SCP Containment Breached

[conman2163]

(For those interested in joining, you can find the OOC here: OPEN SIGNUPS - SCP Containment Breached (OOC/Signups))

The Beginning of a New Journey

O5-1

---

Fellow members of the foundation, I will be frank. We have failed.
Throughout time our goal has been to secure anomalies, contain them, and protect the human race. We have served this purpose for a long time now, developing sophisticated methods for dealing with anomalies in ways that ensure the innocent masses remain ignorant of the danger that looms over them as they sleep. However, in this instance, their ignorance was our downfall. We assumed that by keeping people ignorant they would remain safe, however not telling them of these anomalies has meant that they could not respond to the dangers that this new threat presented.

The creature known to us as SCP-9999 has utterly destroyed civilization as we know it, and those humans left alive in the wake of Event Signature are being hunted down by SCP-9999 instances. Our mission has failed, but it is not yet at an end. Who or what sent these creatures here are unknown, but one thing is certain.

You are the last hope of the foundation, the last hope of humanity.
You must accomplish the objectives sent in this document, the very survival of the human race depends on it. For the sake of all humanity, reach Site 999, execute Protocol Rapture, and save what is left of humanity.
God Help us all.

O-5-1

Secure, Contain, Protect.

The man tapped the enter key on the computer he was sitting at, deep within the bunker that was so heavily fortified that it put even the most sophisticated fortresses of the modern day to shame. Hundreds of security measures had been taken to make sure that he was more secure then any human on the face of the planet, little good it would do him now though. The message was sent. Letting all of the remaining foundation know what had happened, though very few remained. Most of the world was dead, and much of the foundation with it. Scratch, scratch, scratch. The O5 member turned to face the door. The technology that protected him, dozens of automated turrets, armed guards, thick security doors, explosive traps, flooding chambers, rooms made to turn a person into a pile of ash, and countless other defensive measures, had been for nothing. They were made by humans, for enemies that humans could expect to be capable of fighting. How could they know that the guns they installed were of insufficient caliber to take on the creatures that assaulted them even now? That heat did nothing, that the explosions did nothing. How could they have known that even their most potent biological weapons would do nothing but slow them down? Scratch, scratch, scratch. The sound that echoed through the door was them doing what they had done with the countless other doors. It took them some time, around five minutes, but eventually they would use the sounds they were making to determine where the weak part of the sealed door was. He had no guards left to defend him, nothing between him and the monsters but that massive steel door. The O5 member looked at the pistol in his hands, ejected the clip and checked the ammunition. Eight rounds. He loaded the clip back up, racked the slide, flipped the safety off, and then waited, making peace with a god that he was no longer sure existed.

---

Location: Site 142, Level 3, Observation Center
Joseph O'Malley

---

Joseph looked at the camera screens in the small security center he was in, his hands shaking as he typed a report into the small camera screen. Joseph was now the most senior researcher left at the center. All the rest had been killed trying to capture one of the things that had invaded the planet in such large numbers. The O5 Council was entirely gone, and what was left of the foundation had all been assigned to a mobile task force that was to save the planet. The creature that he stared at in the containment chamber was intelligent, there was no doubt of that. It was currently working it's way through every inch of the chamber, trying to find a place that was weak in the steel box, making clicking noises that rang through the containment chamber. It acted almost insect like as it scittered across the room, clicking and tapping the metal with it's terrible claws. Echolocation and smell was the method that it used to "see", Joseph knew that much, and it had been pure luck that they had discovered a firearm with 20mm rounds was the only weapon capable of killing it, that and melee weapons made with bronze. Now it was experimentation to see if the damn thing could be killed with anything else. So far, nothing. Fire, explosions, and shrapnel had done nothing to it.

It had not been easy getting the thing inside the containment chamber, it was terrifyingly strong, and had been able to easily snap the steel cables of the net, but eventually they caught it, and then dragged it back here. Overhead, Joseph heard an explosion, and the whole base shook. The pictures on the screens fizzled for a moment, but kept the picture, and his computer terminal stayed online. Joseph kept typing. The creature was still looking for weaknesses, it's pale skin the color and texture of flesh that has stayed under water far too long, pale white and wrinkled. Joseph was not concerned about it getting out though. The containment chamber was one of the strongest, originally built to contain SCP-106, back when they had thought thick walls and doors was all that it would take. The steel surrounding the chamber was so thick that the walls had been melted and cast on site 142. The room also contained various hidden panels with different weapons, because after they had figured out how to contain SCP-106 properly they had converted this into a lethal experimentation room, and had placed a temporary containment chamber elsewhere. Joseph finish the documentation for SCP-9999 and then hit send, before he turned back to stare at the screen again.

Another explosion rocked the base, and then the power cut out, and simultaneously small chunks of concrete flew down from the ceiling. Joseph jumped back to dodge the sparks that flew up from the terminal as the concrete smashed into it, diving down onto the floor. For a terrifying moment, Joseph could see nothing, and then the emergency power kicked in. Red lights turned on, thick emergency doors slammed shut in the SCP containment sector, and breach alarms began to blare. Joseph knew that many miles below the base a huge emergency generator had just turned on. A turbine that generated power purely off of a steam vent, storing the excess power in batteries so as to prevent any lapse of power. He also knew now all the SCP's (save for the safe class objects) were locked away in the containment sector of the base, an area just as far down as the emergency turbine was. The doors on the Class D containment would open as well during this time, not that it mattered, most of them had been let out anyway and forced to fight as soldiers against the first wave of the creatures. Those that were still in there... well those were the most violent offenders. Joseph checked the clip in his pistol and looked outside the door before ducking back inside. The security terminal did not turn back on. It sparked a few times whenever Joseph hit the power button to turn it back on, but it did not relent, and Joseph sighed. Joseph removed the small digital pad that held an uplink with various status reports on the base. His hands shook when he realized that the upper sector defenses were gone, destroyed in the attack. The creatures were now battling with the defenses and defenders of sublevel one.

Joseph stowed the small pad, tucking it safely into a sidepocket on his pants, and then picked up a radio. Not only was he the most senior researcher, but he was the last one to have contact with the site director before the woman died. The director had given him an emergency promotion. Joseph was now in charge. His only directive was to carry out the last orders of the O5 Council. He pressed the button on the side of the radio, the frequency was tuned to the general channel that all foundation staff on the site were currently tuned to. "This is Site Director O'Malley. All personnel not directly engaged in the defense of sub level one are to report to the armory. Repeat, all personnel not engaged are to report to the armory." Joseph stowed the radio back on his belt, then peeked outside again, firearm in hand. With the Class D released, now it was a precaution he needed to take. He trotted over to the armory, making his way without incident. The facility below was already damaged. Ceiling tiles had fallen out of place, glass windows were shattered, and small chunks of concrete scattered everywhere, though the ceiling was still holding just fine. The armory was on the same level as the Class D containment, just near the security room. It was in a room attached to the pair of barracks for the security and MTF, and pretty close to Class D Containment actually. Helpfully pointed out by a sign. When Joseph reached it, he stepped inside. The room floors of the room were made of concrete, as were the walls. Racks of weapons lined the area, with a small area to check a weapon in or out. As the armory staff typically cleaned the weapons, aside from sidearms, no cleaning facilities were in this area. Joseph made his way to the set of benches that existed on one side of the wall, this wall also had many lockers stood side by side in them. Now to wait for the others to arrive.[/fieldbox]

 

[signed Kiss]

[fieldbox="Personnel Status: Green, red, solid"]
Location: Site 142, Level 3- Class D Containment Hub

Inmate # 01628 – 034: Amelia Crane

---

She had been, more or less, lost in her own little world. Tucked back into the far corner of her bed in the far corner of her room, she had sat cross-legged with a book in her hands for the past several hours. Milky green eyes drifted slowly from word to word, halting in their progress only when she flipped a page. It was a book that she had read perhaps a thousand times over and would most likely before her life had come to an end would read it a thousand times more. It was a luxury that she was surprised that she had even been afforded in the first place and one that she seemed to treasure. At least there was no better word that one could use to explain exactly how she seemed to regard the book with.

She had been waiting patiently for the loud sound of a fist against her door that would signal that her day of work would start. She never knew what new fresh Hell she would be introduced to. Some days were certainly worse than others. From how she responded, however, you would think that most of everything that she ever dealt with was a simple walk in the park for her. Perhaps she was lucky to suffer such a painful, traumatic event while she was a child as most of the pain and suffering that she was volunteered to suffer did not truly seem to phase her. They did check quite often but rarely seemed to get the answers that they were looking for. Or maybe they did, and that was part of the problem.

She was never allowed to ask, so she would never know.

It was strange, though. While each time it was a different man coming to bang on her door, they always arrived more or less at the exact same time unless it was one of her days off. Their lateness didn't stop her from reading until she could feel that perhaps a little too much time had passed. When she finally heard something it was not a banging on her door but a dull thundering from somewhere way above her. That…. was new. Frowning, she gently set the book down upon her bed and she crawled towards the edge of it. Standing still for a few moments to allow her legs to get used to the change of position, she only managed to take a few steps towards the door before the thunder returned and the whole room seemed to quake. She staggered, and just as she threw her arms out to steady herself the room was plunged into darkness. The sudden expanse of seemingly endless black caused her to startle, tripping over her own feet and sending her towards the door just as there was a low crack from somewhere above her. Then there was the sound of some sort of impact, followed by the scraping of metal, and by the time the lights returned to her room she realized what had happened. A sharp red light filled her room, dyeing the color of her walls and floor as she blinked sharply against the drastic color change. A large portion of the ceiling of her little room had fallen in, smashing down upon the part of her bed she had only just recently vacated. Her observation was quickly interrupted as an alarm suddenly ripped through the silence.

The one thing that did manage to get any sort of reaction from her was when her door, without hint or warning, creaked and then swung open on it's own. This gave her pause, her eyes darting from corner to corner as if she was expecting some kind of trap. She could see no one standing immediately in front of her door and could hear only the wail of the siren before something else cut through the sound.

---

This is Site Director O'Mally. All personnel not directly engaged in the defense of Sub-Level One are to report to the Armory. Repeat, all personnel not engaged are to report to the Armory.

---

She frowned deeply, taking a few cautious steps towards her open doorway before peeking out. She didn't see anyone else. Yet what she had heard sounded like one of the radios that the heavily armored guards would wear. Her question was answered when she took a few more steps out of the room and turned her head just enough to see a discarded radio resting on a shelf next to several stacks of paper as well as a pen. She moved over towards it, gently picking up the radio before looking around once more.

All personnel, the voice had said.

Silently she began to walk the route that she had come to know nearly by heart, at least up to a point. There were so many open doors that lead into empty rooms. Had all the other Class D personnel left? Or had they already been taken? She had heard something going on, muffled voices shouting outside of her door several hours before, but she had simply assumed take one of the other Class D personnel had been acting particularly rowdy this morning. Apparently, it was something else entirely.[/fieldbox]

 

[Red Thunder]

[/fieldbox][fieldbox="When Words Fail Us, Green, solid"]

Weston Grimes | Negotiator​

Three months. He'd been at Site 142 for three months, and the world had ended before he'd even managed to settle in.

Figures, he mused absently, eyes scrolling vainly through the final O5 directive one more time, searching for some reason for all this. Searching for something in all this. Haven't even got my shit shipped in yet.

Weston sat in his cell of a room, hand cradling his cheek mindlessly against the dull black of his desk top. His brain was frozen, more indicative of his pure lack of motivation than a presence of fear. Death, it seemed more and more, was inevitable; why worry about the inevitable? Maybe, maybe, Project Rapture meant it wasn't inevitable, but it was a long stretch, even by Foundation standards: personnel had to even get there to activate it, managing somehow to not be preyed upon by the countless Keters that now roamed the damned planet, while avoiding detection by 9999. Because Out There, out on the surface, no one had a snowball's chance in hell against them. Even the one they had contained would likely not stay that way long.
His right hand left the computer touchpad and drifted to the 9mm that was strapped to his chest. It'd left his hip in favor of the .45 Weston had upgraded to, but the 9 was still his go to. A comfort in times of trouble; it'd seen him through a lot. And maybe it could see him to the end of it. There'd been a few partners he'd lost that way, in Australia; sometimes a person couldn't handle the crap the police were expected to deal with. And the Foundation? Shit; the awful things he'd seen people do to each other Before was nothing to him now. Unwillingly, his thoughts drifted as his mind played with the idea of taking his own life, musing on what he might have otherwise done. He'd not had a bucket list, per se, but there had been a few SCPs he'd wanted to chance to talk to, a few whose minds he wanted to probe to see just how it was they saw the world. 'Cain' had been one; 682 had been another.

Had anyone actually tried to talk to 9999? Weston sat back, eyes narrowing in contemplation. To his memory, no one had: the attacks had been too sudden, the chaos too rampant, the death too widespread, to make such a thing a priority. But there was that one in O'Malley's care, secured behind molded walls of steel that formed a nearly seamless box from which it should be nigh impossible to escape. Weston had seen the video feeds, and he knew better: it was only a matter of time.

While they awaited death, however, maybe it could be spoken with. It was at any rate better than thinking about suck-starting his pistol. Giving himself a quick pat down to ensure he had everything he needed, Weston paused to grab his radio.

Shockwaves reverberated through the base, breaking his feet's secure purchase on the concrete floor. Reflectively, he grabbed a wall corner, bracing himself. Thin chunks of concrete broke free from the ceiling, shattering like glass against the floor, and the lights disappeared. They were reactivated moments later, the red hue in his room indicating that they were now drawing power from the emergency generator. It was a brief moment, but the lapse in electricity could have resulted in a freed SCP. Hell, even a suicidal D class held below could cause chaos; their own cells would open in an emergency, to act as fodder for escaped Keters and Euclids if nothing else. As if the shockwaves, assuredly a sign of the failure of one of their defenses on the surface, wasn't enough, the radio squawked to life, issuing orders from O'Malley himself.

So much for trying to contact 9999. Securing the radio, Weston bolted out of his room and down the hall.
It didn't take him long to arrive at the armory. Stowing the .45 back in its holster, Weston gave the scientist that awaited him a lazy salute.

"Guessing the front line just fell, yeah?"
[/fieldbox]

 

[Poofy]

[fieldbox="Returning to Hell, red, solid"]
Location: Site 142, Level 3, Researcher Offices
Viva Rogers

---

The end of the world, the end of humanity, a terrifying thought that no one wanted to believe was possible, yet here Viva was, one of the last survivors of it all, one would think that she fought to survive to that moment, yet it was all because she refused to accept that her parents were dead, and decided to go outside to see for herself. Yet all she saw was death and chaos, forcing her to return. At that moment, she knew that everyone and everything she loved and cared for for a year was gone. She was in the researcher offices, looking at the last O5 directive on a researcher's computer, she knew things were bad, but the foundation always pulled through, always stopped the impossible. Well, until everyone died. Her heart felt empty, lonely, she badly wanted to sob, she knew that all the D-Class were let out, so she began to wait until something or someone finally ended her misery. She knew she had a mission, to attempt to save humanity, yet why bother? Even the O5 admitted that the foundation had failed, besides, such a mission had to have been impossible especially since at that time, she was alone, and no one could do something nearly impossible alone, until she heard a voice.

"This is Site Director O'Malley. All personnel not directly engaged in the defense of sub level one are to report to the armory. Repeat, all personnel not engaged are to report to the armory." It had come from a busted up radio, the only light, the only hope she could find in a dark time, relief washed over her.

"This is Viva Rogers, do you copy!" Her voice stated into the radio, she desperately hoped that the director could hear her, she couldn't believe that she wasn't the only one, "Repeat, this is Viva Rogers, do you copy!" Nothing, the radio was too broken to do anything more, then sparks had flown out of it. "Fuck!" She threw it to the ground, knowing it would no longer be of use, yet it didn't matter, she had an order, and she needed to complete it without getting herself killed or injured. The armory isn't that far off, she thought, I just need to avoid any SCPs and D-Class, who knows, Hell could be around the corner.

Usually, she would at least be holding a pistol, but she left her weapons in the armory in a hurry, making her feel very insecure.

She walked to the armory, prepared for if a D-Class jumped her, and hoping she wouldn't come face to face with an SCP, especially a Keter. With her guns, she feared nothing, but without them, she couldn't turn a corner without looking at what was there, as if she were a child afraid of seeing a monster under their bed without a flashlight. Finally, after a few minutes, she had made it to the armory. Without hesitation, she opened the door and went in, seeing two men she didn't really know well. One of the two she was sure she had heard many rumors of, said to be a man who spoke with SCPs, and she believed she had seen him in a picture her team were looking at, taken by another young guard who had witnessed it. The other was a researcher she had seen around the Site, but she had never really spoke to him, she and her team usually only took orders from both researchers and higher ups, only talking with one another and other young MTFs

Out of instinct, she saluted to the researcher, who must have been the new Site Director, "Viva Rogers, MTF."[/fieldbox]

 

[Jack Robinson]

Kieran Love AKA Old Timer (Class D)

Kieran was lying on his bunk when the doors opened. Any other time, he would've been overjoyed. It would've meant he was finally being released, perhaps being returned to death row, perhaps being terminated. He would've at least been freed of this hell, where they wiped your memory every month, where they sent you into rooms with hellish abominations. He'd been in this strange sort of limbo for the past several years. Nothing was real. Was this even real? He wasn't sure. But he might as well go balls deep and figure it out later.

He walked outside his cell. The doors of the other remaining prisoners- sorry, Class D personnel, were all opened as well. He'd heard the damn message. Everyone report to the armory, whatever. He'd take his sweet time. Not like they could, like, punish him. He supposed they could kill him. But that'd probably be more like a sort of blessing in disguise. He was alright with any outcome, really, so long as his soul wasn't vaporized or something.

So he walked down the hallways, hands in pocket, calmly, despite the shaking of the building and flashing lights. It made him feel good to pretend he wasn't creeped out by all this. He thought about escaping. Leaving the facility, trying to fade away into the wilderness somewhere. But he was sure that would be suicide. From what he'd heard, the Foundation had messed up. They'd let loose one of their creepy crawlies, and that particular creepy crawler was probably the worst one there was. How does one fuck up such an important job so badly? It was a question he wanted answered. He was just curious. That's all. Was this the pinnacle of human failure? Even with all the funding, all the tests, all the protocols, they'd somehow managed to let loose the worst of the worst. Impressive, really.

He finally made it to the armory, where a small group of other personnel had gathered, including a fellow Class D member. What a pitiful group they were. He wondered if he could outlive all of them. After a quick glance over them, he decided he probably could. It would depend on if he could just manage to convince the soldier to sacrifice herself for him somehow. He didn't know. He was pretty good with women. For the most part. Sometimes.

He wondered if the others were intimidated by him. He hoped so. Maybe he could establish a leadership position or at least a position of respect. It'd be hard. To them, he was just a useless bag of bones. Subhuman, even. Even with the constant erasure of his memories, Kieran had figured out the system pretty well. He had to. After all, being a Class D in a lab like this wasn't exactly...er, glamorous? No. More like safe. Yeah. It just wasn't safe. No other way to put it. He was constantly in a position of harm.

Best to make it seem like he was ready for it.

"I swear to God this better be good. I left my cell for this," he grumbled.

 

[conman2163]

The Beginning of a New Journey,

Location: Site 142, Level 3, Observation Center
Joseph O'Malley

---

Joseph must looked like quite the sight when they entered. The young man, formerly a researcher, was now in charge of what was basically the majority of the remaining foundation. But he certainly didn't look like it. Under his eyes were bloodshot, dark circles seemed to hang under them, and his hands were shaking like a leaf as he beckoned those who had entered, over, pointing to the bench opposite to him. He said nothing, not even to the D-Class who had appeared. In his hands rested his pistol. The sidearm had been issued to him at the beginning of the assault. He looked at it as if he were a thirsty man in the middle of a boundless sea. As if perhaps the pistol's bullet might provide him relief in the face of the decision he had to make. When they were all seated, or at least nearby, Joseph would speak. "For those of us in the room unaware," He started, clearly directing this at the Class D. "The rest of the foundation is all but gone, the same goes for humanity. Projected casualty estimates put the death toll in the billions." He sighed. "Everyone left has a single order, to execute a protocol that will prevent us all from going extinct." Joseph jerked his thumb up at the ceiling his head hung.

"Past that, I should say that you should make peace with the loss of whoever is still fighting on the first floor. I doubt we have much time to escape, and they will buy it with their lives. As of this moment, where we are concerned, we are the only surviving group of the foundation." He pulled a map out of his labcoat. It was a map of the country they were in, specifically, the United States. A bright red dot was marked on one side of the map, and a blue circle on the other side of it. The red dot was on the Western side of the map, in the Redwood forest of California. The other dot was in the swamps of Florida. A green line that wound around the map was drawn in between the two.

Joseph tapped the red dot. "We are here." Next he tapped the blue circle. "Site 999 is here, we need to get there to execute the protocol." He drew a line between the two. "Before the GPS uplink went down, I calculated the route between two points, including routes we'd have to take around populated areas. I have no doubt that cities will have become a hunting ground for the things that have attacked." He pulled out a second sheet of paper, this a map of the facility. This time he tapped the site director's office, which was on the third floor with them. "There is a contingency escape hatch here. It leads to an underground garage we get a vehicle from. From there, we have to make it to Site 999 within the next year. We fuck up that timeline, and we've officially doomed humanity. Since most foundation sites are overrun and population centers are out of the question, refueling is iffy. If we stick to hiking trails and avoid major roads, the route time is about eight months on foot. That leaves us four spare months if our vehicle is fucked." He looked to the Class D. "Let me be very clear, Class D, if you get in the way at any point, you will be left behind, or shot, whichever is necessary, am I understood? This is a shot at redemption for whatever you did in the past. Don't fuck it up." He turned to the other two. "Is the plan clear?" He said.

---

SCP-9999-2000929505

---

A single instance had broken through, smarter then the rest of his brethrin. Rather then commit to an all out assault, he snuck along the shadows, hiding his pale figure as it moved, silent as a ghost. It was quite the intelligent creature, using the stairs to sneak down the levels, the clicking noise of it's echolocation moving before it, and as it reached the third level it quietly pushed the doors open. It would be at this point that Amelia crane would see it appear between her and the security room. It's head seemed partially damaged, two slits that acted as it's nostrils had been bloodied by a round before it had wisened up, and now it could smell nothing, but it could still echolocate. If Amelia was fast, she might be able to hide from the creature.[/fieldbox]

 

[signed Kiss]

[fieldbox="Personnel Status: Green, red, dashed, 7"]
Location: Site 142, Level 3 - Security Hub, MTF Barracks, Armory
Inmate # 01628 - 034: Amelia Crane

---

She had been moving along quietly, her bare feet a whisper above silent upon the hallway tiles when she paused. Her brow furrowed as a strange sound reached her ears. The strangest sound she had heard in a while, though not the strangest thing she had ever heard since coming to be held in Site 142, but it was certainly a sound that she had never heard before. It was somewhere between an almost hollow clicking and groan that stuck high in the throat. For a moment she was almost curious enough to investigate the sound.

That was when it's hand slowly came from around the corner she had been approaching.

The hand was so pale, a sickly white against the already white walls of the Class D Personnel cell block. The fingers had no fingernails that she could see, instead, the fingers simply extended into wickedly sharp points that scraped against the concrete wall. Amelia had seen hands similar to it's like before, but it was when a second hand quickly followed the first that her eyes slowly began to widen. There were, to her understanding, absolutely no SCPs of any classification that would fit the minimal description what she now witnessed. On top of all that, this meant that there was most definitely a breach, and she was officially in more trouble than she could possibly imagine. As the strange creature began to move further and further into her line of sight she witnessed the horribly alien face that was making the strange gargling chirps and clicks. It was deceptively humanoid in appearance aside from the simple fact that it had no eyes. What she could see of it's face, while it was not turned towards her, seemed to be covered in splotches of bright red. Was it blood? Was that just how it looked? She truly had no idea. What she did know, as the creature let out another string of strange sounds, was that she needed to avoid it at all costs.

Amelia pressed her back to the nearest wall, removing most of the creature from view but also removing herself from the range of its echolocation. She forced herself to breathe deeply, calmly and waited until most of the creature's ridiculously tall frame was cramped down into the hallway. She began to move then, stopping and making sure that the creature's face was never pointed directly in her direction while she was moving. Her guess was proved correct when the creature knew not to keep walking forwards, lest it walked into the wall. She had almost gotten completely behind the thing, moving in front of the entry to the stairwell, when something happened. A smaller explosion thudded up above and somewhere behind her she could hear the sound of something falling and breaking against the stairs. Before she could move away from the open doorway the thing whipped about, it's bloodied face turned back in the direction of the stairs. Immediately it loosed another string of sounds. Almost immediately it shifted the direction of its head and Amelia could see the two large slits going down its face flaring. In that moment she genuinely thought she was done for, snapping her eyes shut and standing perfectly still. She could feel it's hot, rancid breath on her face, and for a brief moment she wondered if this would be it.
Would this finally be the moment?

But... something was wrong. Slowly she opened her eyes and realized that, while the thing had crouched down, it had not moved to attack. Battered flesh pulled as the slits flared again, and in that moment she realized what was happening. It couldn't smell her. It was close, however, far too close, and she needed to do something fast. Without thinking, and before the creature could make another sound, Amelia tossed the radio in her hands back the way she had come. The device clacked against the floor and rattled down the tiled floor. Immediately the creature turned it's head, letting out a strangled shriek as it took off after the discarded radio. Without waiting around to see what would happen Amelia took off down the hall, not stopping until she found the open door to the armory. She nearly tripped as she attempted to slow her forward momentum, gasping for air and she fought to catch her breath. There were several people already in the room, huddled about a table. Just from looking at them she could not easily tell which one was supposed to be the Site Director who had made the announcement.
"Here-" She did her best to steady her breathing, though it was certainly difficult. "One of them... already here..."
[/fieldbox]

 

[Poofy]

[fieldbox=Returning To Hell, red, solid]
Location: Site 142, Level 3, Observation Center
Viva Rogers

---

"Yes sir." She responded, looking at the map, seeing the long trip ahead of them. On the outside, Viva looked like an unfeeling robot, she was fully equipped after all, she had to be, if she wanted to protect everyone during the trip to Site 999. She still couldn't believe the group she ended up having to work with to save humanity, and they only had 1 year to do it.

---

While she had waited for the other D-Class with the two other men in the room, there was much of her that badly wanted to make a conversation, to break the silence in the armory, but her instincts kept her mouth shut, she was on a mission, and her brain wouldn't allow herself to be distracted from it. She looked at the famed negotiator, Weston Grimes, she remembered, that's his name, just got to make sure I don't forget it, unless I want to call him sir all the time. Now what was that other guy's name? While she buried into her thoughts, the door was opened by a D-Class.

"I swear to God this better be good. I left my cell for this," Viva was disappointed to see that they would have to work with a D-Class, but she was thankful that he was the normal everyday asshole, she's killed D-Class before when things went south, and she found the assholes tend to be harder to feel bad for. She also has found that they can get cocky. The Site Director didn't say a word and had the D-Class sit next to Viva, and she now needed to make sure she got to know the guy, whether she liked it or not. When no one else came for a few minutes, the Site Director finally explained the plan.

---

She personally was just glad that mostly everyone in the room knew how to shoot a gun. Sure, they're all guys and I am the only woman in the group. Sure, one of them may or may not be crazy and want to talk to the most dangerous SCPs ever. Sure, the researcher looked like he had been through hell and back and the D-Class is an asshole, but surely, there is no damn it way that this could get worse. That's what Viva thought until a D-Class woman entered the room breathless.

"Here-" Viva thought that she meant that she was present, but then the woman attempted to steady her breathing, and she continued, "One of them... already here..." Viva couldn't believe her ears, she got her sniper out in the fraction of a second.

I just had to jinx myself didn't I? "Close the door." She ordered the woman, and looked expectantly at the Site Director, "Orders sir?"[/fieldbox]

 

[Red Thunder]

[/fieldbox][fieldbox="Disaster Shows the True Heart, Green, solid"]

​

Weston Grimes | Negotiator​

"Clear, sure. Clear as mud." His nervous eye scanned the map, considering with no small amount of trepidation the path O'Malley had outlined for them to take. It was tricky, dangerous. Overland, with these creatures roaming the damn space between? How the hell were they expected to survive such a trip? Infrastructure was sure to have collapsed across the American Mid and Southwest. No vehicle, no matter how gas efficient, would make that journey without needing a fill up. Walking across the land was suicide, certainly.

"The hell aren't we taking a aeroplane for?" Weston gestured at the map vaguely, the dismissive gesture a facade for the sinking dive his heart had taken. "That's a mighty step. No car is going to manage the gas, and-"

A panicked voice cut him short, an as yet unheard female tone that had burst into the open space from without the door. Her panic was warranted, it seemed, if her report was right, and Weston's mouth pursed in mild frustration. All the more so as he eased the door shut gently behind the woman when he heard the telltale set up of Viva's rifle.

"Put that away!" he hissed, shooting her a hard look as he clicked the lock shut. "All that's going to do is deafen us! And it might draw more of the bastards down, it's so damn loud.

"Now hush! It might be close."
[/fieldbox]

 

[Jack Robinson]

Kieran Love AKA Old Timer (Class D)

"Oh, I'll be fucking shot if I get in the way? Sounds like you'd be doing me a favor," Kieran grumbled, "This plan sounds like a damn good way to get us killed." He gestured at the fancy talking guy, Weston, he thought his name was. Or Easton. He had no clue, honestly. "I'm with him. Either we find an airplane, or we're all fucked. From the sound of things upstairs, we don't much stand a chance otherwise."

Just his luck. He thought they had a real plan. A way out. But this just sounded like a way to prolong the inevitable. Saving humanity, whatever. Just the desperate attempt of the Foundation geeks to fix their mistake. But it was beyond fixing. Even Kieran could see that much. He wondered if this wasn't just some ploy this guy was using to get them to sacrifice themselves while he tried to escape somewhere. He wouldn't be surprised.

Before he could voice his opinion again, another prisoner entered the room. He thought he remembered her. She was crazy, he knew that much. Yet she bore alarming news. One of those things had gotten downstairs. Which meant they were all doomed.

"Great," he muttered, "There goes our genius plan!"

The soldier next to him whipped out her gun, and he couldn't help but snicker. "I think we both know that thing won't do anything to these guys. Might as well try tickling him. If all the big guys upstairs couldn't stop them, what makes you think we can?" Hell, maybe he might as well just go outside, get it over with. Eh...nah. He'd watch the others get eaten first. It'd be satisfying knowing he of all people was the last surviving member of this damned organization. Yeah. That'd be a hell of a story. A story no one would hear. What a tragedy.

 

[conman2163]

Time to Escape

Location: Site 142, Level 3, Observation Center
Joseph O'Malley

---

Joseph pointed to the map and tapped on it. "I know that it's going to take longer on foot, but the creatures out there destroyed the airfield." Joseph hissed in response to Weston. He didn't really hear input from the others, either then acceptance for the plan from Rogers, and then grumbling from the class D. Then the other Class D burst in, breathless. The exchange was quick, and Joseph gathered up the map and other documents from the table and tucked them away in his lab coat. "Don't shut that door." He snapped at the D-Class. "And Rogers, put your gun down, Grimes is right, that weapon will do nothing more then piss it off." Surprisingly, the man knew Weston's name. Yes, he was the onsite negotiator, and he had been used in experiments Joseph was involved in in the past, and he had seen his name come up more then a few times. "We stick to the plan, find a car in the site director's office. We move quickly and quietly, and we'll get there without much trouble. I'm sure it's busy with all the other Class D. Let's go, now." His meaning was implied.

Joseph didn't say anything more, just moved quietly into the hallway. Down towards the Class D, they could hear the screams of humans dying and the roars of the SCP. The creature let out a fierce cry as it ripped apart the Class D and devoured them, thoughts for little else. Joseph said nothing, but motioned for everyone to follow him as he made his way through twisting and winding hallways of metal and concrete, the creature's cries echoing faintly in the distance. When they reached the Site Director's office, he opened the door and waited until everyone was in side, before shutting it behind him. Then he went to the site director's terminal. "Don't be alarmed everyone, but I am activating the full containment breach protocol, including the nuclear warhead under the base. We're going to have thirty minutes to get out from this point on." Joseph said simply, as if a nuclear weapon was no big deal.

Then a button was pressed, and alarms began to blare. Then the warning played on all of the base's speakers. The Omega warhead was to be detonated. Not that it really mattered to those above, or below, as the quarentine doors slammed shut and locked, letting nothing go anywhere in the base, aside from those in the site director's office. There was a series of soft clicks as a small door in the wall swung out. "And there is out exit." Joseph said simply, and then went into the hallway beyond it. It was made of grey metal, and very small, almost clausterphobic in the tunnel. Dim red lights lit the floor below them, and provided just enough light to see by. They walked for only a few minutes before they came to it, a small garage filled with a few dozen armored cars emblazoned with the SCP logo, armed with large guns on the top. Joseph wasted no time in getting in one of these vehicles, firing up the car once he was settled inside.[/fieldbox]

 

[signed Kiss]

[fieldbox="Personnel Status: Green, red, dashed"]

Location: Site 142, Level 3- Observation Center

Inmate # 01628 – 034: Amelia Crane

---

Amelia seemed completely unbothered by anything that was going on around her no matter if it was the several different orders shouted at her all at once or if it was the woman drawing a gun. She simply looked between the three of them before following the order that had been given to her last. She stepped away from the door, making no move to close it as she continued to simply stand and listen. Her eyes seemed to linger on each person's face, perhaps for just a little too long, before she turned her attention to the man who looked more like a research and less like a military officer.
It seemed that everyone listened to him, for the most part, or he at least seemed like the only person with a definite plan in mind. Which would have to make him the Site Director. She did not attempt to ask his name, instead just quietly listening until there was the order to move. She followed after him, and at no point did she seem particularly bothered by the screams and cries of the people who had remained in the Class D cell block. She was well aware that she could have tossed the radio in any direction.

If anything, the smallest hint of a frown tilted her lips downwards. How many people were dying back there? She felt nothing at all.
Perhaps next time.

She continued to follow along with the group, making sure that she kept up an adequate pace so that she would not be left behind. By the time they reached the Site Director's office she was fighting for breath again and the muscles in her legs burned. She couldn't even remember a time where she had run this much. Perhaps the exercise would do her good.
There was the slightest widening of eyes and arching of eyebrows when the man in the lab coat mentioned that he was going to activate a nuclear warhead. Surely that would only succeed in making sure that at least every living person left in the facility met their end. There were only a handful of SCPs who would be destroyed entirely by a nuclear blast, and even then it was only a slight possibility that had never been properly tested. But she had no say in the matter. She simply watched as the man pressed the button with no hesitation at all, then turned her head in the direction of the clicking noises. She had no outward reaction, for it was not the strange clicks and shrieking that she had heard upon coming into contact with SCP-9999, and when the wall swung out and O'Malley moved through it, she followed.

There was one thing that she understood with complete certainty. She would have to be very, very careful about this man. He seemed to care as little about human life as she did, which she had been told on several occasions was a severe and troubling problem. When O'Malley jumped into one of the armored cars she quickly followed, yet made absolutely sure to stay out of his way.

Friends close. Enemies…
[/fieldbox]

 

[Poofy]

[Fieldbox=Not Turning Back, red, solid]
Location: Site 142, Level 3, Observation Center
Viva Rogers

---

It was almost like instinct when Viva took out the gun, and for a second, she wanted to yell at them and tell them that there was no way she was putting it away, but she knew they were right, and orders were orders. She also didn't want to piss anyone off more than she should, she wanted to be allies with these people, not enemies, she just hoped they wouldn't want something different. She put the gun down, "Sorry." She said embarrassed. She then listened for the Director's orders. Once she heard that they would have to walk outside and be near where the SCP was, she badly wanted to get her rifle out again. Maybe they wouldn't mind if this time I take out my pistol? she thought, Damn it, who am I kidding. Ugh, it's so hard for me to not take one out.

Viva managed to resist the urge and followed the group. She could hear the cries and screams of people that she believed should be staying alive to rebuild humanity. Each and every voice she heard was a person who's life should not have been wasted. Every scream tormented her mind, she wanted to save them, bring them along so that they would have more of a chance to save humanity, yet there she was, continuing to follow the Site Director to the office, ignoring the screams. She may have not liked the D-Class, but that didn't mean she wanted them dead. The group made it to the office, she walked in along with the rest, seeing the Site Director shut the door behind them. Then, what she saw next terrified her, and served as a reminder to her that this team was dangerous, and ready to backstab anyone who got in their way.

"Don't be alarmed everyone, but I am activating the full containment breach protocol, including the nuclear warhead under the base. We're going to have thirty minutes to get out from this point on." The Director said, and without hesitation, he pressed the button. Viva didn't know whether she should have been impressed or terrified, How sane are these people? Am I actually this insane and just don't know it? she wondered, although, I guess a good leader should be able to do these things without hesitation, but he could also get me killed...

Viva heard a few small clicks in the wall, and when she turned her head to see what it was, she saw a small door that opened from the wall, the Director entered, and Viva wasted no time and walked behind him into the metal tunnel that lied before them. In the few minutes they walked in the tunnel, she looked at the woman behind her. For a second, she swore she saw her face somewhere, then finally, she remembered looking at the news one time that showed the face of a woman and on the bottom of the screen, she remembered the title, 'The Voodoo Doll Killer'. She searched for the woman's name in her mind, yet went blank, all she could remember was that she killed many people, that she had no feelings, and Viva inferred that she probably sewed her victims into dolls. Well fuck, I have to work with someone who turns their victims into dolls, has no emotions, is a D-Class, and will probably kill me.

Viva's thoughts were interrupted when the group had finally made it to a garage filled with armored cars, but that's not what she was staring at, she was looking at the guns atop every one of the cars. She always liked using them, and secretly hoped she would be able to shoot at something, anything during the trip. She then saw the Director run into one of the cars and start it up, she saw the 'Voodoo Doll Killer' go in right after him, and Viva went in as well. She sat next to the woman, and mentally cursed at herself for not waiting until Weston or the other D-Class went in, Atleast they aren't called 'The Voodoo Doll Killer'![/fieldbox]

 

[Red Thunder]

[fieldbox="Nuclear Disarmament", Green, solid"]

​

Weston Grimes | Negotiator​

"Nuke, eh? Not sure a car's gonna outrun the blastwave."

Weston grunted, observing O'Malley as he enacted the site self-destruct. Obliterate their research; destroy what SCPs they could. It was a contingency plan, instituted in every single Foundation location he'd ever heard of, as well as some off-site locations for SCP areas that couldn't be contained more traditionally. They were installed in the event of catastrophic failure at a particular site, erasing in an onslaught of radioactive shockwave the shame and harm to humanity such a failure might otherwise mean.

Here, there was no such noble goal. Humanity was dead; who cared that some SCPs got loose? No, this was to buy them time, to give them a head start on their pursuers into the empty and dead lands of the American Midwest. It wasn't encouraging. The thought intruded stubbornly into Weston's duty-managed mind, like a fly buzzing round your ear despite numerous attempts at vague dismissal. Die quickly Above on the Front, die quickly below to the warhead's initial blast, or die slowly in the wilderness, starving and terrified of the true Apex Predator that had been the catalyst of this horror.

Weston smiled.

"Fuck, mate; gonna need a clear road ahead us to not get sizzled. C'mon," he waved the others on through the newly opened door. "I hear the quad 9s like a good barbecue."

A tiniest glimmer of hope blossomed in his chest as the entered the bay. He'd expected civilian vehicles: SUVs, sedans, or the like. These were outfitted properly. Maybe not enough to kill a SCP-9999, but likely enough to set it back apace. In the face of despair, Weston found himself chuckling.

"More like it. Well take two; double our odds of keeping a working vehicle." Following O'Malley's example, Weston climbed behind the steering wheel of a second armored car. "Who's coming with me?"

[/fieldbox]