Per 
0. The Wolf at the Door
Imagine you have been on a path. No matter how many times you walked the path, it never ended, and you never reached your destination.
But you kept walking the path, because you knew your destination lay at the end. Inevitably, you would find a way to, finally, reach the end.
Now the path is gone.
What do you do?
1. Secure
You are now Iris Thompson.
You are an amateur photographer. Your favorite camera is a 1982 Polaroid One Step Express camera that your parents bought for you, before you were abducted by a nameless organization that most refer to as The SCP Foundation.
You are taken because you can perform a small wonder. Because you are abnormal. Because you do not fit into the way reality is supposed to be.
You are so young when they take you. Naive and bad at keeping secrets. You are already a total mess, having witnessed the murder of your boyfriend in real time through a photograph, and feeling the strange, terrible guilt of wondering whether you could have stopped it and didn't. You have been intimidated by lawyers and police officers who tell you (falsely) that you are looking at death row unless you tell them everything you knew.
So you do. And no one believes you.
Except someone does.
Your parents are told you were killed by a fellow psychiatric patient. A tragic incident that could have been prevented with better funding. Your parents lose their daughter and are given a cause and a crusade and a mission — to make sure that this never happens to anyone else's child ever again. They are given a photograph of a corpse and a coffin with the correct moral heft.
And so your life in the real world ends. You are examined, catalogued, assigned a containment cell and a designation. An empty number slot, selected at random, one of many others in The Foundation's vast database.
Iris Thompson is dead. Now, there is only SCP-105.
The Foundation is used to imprisoning children, especially children who haven't disbelieved their own abilities yet, in its strange, endless, labyrinthine prisons. Imprisoning a young woman like you is trivial compared to what the Foundation is prepared to do, is doing, has already done.
Not a single member of the Foundation — from the lowest peon to the highest echelons of the organization — loses sleep over securing you, SCP object number one hundred and five.
2. Contain
You squint in the blazing sunlight.
It's been years since you've been outside, in the bright of day. The light is overpowering. You watch your shoes, your eyes shutting every time you have to look up.
You're trying not to have a panic attack. The ordinary outdoor noises of Site-17 are so loud — you're so used to the silence of your containment cell. The unfiltered outdoor air smells alive.
Eyes half-closed, you watch the gray concrete ground. The outlines of walkways. The bottoms of fences, wire and metal. The black boots of the Foundation agents surrounding you.
The agents think you’re shy. They talk amongst themselves like you can't hear them. This doesn't surprise you. Foundation agents tend to either like you, or not see you as human at all. But none of them see you as having much agency.
Half of them sound ecstatic to see you. ("Are you kidding me? I'll take a sweet kid over that crazy-ass Sumerian sword fucker.") The other half sound ashamed, even angry. "What the hell are they thinking? Weaponizing a little girl? Is she even fourteen?")
They are escorting you to Site-17's mess hall. Another SCP is waiting to meet you. They tell you about Omega-7. A team you might maybe get to join. They tell you about Able.
"Don't worry," Agent Hardwick (who you’ve only just met) is talking to you like you might have trouble understanding words. Over-enunciating. "He won't hurt you. He won't hurt anyone we don't tell him to."
You don’t have trouble understanding him, but you do have trouble answering. You’ve been conditioned to silence by the general neglect of Foundation custody. But you can tell you're expected to answer.
"Has he hurt people before?" you ask.
Agent Violette (also only just met) laughs, sharply. "Oh, yes. God yes. Thousands. Thousands just that we know about."
Hardwick sounds unhappy. "Hey. She's just a kid —"
"She's an SCP," Violette says. "Just like Able. If everything goes according to plan, then before you know it… Well…"
The way they're talking confuses you. This all confuses you. You, part of a task force? You, a Foundation agent? Working on 'recon' and 'intel' and 'containment'? The thoughts feel almost as blinding as the sunlight.
"Ignore them, One-Oh-Five." A third agent, Weber, misreading your face as you try to look up at him. You met Weber once before. He's smiling, friendly. Gun holstered this time. "You got a chance here. A chance most SCPs never get. A chance to serve humanity. To protect normalcy. To defend the world as a real part of the Foundation. To aid in the containment of other preternatural artifacts."
You're used to being referred to as an 'artifact'.
"If I were in your position," Weber continues, "I'd do anything for this chance. Anything at all."
You're just grateful you're not in a cell right now. You stare at your shoes.
In the Site-17 mess hall, your eyes finally get some relief. Still too bright, but not like sunlight. And there's people — so many people. This exhilarates and terrifies you.
A small crowd of agents are gathered around a table. They part as your guards approach, giving space.
You stop still when you see him.
A man. He sits, hunched over in a bright blue plastic chair that looks completely wrong beneath him. Tall, muscular, hungry-lean. He's shirtless — his body covered in jagged red tattoos. The air seems to ripple around him, as if with a furnace's heat. Your imagination, surely. He seems like nothing human. He seems like everything human.
This is him. The Foundation's prized weapon. The man, the monster, the SCP, that they'd told you about. SCP-076-2, "Able".
The man who (supposedly) needs to approve you joining Mobile Task Force Omega-7, the one who, perversely, might decide whether you get to have a life outside your containment cell ever again.
You know immediately that he will not like you, that you will be nothing before him, that you will wither under his gaze and turn to ash and dust. Even an ordinary man wouldn't respect a teenage girl, and Able is something more even than a man — something beyond you —
Something inside you rebels at this thought. You remember what Weber said. "Anything at all."
The tattooed man glances your way.
His gaze fixes on you. The way his face moves is unnerving — smooth, fluid, predatory, then suddenly stopping, too quickly for a human — startling enough that at first you don't understand the expression on his face.
Interest. Curiosity.
More than that. Recognition.
You don't understand it now, but later, you will realize what you are seeing: A monster looking at you, and seeing a kindred spirit.
3. Protect
Everyone knows the story of Omega-7, which is to say, the story of Able.
How the military arm of the Foundation, in their arrogance, led by a general named Bowe who no one could say no to, weaponized one of the most dangerous humanoid SCPs in the Foundation's containment.
How they denied that anything would go wrong — that Able could be trusted, even after the collateral damages began stacking up, even after his boredom and bloodlust started becoming less and less easy to sate, even after his behavior became more erratic and he started saying the strangest things, like prophecies no one quite understood. How they kept using him, how they said it was for the Foundation's protection, how they toyed with the idea of officially reclassifying him as Thaumiel classification — right up until the man (the monster) ripped off his collar and slaughtered most of the Omega-7 team, and took untold other lives in the process.
Not everyone knows the story of Omega-7, which is to say, the story of Iris.
They tend to not think much about you. You, the Safe-class SCP. The girl who cleverly won her way onto Omega-7 (impressing a monster who was, for everyone else, infinitely hard to impress), who pretended to lose her powers to escape from the Foundation (to escape being forced to become an assassin), who'd been released from Foundation custody and then brought back in.
You are there, when it happens. At Yellowstone, when the volcano explodes.
Your former team members go find out what happened. They are only there because of you — because they were trying to take you home.
They won't let you go with them. You'd tried to escape the Foundation. You are no longer a member of Omega-7.
You are in a helicopter being flown away, back to containment, when you first hear about the slaughter.
You beg your guards to let you intervene, to stop the deaths of everyone you know and love. You beg to save "Team Iris", to reach through a satellite image and wrap a garrote around 076-2's neck, to make the kind of kill you'd run from the Foundation to avoid.
You have no way of knowing that it is too late.
You cannot know that the timelines are already merging from Incident Zero, shuddering in the echoes from the bomb about to go off in the heart of time, even before the moment when Able puts a sword through the transdimensional heart of the terrible gleaming flower at the end of the world.
In some timelines, Able has killed your friends already. In other timelines, he will never kill them at all, but will take the blame. All those timelines are the same now. In every time, they are doomed.
And so it is in the new timeline in which you now unknowingly live.
It will always be so. For none now exist in the world who remember otherwise.
You do know that if you had not run, Team Iris would not have been there at all. And even if they had, you would have been allowed to go with them, on the final mission of Omega-7.
You would have been allowed to protect your friends, to stop Able, or die trying.
You will think about this as you cry your eyes out for weeks afterward, months, even years, alone in a containment cell, believing (even though it isn't true) that you will never see the sun again. Believing, secretly, that this punishment is just.
In time, the grief will fade, slowly. You will stop, deliberately, thinking about the guilt, suppress as best you can.
In time, you will make new friends. The Foundation will try to assign you friendlier guards at Site-17. They will even allow personnel to call you by your real name again. But nothing else will change, for a long time.
They will keep you locked in a containment cell for nine years.
During those nine years, you will grow up. And despite what you pretend, you will never forget.
0. The Wolf at the Door
You will make your own path.
And this time — this time, you will reach the end.
