Disclaimer: I do not own any of the SCP Foundation Mythos or any of its characters. This story is written purely for enjoyment. No profit is being made.

Author's Note: Warning, this story contains profanity and violent scenes.

SCP-085, Cassy as she preferred to be called, was indulging in one of her favourite past-times, namely driving her Ford Mustang around a painting that a Foundation researcher had provided for her. The painting was of a beautiful countryside with endless fields of golden flowers, green grass and a bright blue sky overhead. Of the various landscapes that Foundation personnel had given her to explore it was one of her favourites.

Maybe later I'll go for a walk in the fields she thought with a small smile. As much as she enjoyed driving around in her car it was also nice to take a stroll so that she could fully appreciate her surroundings. The shapes and colours were fascinating, a far cry from the empty white background that was her normal dwelling place.

Just then she heard the loud blaring of an alarm. Immediately she put her foot on the brake and her Mustang came to a halt with a screech. Fortunately she'd worn a seatbelt, just in case. She listened as a voice came over the intercom.

"Attention all SCP Personnel! SCP-106 has breached containment! Site is on full lockdown until further notice."

"Oh no" said Cassy. She didn't know much about SCP-106 but she'd heard enough to know that it was one of the really bad ones. She hoped that the Foundation would be able to get it back into containment quickly.

"I wish I could do something" she said. Although the scientists and agents she had met were all professionals they had always treated her well and she considered many of them to be her friends. The thought of them all at risk of being tortured and killed by a dangerous entity while she could do nothing to help made her feel more powerless than ever. But of course she was just a drawing, limited to a 2D existence and unable to physically interact with the outside world. Offering assistance was impossible.

Cassy hurriedly transferred from the painting to the drawing pad where she usually resided. She had been told to return there in the event of a containment breach so that she could easily be found should it be necessary to relocate her. Both the painting and the drawing pad were laying on a simple wooden desk, the only piece of furniture in the room except for a chair.

Just then the door opened and a Foundation researcher ran in. He was a middle-aged African-American man wearing a lab coat and a pair of red glasses. Immediately he slammed the door closed and backed away from it, his eyes wide with fear and sweat dripping down his brow as he tried to get his laboured breathing under control. She had only met this particular scientist a few times but she remembered that his name was Dr. Blake Stevens.

"Are you okay Dr. Stevens?" Cassy asked, signing the words as she spoke them.

He didn't seem to notice her, his gaze fixed firmly on the door as his mind replayed the events of the last few minutes.

Dr. Stevens had been walking through one of the facility's spotless, utilitarian corridors on his way to type up a report to the 05-Council, nothing important, just a routine update that SCP-173's container had been cleaned out without any incident, when the intercom had announced that SCP-106 had breached containment. He had been hurrying towards the nearest breach shelter when the creature commonly known as the Old Man appeared from around a corner.

Like everyone who worked at the SCP Foundation Dr. Stevens had seen his share of unusual and frightening phenomena, but the sight of the creature froze him in place with terror. It looked like a decaying corpse with wrinkly grey skin, sunken black eyes filled with malice, and a lipless mouth fixed into a permanent ghastly grin that displayed rotten yellow teeth. A foul black mucous oozed from its necrotic flesh, acrid smoke rising up where it touched the floor.

For an unbearably long moment Dr. Stevens stood as still as if his entire body had turned to stone. Then SCP-106 took a single step forwards. That was enough to snap him out of his stupor. He spun around and fled as fast as he could with no idea where he was going. The only thought in his mind was to put as much distance between himself and the creature as possible. Before long though he began to run out of breath, his lungs burning and his sides aching. Finally he came to a door and without really thinking he raced through it.

It'll be okay, it'll be okay he thought as he stared at the door. Security will be here any minute. When that thing has new people to play with it'll forget all about me.

He was so focused on convincing himself of this that he didn't see Cassy trying to sign to him. Nor did he notice a gooey black puddle forming behind him. A faint hissing sound reached his ears but it was too late. A shrivelled, slimy hand burst up from the puddle and seized his right ankle.

"AARGH!" Dr. Stevens howled in agony as the corrosive sludge ate into his flesh, leaving it badly burned. He fell onto his back and tried desperately to crawl away as the dark puddle on the floor grew wider and SCP-106 rose up out of it in its full, horrific glory. The awful skeletal grin on its face seemed to widen as it peered down at him, revelling in his suffering

"Have mercy" he whimpered fearfully as tears streamed his face. He knew that begging for his life was a pointless endeavour. SCP-106 was a sadistic killer, a creature utterly bereft of pity or compassion, but he couldn't help himself. "Please don't kill me! Please!"

The Old Man made a low, raspy noise that sounded vaguely like a chuckle. It spread its arms wide as if for a hug and then leaned forwards until it fell, landing right on top of the petrified scientist. Dr. Stevens screamed in terror as they both sank into a pool of inky darkness, his fear so strong that he barely even noticed the pain of the acidic mucous burning him further.

Not the pocket dimension! Not that! No! Dr. Stevens thought. Within the malevolent creature's realm it had total control of space and time. It would be able to torture him in any way that its twisted mind could devise until it had enough, at which point it would kill him.

As both of them disappeared into the darkness neither one realised that in his panicked flailing around Dr. Stevens had accidentally knocked something off of the desk. A simple drawing pad. It had fallen to the floor with the top page flipped out. About a quarter of that page was now covered by the black sludge, leaving the edge brown and withered. The rest of the paper was blank.