Per 
As the air-raid sirens shattered the calm summer evening, the old man looked down and sighed. He was the kind of person that reminded you of your grandfather, the kind of person that always had a lit pipe and candy in his pocket for the children, and a kind smile. But today, that smile was nowhere to be seen. The war had been coming, everyone with half a brain knew it, but somehow the old man had thought maybe, just maybe, humanity would come to its senses.
He chuckled. When was the last time that had happened? Certainly not anytime in these last few decades.
“Sir,” a man stepped out of the shadows. He looked to all the world like a young middle-class businessman, but those with a trained eye could detect the slight bulge of a gun in his trench coat. His eyes had a dangerous glow in them, that of a professional killer. “We should get indoors. There’s no telling what the Russians have got planned.”
“Just a few more minutes, Captain,” the old man answered. He wanted to see the sun one last time before descending into the darkness of his bunker. He gazed out at the sunset, and closed his eyes. Maybe it would all work o-
“Attention, all units!” a radio squawked. “Site-44 has been lost.”
“Sir, we need to get inside NOW!” The young man said. There was no mistaking the edge in his voice.
“Alright, alright,” the old man grumbled. The Administrator looked around one last time, catching a final glimpse of the sunset, before disappearing into the lowest levels of Site-01.
Unattended, the radio continued squawking out its depressing updates. “Site-67 has been lost.”
“SCP-682 has breached containment.”
“Contact has been lost with Site-17.”
“SCP-106 has breached containment.”
This was only the beginning. Within hours, dozens of sites, anomalies, and units were lost. All over the world, people were prepared for the end. Guns were unholstered, barricades erected, trenches dug. World War III had started.
