Per 
Your frozen breath clings to your reddened cheeks as you trudge through knee-deep snow. You clamp your arms together in the hopes of warmth— if what he told you is true, you only have another few steps to go.
Snow sloshes in your boots around frostbitten toes. At least, you assume they're frostbitten. You haven't felt your toes for an eternity, and your fingers are soon to join.
You can't tell whether time sped by, or if the journey took ages. Either way, you're here.
Your eyes scan the surroundings. Snow in the air, snow on the ground, snow on your gloves, and snow caked into the fur of your coat. The -50°C air bites at your skin, passing straight through the fabric of your heavy coat.
You're really tired of the color white.
A few meters out, you notice a large abnormality in the snow— a protrusion.
With the last of your fading energy, you pull yourself to it. You feel searing pain through your leg as your boot hits something solid as you approach.
Dusting away the snow, you discover a reinforced hatch with a code lock in the center.
He wasn't lying. Hands trembling, you press 5, then 0, then 7.
The wind picks up, nearly deafening you with its ferocity. You punch in "507" once more. Then again. Nothing happens.
Panicked, you rack your memory for the code he told you. It was 507, it had to be 507. You punch in 506, then 508. Nothing happens.
Holding back tears of frustration, you slam your numbed fists into the hatch, releasing an agonized wail into the air.
A moment passes. Then another. You feel you extremities shutting down as you kneel in the gelid slush.
As your vision fades, you hear the hatch hiss.
Then it all goes white.
ACCESSING FILE …
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[ ACCESS GRANTED UNDER EMERGENCY CODE: ZK-XXXX.10.2 ]
Secure. Contain. Protect.
Special Containment Procedures:
Please enter Foundation ID to access image file.
SCP-XXXX is currently under subject of a ZK Class lockdown, and no contact with SCP-XXXX should occur before consensus of the O5 Council.
SCP-XXXX is currently suspended in a cryogenic stasis chamber, and temperature of the chamber is to be examined hourly. SCP-XXXX's chamber should be surrounded by no less than 7 Scranton Reality Anchors (SRAs) at any time, and a Class 5 containment breach is to be declared if any of the SRAs malfunction.
Description:
As to prevent the spread of knowledge of the nature and properties of SCP-XXXX, only the Site Director of Site-67 and members of the Overseer Council are given access to the unrestricted adaptation of this document.
Under cryogenic stasis, SCP-XXXX does not noticably age mentally or physically. If SCP-XXXX were to reach adult age, a reality affecting event will ostensibly occur. The extent and intent of this event remains unknown, and SCP-XXXX shall remain in stasis until it becomes necessary to do otherwise.
No further information will be disclosed without proper identification. Please report to Site-67 with your credentials.
You gasp.
Your feet feel warm.
Looking down at them, you realize they're sitting in buckets filled with hot water. Your toes are purple, and you cannot move them.
Head foggy, you lean forward to stand up, and fall to the floor, tipping over the two large buckets. The hot, murky water diluted with dead skin and pus splashes across the floor, soaking your legs and belly. You've been stripped down to your underwear.
Through the haze of your mind, you finally survey your surroundings. You lie in a lounge constructed of brick, with wooden tables and leather couches scattered about.
"Hello?" You kick the buckets off of your feet, standing up with support of the couch behind you.
The deafening silence of the lounge speaks louder than a response to your call ever could.
You unsteadily drag yourself to the door, pushing it open to be blinded by white light. Stepping out, you find yourself in a white concrete hall.
Anxiously, you call down the corridor.
H..Hello..???
<YOU HAVE THREE NEW MESSAGES> You spin, alarmed at the sudden break of silence. After processing what you heard, you move down the hall in the direction you believe to have heard it come from.
<YOU HAVE THREE NEW MESSAGES> You push open the door closest, and are greeted by a moist, putrid smell. Nearly vomiting, you let the door swing closed. You really hope this isn't where the sound is coming from.
<YOU HAVE THREE NEW MESSAGES> Shit.
Taking your last few breaths of tolerable air, you enter the room. This is an office, and cubicles stretch out across the entire area. This wouldn't be terrible, but decaying corpses sit at each desk.
"Oh.. fuck." The blinking red light of the answering machine catches your eye, and you tentatively step towards the desk. The body of a man wearing a white dress shirt sits slumped over in his chair, and you quickly press the "Messages" button before stepping back to avoid the stench.
<YOU HAVE THREE NEW MESSAGES>
<MESSAGE ONE: LEFT AT THREE TWENTY-FOUR PM>
| "Hey, Jack, it's Crawford from Site-19. We haven't heard from you in a while, is everything alright? As senior staff, it's your job to keep the other sites up to date on what's happening. Call me." |
<MESSAGE TWO: LEFT AT SIX FIFTY-TWO PM>
| "Jack. Crawford. This is urgent. The Hume levels at your facility are coming up as sixty out of one hundred. It's affecting the surrounding towns and Site-102— Get the situation under control before we have to talk to the O5s again. CALL ME. |
<MESSAGE THREE: LEFT AT ELEVEN ZERO-TWO PM>
| "JACK, ANSWER ME. The O5s just came down from 01 and briefed us on SCP-001. Yeah. You heard me. ZERO ZERO FUCKING ONE. International Hume levels are dropping DRASTICALLY, and we don't think the veil will hold for much longer. Your site was built for this specific purpose, so we're sending over SCP-9— I uh, SCP-XXXX. Whoever is still alive over there, initiate ZK-XXXX. We have no idea how the fuck it will react. If I don't call again, I'm probably already on my way there. Stay safe. Call me." |
