It Starts With Burning

It Starts with Burning

Burning. It's the first thing you notice, you feel it all over your body and then you remember what you were ordered to do, at gun point. D-10096, they called you. Some serial number, like you never meant anything. It was tattooed onto your forearm, along with that barcode.

You remember them saying something about some 'old man' breaking out of some containment cell. It doesn't mean anything to you. You know now that you're little more than a piece of meat; bait.

You try to stand, but scream out in excruciating pain, radiating from your ankle. You look down, your Achilles Tendon apparently having been severed. You really wish you'd stayed with Medical School instead of getting caught up in your idiot cousin's stupid get rich quick scheme. You promised yourself if you got away you'd use the money to pay off your tuition, but it never got that far.

You killed that cop, not your cousin, and that gets you the needle in New York City. Naturally, you were attracted by the prospect of your life being spared in return for assisting this 'SCP Foundation' with its research.

You figured they would end up curing cancer or something.

Wait, where are you again, and what's happening? Oh, right. You Achilles Tendon, severed, you feel like you're rotting alive. You're in some strange place that seems to be randomly shifting, swirling. You don't know what this is. Where this is.

And then… It… Appears. A human sized part of the wall turns a sickly brown, and then something that looks like a muscular old man, in the process of decaying alive, appears in front of you. You feel like what it looks like. You don't know what it wants. You don't even know if it's intelligent, or anything of the sort.

You try to speak, to ask what it wants, but if feels like you've been screaming for a month nonstop, like your throat is burning. The thing cackles, but it sounds so wrong.

Gravity shifts, slamming you back and forth. You feel bones shatter. You can't let out more than a small, shuddering gasp as your pain level rockets to a 20 out of 10. The only question, only thought, in your mind, is why. It's the only question that should be there.

Other than, maybe, what is this thing?

Item #: SCP-106

Object Class: Keter

Special Containment Procedures:

Revision 11-6:

No physical interaction with SCP-106 is to be allowed at any time.

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