console that controlled everything, turning knobs and pressing buttons. "Took a few long nights."
Asher let out a low whistle. "You weren't kidding about being busy."
Amalia crossed her arms, studying the layout. "When did this get approved?"
Cain didn't answer. He simply looked to Abel.
"Feel like breaking it in?"
Abel raised an eyebrow. "What, you want me to spar with ghosts?"
Cain tapped a control panel beside him. The arena shimmered—terrain shifting into a mountainous ridgeline.
"I figured you might want something with bite."
Abel scoffed, but there was a faint twitch at the corner of his mouth. "Fine."
He unslung his greatsword and stepped into the arena, the hum of the system reacting to his presence.
Amalia watched in silence, noting the shift in his posture—not just readiness, but a slight easing in his shoulders.
Cain didn't say it, but this was his offering.
And Abel, without saying it either, accepted.
The new training facility was massive—underground, fortified, and humming with hidden machinery. Its walls shimmered faintly with projection nodes, and blocky pillars rose and fell at random intervals, reshaping the arena with every passing second. Cain had outdone himself. With new resources funneled in after their success with SCP-106, he'd constructed a simulation chamber capable of mimicking other SCPs, storing real-time combat data, and letting participants push themselves to the brink—without risking death. Even lethal blows could be delivered safely. The room would simply reset.
Abel stood alone in the center of the arena, arms folded, his blade dug lazily into the floor. His crimson eyes tracked the movements of the rising platforms with disinterest.
"I'm ready! Let's get on with it!" he yelled up toward the tinted observation window above.
Behind it, Amalia, Amber, Cain, and Asher watched from a monitoring room filled with holographic readouts and surveillance feeds. Cain tapped at a glowing interface, adjusting parameters.
"Hold your horses. Gotta get all the settings locked in," Cain replied, his tone amused.
Moments later, holograms shimmered into existence—Thirty IKEA staff monsters and one twisted Manager formed on the arena floor. They glitched slightly as they stabilized.
"Alright," Cain said, pressing the intercom. "Starting training exercise... now."
The monsters stirred to life, then lunged.
Abel didn't move at first. He pivoted, weaving between their strikes effortlessly, but made no attempt to counter.
Amalia clicked on the comm. "Abel? Is something wrong? Why aren't you fighting back?"
He dodged a swinging claw and spoke with casual ease. "You haven't given the order. Unauthorized use of powers and all that.
"There are no restrictions here. You're free to use your abilities as you see fit," she said evenly.
Abel's eyebrows lifted. "Wait… You mean—?"
Cain leaned into the mic. "You heard the lady. The goal here is to test your limits. So go all out. I insist."
Abel sighed. "This is hardly worth going all out for." He swung his blade once—three holograms were cleaved in a blink.
It was clear that Abel had grown much stronger since the SCP-3008 rescue, and this wasn't worth the effort. Cain glanced at Amalia, who gave a small nod. He turned back to the holoscreen, adjusting the settings of the exercise.
Suddenly, the holograms doubled in number. Two more Managers spawned at the edges of the field.
Abel grinned. "Now that's more like it."
A red aura erupted from his body, washing over the arena like a violent mist. The air thickened, the room dimmed, and shadows twisted unnaturally. The arena had become Abel's pocket dimension—a corrupted skill he'd stolen from the Old Man.
"Dammit, the first thing he does is—" Amalia muttered.
Cain waved her off. "No worries, Doc. The system can handle anything—even reality warps."
Inside the dimension, Abel blurred from one target to the next, teleporting through misty shadows. His blade spun through the bloody field like a guided missile, and he appeared wherever it landed, cleaving down enemies with precise, monstrous joy. He left dark afterimages with each attack. It almost seemed like there were four or five of him out there.
Spare blades littered the ground like offerings—accessories to the madness. As the closest Manager approached, Abel hurled his blade behind it, appearing where it landed while grabbing swords from the ground. He slung each one at a monster before teleporting to the next.
Cain's screen display showed everything that was happening through a special motion detector built for tracking anomalous objects. Abel appeared like a demonic cloud, hunting its prey with savage hunger. It spawned erratically, shooting spikes in all directions while its target dissipated one by one. The Managers put up more resistance than the rest, but fell all the same. Soon, only Abel stood.
The dimension dispersed with burst of red mist. Soon, the training room was back its normal, sterile white and blue polish.
Amber's jaw dropped. "Whoa...he's the real deal, huh."
Numbers on Cain's monitor ticked up rapidly.
Before they could finish calculating, Abel's voice echoed up: "Is that all!?" He laughed, spinning his blade with theatrical flair. "I thought I'd get to go all out! This is child's play!"
Amalia tapped her chin, then turned to Asher. "Suit up, Mr. Cruz. I have an idea."
Asher blinked. "You want me...to go out there with him?"
Amalia just gave him that look.
"You're kidding."
Amber spun around in a nearby desk chair. "What's the matter, Pops? Scared of a little ol' immortal spirit?"
Asher shot her a glare. "Don't—call me that." He turned back to Amalia and Cain. "This is insane."
"I think I see where this is going." Cain cut in, pressing a button to open up a new area in the monitoring room. The wall gave way, revealing a smaller room behind it.
It housed a mesh exosuit. Much like the one Asher wore before, but this one was sleeker, way more advanced, but simplified.
Amalia steps toward the suit, glancing between it and her holo-pad.
"We recorded the data from your last fight. Made some improvements based on your fighting skill level. I think you'll find this model much more to you liking."
Asher narrowed his eyes. "Hello…I'm still just a regular person. Even with the suit, 106 nearly took my head off."
"Just trust us," Cain replied. "Besides… he can't actually kill you in there."
This didn't bring Asher much comfort. Still, he suited up and made his way down.
---
Asher now stood inside the training chamber, clad in the new suit. Sleek plates hugged his limbs, reinforced along the chest and shins. A slim mask covered his nose and mouth, filtering air and displaying tactical readouts. Knives and a lightweight pistol sat holstered at his thighs. His new rifle was compact, efficient, and deadly.
Amalia's voice came through his comms. "You and Abel are to eliminate each other while fending off hologram threats. The enemies will attack you both. Maneuver through them to find and strike down your target. Clear?"
Abel stood across the arena, leaning on his greatsword like a bored king.
"So it's a game, then... fine."
The battlefield shifted again. Pillars rose, floated, receded. Then: "Begin."
Asher sprinted forward, weaving through rising blocks and enemies. He shot down one hologram, then ducked a swipe from another.
Cain's voice buzzed in. "Suit works the same as before. Just a bit better."
"Define better." Asher said, backing away from his attackers.
"It's simple. The fibers in the suit are reactive to muscle movement. You wanna hit harder, or run faster? All you gotta do is apply more effort. The suit will do the rest. But it only works if you stay fluid. No panicking. Got it?"
"Right. Let him swing that thing at your head and see who panics," Asher muttered.
"Did that already, Remember?" Cain quipped. "Now focus."
A spear-handed hologram lunged. Too close to shoot. He quickly blocked with his knife—green energy rippled through the suit and surged back, enhancing his strength. He shoved the enemy back, dodging an attack from another monster behind him. He followed up by cutting down the first. He rolled, then shot the other in the head. The light burst as the hologram vanished.
"Okay…that's unreal," he breathed.
"Kinetic Retort," Cain said proudly. "Cool, right? Made an adjustment based on your last fight. You fight reflexively. No real plan or strategy at all."
"Gee. Thanks."
More enemies charged. Asher dropped low, momentum building in his legs. Cain spoke again.
"Not a bad thing." He said calmly. "Just something I noticed. Now... let's try getting a little speed going."
Asher crouched lower. A hologram lunged—too late. A faint glow came from his feet and lower legs. Right as a monster's attack was about to land from behind, he blasted off with a green pulse, streaking through the arena, leaving glowing afterimages of each footstep.
"Whoa!" he shouted.
"Told ya." Cain chuckled. "Be careful though. The more force you build, the more strain you put on the suit's regulators. Blow one, and it'll seize up. Game over."
He glanced around, reading the field in anticipation. As Asher danced through the remaining monsters, Cain and Amalia watched from the holo-screen. Then he chimed in on the mic once more.
"Okay. You're getting close to Abel's location on the field. He's gonna come at you with everything he's got. Lets see some acrobatics out there. Go crazy."
Asher spotted Abel cutting down several monsters with godly ease. That's when Abel noticed the green blur.
"There you are," he growled, powering up his blade.
Abel surged forward, blade blazing red. Asher noticed a figure above. It was Abel, already honing in.
"Shit!" Asher leapt sideways, dodging by a hair.
Abel brought the blade down hard, crashing into the floor with catastrophic force.
Asher landed on a vertical pillar wall, taking a moment to process what just happened. Then he raised an eyebrow. "That son of a bitch just tried to kill me."
"STILL TRYING!" Abel hurled his sword upward from the cloud of dust—it embedded in the pillar near Asher's feet.
Abel teleported to it instantly, appearing beside him with that manic grin. "Gonna need more than a suit to survive me!"
Asher launched off the wall, flipping back to dodge the incoming attack. Abel immediately gave chase.
Asher landed with ease despite the height of the fall. But Abel was already on the attack again. Asher sprinted through the pillars. Barely dodging the attacks as Abel pursued him like a raged demon. He saw that the wall of the room was just yards away.
He clashed with Abel briefly, reacting with superhuman speed. Their blades crossed several times, with Asher flipping back to dodge Abel's last swing before taking off toward the wall. Green energy flared again. He jumped--way higher than intended, and almost faster than the eye could track.
He landed on the wall, feet planted. He swung his arms back, coiling inward as energy surged from his legs. Then he released.
He shot like a bullet toward Abel.
Abel, grinning, charged with equal force.
Asher struck first—blades out, crashing into Abel's guard. It broke for a split second.
Asher spun midair. Then, a roundhouse kick connected clean with Abel's jaw, sending him flying into the far wall with a crash.
Asher landed smoothly, wide-eyed, heart pounding. He was excited about his ability in the suit, but the thought of Abel's retaliation made him flinch.
He called out nervously: "You okay, big guy?"
Silence. Then: Abel's blade landed beside him.
Abel appeared. Not angry. Curious. Slowly, he walked around Asher, eyeing the suit with interest. Asher was unsure of what was happening. He thought Abel would be furious. Instead, he mused over the suit like a window shopper.
Then, he looked up at Asher with an idea. "I wish to try something."
Moments later...
Asher stood next to a SCP agent. Able paced in front of them both. The agent stood nervously, almost shaking. Neither of them knew what Abel was planning, but they figured it was best to humor him. Abel then approached the agent. He could hear the anxiety rattling through his body armor.
"Hold still, damn you. I mean you no harm."
This brought the agent no comfort. Abel raised a hand to the agent's chest, lightly shoving him. This sent him flying across the massive room. He flailed and screamed as he flew. Right as he landed, the ground softened into a foam-like surface under him to prevent injury. He landed with a muffled thud. He gave a thumbs up to signal that he was ok.
Now Abel stood in front of Asher, raising his hand once more. He shoved, but Asher barely budged.
Curious.
He pushed two more times—green energy pulsing with each touch. Asher stood firm.
Abel grinned excitedly. Then, with both hands, he shoved Asher with much more force.
This only pushed him a few steps back. Energy surged as he caught his footing.
Then Asher shoved back.
Abel went flying. He crashed into the far wall once more.
But this time he came sprinting back like an excited child. "With this suit… you may yet prove a worthy opponent."
"Wait, what are you—"
"Fight me!" He interrupted. "For real this time. No simulations."
"Sorry boys," Amalia's voice broke in. "That'll be all for now."
Abel groaned. "Fine. I wasn't going break your little toy soldier."
Asher sighed, raising a thumbs-up to Cain in the window. "Suit's a hit!"
Cain silently returned the gesture.
---
Now, it was Cain's turn.
He entered the training room alone. He flexed his arms, now visibly upgraded—sleek alloys humming with energy.
Amalia's voice: "Alright. The goal for this drill is to generate as much power and force as possible. Simple."
Cain took a deep breath. "Roger that. Starting drill."
Amalia nodded to Amber, signaling her to hit the lights.
Immediately, the entire facility went dark. Asher looks around and notices her and Amalia were now wearing dark lab shades. Amalia hands him a pair.
"You might want to put these on."
"Seriously," Asher muttered, "I literally can't see anything."
She smirks. "Trust me on this, agent."
Asher sighs, taking the goggles. He struggled to put them on in the dark.
Amalia turned back to the window with a smirk that was laced with anticipation. "He's starting."
In the darkness, Cain began moving.
Faint blue light emanated from his arms. He started slow, waving his arms wide as energy began to stir within them.
Then--
He jabbed the air. Sparks flew--lighting up the entire room.
More punches. Energy flared violently.
He shifted into a boxing stance—then exploded into motion.
Rapid strikes. Crackling arcs. The room lit up with kinetic light. He was shadowboxing at godspeed. Each punch sounded off like a jet engine revving up. The air vibrated as if on the verge of breaking.
He paused briefly, bouncing and swaying side to side. "Power's good," Cain mutters. "But control's the point."
He then began throwing punches in rapid succession. Energy and light cracked wildly off of his fists. He stepped quicker now--almost like he was flash stepping between rhythms. The punches grew more rapid. Hundreds of flashes went off within seconds, sending the energy shooting from his arms.
Even with the goggles, Asher and Amber found it hard to withstand the flares emitting from the training room.
Then—Cain spun, rolled his fists like turbines. Violent gusts of wind kicked up like a storm. He unleashed a final flurry. The last hook sent a beam of light across the room, scorching the far wall.
Cain stood silent, chest heaving from the excursion. Then the energy dispersed from him mechanical limbs, winding down as the light faded from his joints.
Amalia spoke over the intercom. "That'll do for now. Nice work out there."
Amber went to hit the lights. Soon the facility was lit up again. They saw Cain, standing still as the energy from his limbs began to dissipate.
Asher exhaled. "All that from just shadowboxing?"
Amalia grinned. "Quite the team we have now, isn't it?"
Asher didn't respond. Too busy processing the fact that his co-workers were gods.
Cain wiped sweat from his brow. He glanced up at Abel, who was attempting to appear unmoved. Cain smirked while throwing a towel over his shoulder, then he made his way to the exit.
The lights dimmed back to normal as the training room shut down, seemingly vanishing from view through the observation window. Cain was just entering the control room, his face unreadable. Abel stretched his shoulders, leaning back against the wall, unimpressed but not entirely unamused.
Amalia stood before them, clipboard in hand, her voice crisp.
"I hope the upgrades were to your liking," she said, scanning the group. "Because the next mission is already underway."
Asher rubbed the back of his neck. "We just finished stretching."
She didn't smile. "Site-85 sent out a breach alert. Then—nothing. Total comms blackout."
Worry took over Cain's face. Abel crossed his arms.
"Last transmission mentioned SCP-049 becoming more active than usual," she added. "Aggressive. Obsessive. Then the feed cut."
She looked up, her voice suddenly harder. "We're wheels up in one hour."
"Ooo—can I go?" Amber asked, raising an arm while sitting knees-up in her rolling chair.
"Absolutely not!" Asher and Amalia snapped back.
Amber lowered her hand, stuffing her face into her knees in disappointment. "Welp…figured it was worth a shot."
Meanwhile:
[Site-85 – Subterranean Containment Block, Hall B]
A heavy silence clung to the hallway like a shroud, broken only by the distant hum of dead machinery and the pulse of flickering red emergency lights.
The breach had happened days ago, and already the facility was falling into disfunction. Red lights flashed, but the alarms were long dead. Loose pages of research logs stirred gently in the stale air, catching on the jagged edges of a shattered terminal. Nearby, a single bloody fingerprint smeared itself across the glass surface, as if someone had tried—and failed—to crawl away.
Corpses in lab coats and black armor lie motionless across the floor, all bearing a single, identical mark—blackened flesh at the neck or temple, charred with a sickly, sweet scent of rot and antiseptic.
Then—a sound.
Like a sandbag being dragged.
From the far corridor, a figure in black drags a limp body by the ankle. The metal toe of his boot drags noisily with every step. He moves without hurry. Without concern. But with purpose.
The dim lights catch the smooth white porcelain of an elongated mask.
The figure stops, standing over a small pile of corpses. Slowly, he kneels.
He touches one gently on the forehead, voice calm…deep and reverent.
"My, my, my…"
His fingers trace along the skin with something like affection.
"…such sickness… within the lot of you."
He lifts a scalpel from the table nearby, already stained. His voice lowers to a chilling whisper.
"Fret not…"
He leans in closer.
"…for I have just the cure."
Chapter End—