Containment Area 25b is in high alert. SCP-076-1 has opened and SCP-076-2 is active again, after twenty years of dormancy.
Or so the censors in SCP-076-1’s chamber indicate.
Security chief Gregory Schwartz, security guard Elizabeth Pena and security guard Travis Clark (the rookie of the group) all stand at the end of the morbidly named killing corridor for SCP-076-2 to appear, guns ready and safety off.
Minutes stretch on and SCP-076-2 makes no signs of appearing. No banging on the door, no black metal swords screeching against sturdy metal, nothing. Long, agonizing minutes stretch on to ten. Then twenty.
At twenty-five minute mark, security guard Travis Clark speaks up, painfully clearly remembering that the whole place will be flooded with the guards still inside if the security chief won’t declare the breach over within 90 minutes. Or 65 minutes, at this point.
“Sh-should we-” Travis’ voice breaks and he pauses to clear his throat and starts again: “Should we go check it out?”
Two minutes pass before Schwartz finally replies. “You wanna die, kid?”
“No! Which is exactly why I’m suggesting!” Travis immediately regrets both the words and the tone he said them in as soon as they left his mouth.
Schwartz tenses just a little before answering. “You go, since you’re so eager to.”
Security guard Clark nods and starts walking. He hears Pena follow him.
After the longest 150 meters of his life, Travis finally arrives at the heavy metal door that is now the only thing separating him from SCP-076-2.
Normally the chamber surrounding SCP-076-1 would be flooded with seawater, but the chamber had to be drained due to a few leaks on the door. The maintenance team should have come by to fix it months ago, but the guards of containment area 25b never heard anything back from them for one reason or another. As a result, SCP-076-1’s Primary Containment Zone has been bone dry for months.
Security guard Clark takes a deep breath and grasps the stiff valve on the reinforced door and turned it. With a tortured creak, the door opens and swings inside the chamber.
The creak dies down as the door stops moving. Clark glances at Pena, who steadily answers his gaze.
Clark swallows and carefully steps into the chamber.
The chamber is darker than the killing corridor and Clark turns his flashlight on. The faint click echoes in the chamber and bounces back at Clark. If SCP-076-2 somehow didn’t know Clark wasn’t there, it does now.
The chamber is empty, except for the massive, black stone cube in the middle of it. It’s quiet as a tomb, and Clark feels like even his breathing is amplified to obscene levels of uproar.
The little beam of light from Clark’s flashlight lands on a crumpled heap lying on the floor in front of SCP-076-1. If this had been any other place, Clark would have thought that it was some kind of long-haired animal, but now he knows exactly what it is.
“Found seventy-six,” he breathes, voice coming out as a hoarse whisper.
“Roger,” Pena replies, just as quietly.
Clark swallows again and takes a slow, quiet step towards the entity. The scrape of Clark’s boot against the floor is so loud that it grates Clark’s ears and rattles his teeth. SCP-076-2, however, continues to lay motionless. Clark takes another step. And another. And another, and continues until he is almost at the figure on the floor.
It still doesn’t move.
Clark glances at Pena, who has her gun at the ready. At least she has my back, Clark thinks.
“SCP-076, c-can you hear me?” Clark suppresses a wince at how his own voice feels like a violent intrusion in the chamber’s oppressive silence.
No reply.
“SCP-076, get up.”
SCP-076-2 doesn’t move.
“SCP-076, g-get up. This is an order!”
There’s no movement. Clark is just about to repeat himself when SCP-076-2 finally shifts. It draws its arms underneath itself and slowly pushes itself to a somewhat upright position. Something about its movements looks like it has to put a herculean amount of willpower just in that one move.
Clark stares at it. Its hair is falling over its face and shoulders in heavy, greasy strands so Clark can’t see its face. But Clarke does get a clear view of the countless tattoos on its arms and legs.
From all the horror stories Clark had heard about SCP-076-2, he had expected it to look more… imposing. Muscular. But the entity sitting in front of him, with hunched shoulders and messy hair, looks… almost emaciated.
Is this really the same monster the Foundation goes to extreme lengths to contain?
With a small jolt, Clark remembers the 90 minutes deadline (now more close to 50-ish minutes, probably).
But what could he do? SCP-076-2 doesn't seem like it’s about to slaughter anyone. Or even move or speak.
Clarke glances at Pena again, now discovering that Schwartz had joined her at the chamber door.
Schwartz motions with his hand, as if to say: “well? Go on!”.
Security guard Clark curses his life quietly in his mind and kneels down to meet SCP-076-2 eye-to-eye.
“Is… is everything okay?”
That was probably the dumbest thing he had ever said.
SCP-076-2 doesn't answer or even indicate it heard Clark.
“This isn't how… this is unusual, of you, I've been told. What is going on?”
SCP-076-2’s head moves, to droop down. Clark thought he hears it mutter something under its breath.
“What was that?”
SCP-076-2 lifts its head, its grey eyes shining through the strands of filthy hair.
“Kill me,” SCP-067-2 says, voice creaking like an old door.
Clark stares at the ancient man, stunned to silence.
Seventy-six moves, extending its hand towards Clark. Clark jolts back onto his feet and fixes his gun at SCP-076-2. He hears Pena and Schwartz step closer and ready their weapons.
But all SCP-076-2 does is gently grasp the pipe of Clark's gun and direct it at its own head.
“I want to die,” SCP-076-2 rasps.
Clark realizes he’s shaking. He grinds his teeth as SCP-076-2’s cold, lifeless eyes bore holes into his soul.
The gaze is so intense that Clark had to screw his eyes shut. He yanks his gun free from SCP-076-2’s hands and steps back.
“I-I'm sorry, I can't do that,” he says, his breaking voice echoing in the chamber.
Schwartz lets out an incredulous scoff. “It's asking to die, rookie! Did you already forget what we’re dealing with?!”
“I haven't forgotten, sir! But have you forgotten what the P in SCP stands for?”
“Do not fucking-”
“Rookie has a point,” Pena speaks up, nipping the argument at the bud, “Seventy-six is acting out of the norm, and I'm sure that the Foundation wouldn't be happy to find out we just killed it without finding out why.”
Schwartz bristles. “This is just a ruse, it's waiting for us to lower our guard so it can slaughter us.”
“Then why hasn't it attacked yet?” Clark asks.
Schwartz falls quiet.
Pena puts a hand on his shoulder. “Just call the higher ups and tell them the breach is over so they won't drown us. If seventy-six murders us in our sleep, you can tell us ‘I told you so’ in hell.”
“And what do we do with it? Just keep it in the living quarters like it's one of us?”
“The higher-ups will decide that for us, I'm sure.”
Schwartz growls, recognizing when he’s defeated. “Only if we put a bomb collar on it.”
Pena claps his shoulder. “Of course, boss.”
Schwartz just swears and storms out of the chamber, fiddling with his walkie-talkie.
Pena turns to Clark. “Let's get seventy-six and go.”
Clark nods, a little dazed. He’s still struggling with the emotional rollercoaster that the last hour has been. He turns to SCP-076-2, who’s still sitting on the ground where Clark had left it.
“Seventy-six? Can you walk?”
SCP-076-2 stands up without a word. Now that it’s standing somewhat straight, Clark realizes it’s only wearing tattered pants and a loincloth, which do very little to hide the wiry muscles of the entity’s form and the hypnotically creepy tattoos engraved on the skin.
Pena starts walking out of the chamber. SCP-076-2 follows her, and Clark follows the two. The three quietly walk through the killing corridor, and if Clark thought that walking to the chamber was long, the walk back feels even longer. He could swear the elevator ride to the Administrative and Support Area takes years. Clark is ready to jump out of his skin at the slightest move seventy-six made.
But the entity just stands at the corner of the elevator, completely motionless for the whole duration of the ride up.
Eventually, the elevator arrives at its destination and the door slides open. The three passengers step out of the elevator and pause.
What now?
Pena suggests giving seventy-six security guard Alyssa King’s old room while they figure out what the hell to do with it. After seventy-six is fitted with an explosive collar and left in King’s old room, Pena and Clark meet Schwartz in the kitchen, where Schwarz is furiously kneading a pile of dough.
“What did the higher-ups say about seventy-six?” Pena asks, sitting down at the table, seemingly unaware of how much Schwartz is fuming. Or just not caring.
Schwartz slams the dough on the table like it had personally insulted him. “The fuckers just told me to keep an eye on it and report to them about anything unusual. As if this shit wasn’t unusual enough!” He punctuates his rant by pounding his fist in the dough.
Pena hums and leans back in her chair. “So we’re his babysitters until they decide otherwise.”
“Exactly!” Schwartz growls. “That’s what pisses me off the most about this!”
A silence falls into the kitchen, only broken by the creaking of the table as Schwartz roughly kneads the dough.
Clark eyes the mountain of dough on Schwartz’s hands. “That’s… that’s a big loaf you’re making, boss,” he says carefully.
“I’m making two!” Schwartz snaps, “That’s how pissed I am!!”
Clark lifts his hands up in a placating motion.
Pena stands up. ”Better get dinner started.”
That is Clark’s cue to leave the kitchen. Food isn’t his duty, not since the Lunch Disaster on his first week in containment area 25b.
No one had given seventy-six any clothes, had they? Clark figures that someone ought to. He figures he should be the one who should get on that. So he goes by the supply closet and chooses some sweats that looked like they could be seventy-six’s size (it is really thin, but also really tall? So maybe men’s medium?) before heading to Alyssa’s old room. Or seventy-six’s room now.
Clark knocks on the door. When he doesn’t hear anything, he carefully lets himself in, ready to defend himself if needed. There’s no need for that, though, because seventy-six is stretched on the bed, seemingly fast asleep. It’s hard to tell because it’s lying on its side, facing the wall, long grimy hair fanned on the pillow and hanging from the edge of the bed.
Clark just leaves the clothes on the table in the middle of the room and leaves quietly.
***
Dinner is held in silence, as per usual. But this time the silence is thoughtful and confused, instead of the tense and foreboding silence, like it was before.
“Guess we gotta start feeding seventy-six too,” Pena says.
Schwartz grunts, face darkening.
Clark excuses himself early to take care of that. He gets some of the stew and bread and goes to seventy-six’s room.
Seventy-six is still on the bed, facing the wall, where Clark left him. The sight gives Clark’s chest an uncomfortable weight, but he’s not sure why.
“I have food for you,” Clarke says.
No reaction.
“I… Uh. I’ll just leave it on the table, next to the clothes. Eat it while it’s still warm.”
Still no reaction.
Clark leaves the room.
***
The next morning, when Clark comes by to give seventy-six breakfast, he finds last night’s dinner, untouched, and seventy-six still lying in the same position, facing the wall.
“How was seventy-six?” Pena asks later.
“Still sleeping. Didn’t eat dinner.”
“He’ll eat when he’s hungry.”
Clark hopes she’s right, but doubt starts gnawing at him when seventy-six doesn’t eat or even move for lunch, dinner, or next day’s breakfast.
When Clark is delivering seventy-six lunch, he watches the Sumerian’s sleeping figure. Like a flash of lightning, he realizes why seventy-six’s stillness makes him so uncomfortable.
His mother had acted the exact same when Travis was in college.
Travis would leave her sleeping in the bedroom and she’d still be there by the time Travis returned. The lethargy, the lack of appetite, it’s all one-to-one with depression symptoms, especially how it manifested with his mother.
The tray slips from Clark’s hands and clatters onto the table.
Seventy-six jolts and turns around at the sound. The first movement he Clark had seen him do in days. Wide eyes stare at Clark through heavy, dark strands of hair, looking… almost startled?
Clark panics. ”I brought you food,” he blurts, “Eat. Please.”
Seventy-six sits up, looking at the table where Clark had left the tray. He stands up and sits down at the table. Pleased with his cooperation, Clark sits opposite to him.
Seventy-six eyes the food before grabbing the bread, tearing a piece of it and clumsily starting to use the pieces to shovel the shepherd’s pie into his mouth. He eats in silence, like he’s just going through the motions.
Clark watches him eat, also quiet. He desperately feels like he needs to say something, but he can’t think of anything.
Eventually, seventy-six finishes eating, stands up without a word, and goes back to bed.
Satisfied that seventy-six finally ate something, Clark takes his leave.
***
After that lunch, Clark starts eating his meals in seventy-six’s room, just to make sure that the Sumerian eats too. Mostly, the meals are spent in silence, seventy-six seeming to be more interested in the food and Clark just… too scared to talk. Besides, what he would even talk about to an ancient immortal man?
Although there is one thing that is bothering Clark…
”Have you showered?”
Seventy-six looks up from his food.
”I-I mean no offence, but you kinda… need to. You need to bathe.”
”Hm.” Seventy-six looks back down at the food.
”… I’m guessing that’s a no?”
No answer.
”I don’t mean to sound condescending, but have you taken a shower before? Do you know how taps work?”
Seventy-six chews a piece of bread and swallows it. ”I have used a tap.”
Oh shit, he does talk. ”…Successfully?”
Seventy-six’s glare makes him lift his hands up. ”Sorry, sorry! I just have to make sure that you don’t break anything! It takes ages to get anyone down here to fix anything.”
Seventy-six stuffs the last piece of bread into his mouth. ”I will not break it.”
Clark looks at him, before standing up from the table. ”I trust you. Come on, I’ll show you where the showers are.”
And so security guard Clark somehow managed to convince seventy-six to not only talk, but take a shower as well.
***
After that day, Clark feels like it’s easier to talk to seventy-six, even if it’s more like talking at seventy-six. Clark isn’t sure if the Sumerian enjoys his company, but he doesn’t seem to hate it either. Or vocally object to it, at least.
One day, after dinner, Clark sets his fork down, thoughtfully.
”The day you emerged…”
Seventy-six tenses.
”You asked me to kill you.”
Seventy-six stands abruptly, clattering the plates and cutlery. Before Clark could even prepare himself for action, seventy-six lays down on the bed, back towards Clark.
Stepped too far. Got it, Clark thinks and leaves the room.
***
”We can’t keep SCP-076 here,” Clark tells Schwartz in his office, ”We’re not equipped to deal with him like this.”
Schwartz crosses his arms and leans back in his chair. ”And what is it that we need?”
Clark hesitates. ”I think that seventy-six needs someone to talk to. A professional.”
Schwartz lets out a long breath. ”The Foundation has tried that, never worked.”
”It could work now,” Clark argues, ”He’s different now, someone might be able to…”
”Might be able to what?”
Clark scrambles for words. “Help him.”
Schwartz gives him a flat look.
“I mean he’s obviously not okay! We’re only equipped to contain him by force but that’s not needed anymore. We’re inadequate in this situation.” Clark shifts his weight. ”I… Honestly, sir?” He looks Schwartz in the eye. ”I have a reason to believe that SCP-076 is depressed.”
Schwartz stares at him for another moment, then sighs and rubs his eyes. “I’ll tell the higher-ups that. We’ll see if they do anything about it.”
They probably won’t, is the unspoken thought between both of them. Containment Area 25b has quietly been run down and downgraded during the 20 odd years of dormancy SCP-076-1 had. It’s never been said out loud, but everyone is sure that the Foundation is defunding the area in hopes that SCP-076 had neutralized.
Containment Area 25b is one of the most hated and neglected Foundation areas and it shows. Getting assigned here is basically a dead end for your career and/or a punishment. Guards sent here rarely get out unless they die. Alyssa King managed to get transferred, but only because she got married and because she fought to be transferred. She eventually got the transferral she wanted, but no one was sent to replace her. Containment area 25b was left with three guards.
“Meanwhile,” Clark says slowly, “Can we maybe take Seventy-six to our daily sparring sessions?”
“No.”
“With him, we would have an even number of people and we wouldn’t have to do three-way battle royales anymore.”
Schwartz is quiet for a moment. “He might snap.”
“He hasn’t snapped yet.
“Listen, kid,” Schwartz says, suddenly sounding exhausted, ”You haven’t been here as long as I have. You haven’t seen what seventy-six is capable of. You haven’t seen it slaughter your co-workers without mercy. You haven’t seen what kind of monster seventy-six is. You can’t trust it.”
There is a silence as Clark has nothing to defend his case.
“But,” Schwartz continues, quietly, “At the same time, I wish I had your optimism about this ordeal.”
Clark tilts his head. “So are you giving Seventy-six a chance at sparring…?”
Schwartz scoffs. “What the hell. What’s the worst he could do? Kill us? That’d be the fastest way out of here.”
Clark can’t argue with that.
***
With that green light, Clark brings Seventy-six to the daily sparring. The first sparring session is tense and careful as Clark tries to spar with Seventy-six while not setting off the possible time bomb that is Seventy-six.
Clark tells himself that the reason he can’t beat Seventy-six even once is that he’s going easy on him.
***
A few days pass with the new routine. Daily sparring, now with Seventy-six, then breakfast, small tasks around Containment area 25b, lunch, more small tasks, dinner, free time until bed.
And yet, every time Clark goes to get Seventy-six for sparring or give him food, Seventy-six is always on the bed. Even during sparring, Seventy-six still seems… dispassionate. Like he’s going through motions. He never protests to the being invited, but he also seems like he would rather be anywhere else.
One morning, just as Clark is about to take Seventy-six back to his room, Schwartz speaks up.
“Wait.”
Clark, Pena, and Seventy-six pause.
“I want to go one more round.” He points at Seventy-six. “With you.”
Seventy-six tilts his head, regarding Schwartz quietly. Clark is just about to tell him he doesn’t have to when he finally steps back onto the padded mat.
The two men settle at the opposite ends of the mat, eyeing at each other for a few moments.
Schwartz moves. A quick step to Seventy-six, fist flying at his face. Seventy-six steps aside, counters with a fist to Schwartz’s side. Schwartz dodges and grabs Seventy-six’s arm. He turns, back to Seventy-six’s chest. He pulls, upsetting Seventy-six’s balance and whips the Sumerian over his shoulder and slams him onto the mat.
Seventy-six lands with a loud THUMP.
For a moment, no one moves or speaks. Clark and Pena stare in stunned silence.
Eventually, Seventy-six lets out a long breath.
“Can I go now?” he asks.
Schwartz frowns. ”Is that all you got?”
Seventy-six is quiet.
”Why don’t you apparate one of those black swords and fight me properly?” Schwartz barks.
Seventy-six sits up, facing away from Schwartz. ”I can’t.”
A beat of silence.
”You… can’t? Can’t what?”
”I can’t summon the swords anymore. Can I go now?”
The guards collectively blink. ”You can’t… summon the swords?” Clark asks slowly, dumbfounded.
”Yes. That is what I said.” Seventy-six stands up. ”Can I go? I am tired.”
Schwartz snaps himself out of his stunned reverie. “Hm… Yes. Yes, you can. Clark. Take him back to his room.”
“Yes, sir.”
After that incident, Schwartz is slightly less irritable and hostile towards Seventy-six. Slightly.
About a week after that, the Foundation announces that they’ll send an agent over to check up on Seventy-six. A few days after the announcement, the agent arrives. She introduces herself as Kata Takala.
“I’ve been lead to understand that SCP-076’s anomaly has neutralized,” she says.
”Neutralized?” Clark asks quietly from Pena as he sets down coffee mugs for everyone, ”Is that what’s going on?”
”I don’t know,” Takala replies mildly, taking out a notepad, ”you tell me.”
”We’re not sure yet,” Schwartz says, throwing a quick glare at Clark. Clark dodges it by pouring everyone coffee.
Takala hums and taps a pen on her notepad. ”What makes you think that?”
”Seventy-six has acted in a very uncharacteristic manner ever since it woke up a month ago. It… Clark, you’ve spent more time with it, right? How did you describe it?”
”Yes, sir. I… hm.” Clark sips his coffee to gather his thoughts. ”Seventy-six has been lethargic and quiet. He only eats, bathes or exercises when I prompt him to.”
”What does he do when you leave him alone?” Takala asks, writing notes.
”He just sleeps, I think. He’s always on the bed when I go to his room. Honestly, agent? I… I think that the way Seventy-six acts are depression symptoms.”
Takala nods and writes it down. ”And he hasn’t attacked anyone for the whole time?”
”No, not once. Even when we’re sparring, I have to take the initiative, otherwise, we’d be standing there the whole day.”
”You spar with him?”
”Yes. We thought that it’d… bring him out of his, uh… funk.
”And we wanted to see if he’s still as aggressive,” Pena adds, lifting a mug to her lips.
”And we found that he is not,” Clark clarifies, just in case.
”Schartz even beat him once and he just asked if he could go back to his room.”
Takala hums again and finishes writing her notes. ”Have you brought up seventy-three to him?”
Schwartz and Pena look at Clark.
Clark hesitates. ”Not yet. We don’t… talk much.”
”Fair enough. Where is he now?”
”In his room, most likely.”
Takala drains the last of her coffee and stands up. ”Right. Take me to him.”
Schwartz frowns. ”You want to meet him?”
Takala sighs. ”I have to. Direct commands from director Moose. I have to make it absolutely sure that Seventy-six is at least non-violent enough to move him to site 17. And talking directly to seventy-six himself would be the best way, unfortunately.” She keeps a stoic face, but Clark can tell she would rather do anything else.
”Honestly, what’s most likely to happen is that he answers you with one syllable to your every question. Or doesn’t answer at all,” Clark says as he was leading agent Takala to the corridor, towards Seventy-six’s room.
Takala grunts. ”I hope you’re right. I’ve just… heard horror stories of seventy-six. A lot of them. It’s hard to shake them from the back of my mind.”
Clark nods. ”Me too. But believe me, he’s changed.”
They arrive at the door of Seventy-six’s room and Clark pauses for Takala’s sake.