Ian was sitting on the floor with his legs crossed and had been for five minutes. He was pretty sure that SCP-173 was sitting in front of him. More or less sure, at least. He was sure he could hear it shifting about in the area he was facing, probably examining his new gloves and socks. Ian could just imagine it raising each of his hands up above itself, cocking its head at different angles as if trying to unlock some secret hidden property of the soft gauntlets it was now wearing.
He found himself sighing again. He had only just had time to realize that he was actually quite tired. He lay back and put his hands behind his head. There were a few audible cracks as the bones in his spine stretched across the floor. He let out a yawn and closed his eyes which were still covered by the bits of cloth he had scavenged from his sleeve.
173 scraped over to lie next to his new friend, and Ian presumed that the statue was lying in a similar position to him. It was very odd how quickly this strange creature had not only acclimatized to him, but actually accepted that he wasn't a threat, or even an enemy.
After a few minutes of pondering the phycology of the sometimes-animate object, the Scot found that his eyes were feeling heavy. He yawned again, rolled over onto his side and folded his hands under his head. A few seconds later, he felt the SCP cuddling up into him, like a large cat. It was surprisingly warm... for a statue. He was a little creeped out though but tried to appreciate the sentiment. Its unliving flesh was squirming ever so slightly. He tried of so hard to think of the sentiment.
He felt a mild tightness in his chest and decided that it was a sign he'd had enough for one day. With very little difficulty, Ian began to drift off and was soon asleep, curled on the cold floor, with the SCP snuggled into him. Above them, the lights began again their flickering.
Ian and his SCP friend where both woken by a loud banning. It was coming from the door, and because of its suddenness it caused him to leap to his feet. Having completely forgotten about the blindfold that was strapped around his eyes, the brunet almost tripped over 173, but managed to catch himself and landed on his feet like a cat... but a very unsteady cat, as he continued to over-balanced and had to wheel his arms around to stay upright. Once the Scott regained his stability he reached out his arms and groped around in the air searching for nothing in particular. There was another series of louder impacts that rattled through the metal door to the containment cell.
Ian felt 173 place its bandaged stump on the palm of one of his outstretched hands. The SCP guided the temperately blind man towards the door. Or rather, dragged him.
"...He-hello?... I-is there a..any one still alive in there?...He...llo...?
That voice, oh so familiar as it was, put a blatant smile on the D-class's face. It was the soldier that had escorted him to the room earlier. Not the gruff senior one, but the new recruit, as if the fear in his voice didn't give that away. He sounded as timid as he had looked the first time they had encountered each other.
Ian and the SCP shuffled over to the door, with 173 making little noise thanks to his socks. The Scot lifted his hand up to knock the door, but found himself being dragged backward forcefully. He tried not to yelp at the arm around his stomach as the statue used most of its might to separate him from human contact. Apparently, more company was not appreciated. Whether this was because he didn't want to be paralyzed again by the newcomer, or because it didn't want his new friend to leave was unclear. Both of those things had to happen eventually, but he would cross those bridges when he got to them.
In order to calm it, Ian placed his free hand on its large shoulder. It was vibrating, ever so slightly. He stroked his hand along the SCP's soft skin, and he was relieved that his feet were able to find the ground again. It stopped dragging him and rather reluctantly let Ian lead it back to the door.
The blindfolded man knocked. The metal rattled and a yelp came from behind it?
"A-are you human..?"
Such an innocent question. Yet quite astoundingly unnerving. Ian saw no way around this.
"Yes. I am human. And the SCP's under control" His accent was noticeable but not thick, at least not too thick. And it was most defiantly Scottish. Ian didn't like talking much. It wasn't his style. It was like the saying 'Actions speak louder than words', he didn't need to speak if his actions spoke for him. After all, he had managed to tame an animate statue without uttering a single word.
"...Oh... I see... well... You see... I've got a bit of a problem..." The private let out a shaky breath "It's SCP-106... The electric grid that was supposed to catch it.. it broke, uhh… its offline... It's lose around here and... I... used up all my ammo trying to stop it earlier. I-I read in some of the files that SCP-173's containment cell is acid resistant to stop SCP-106 causing another containment breach. I thought that... if someone else was still alive then I could..." The soldier stopped talking. Ian could hear him shuffling around, kind of awkwardly. After a few moments of thought, Ian had deliberated the problem. He tried not to laugh. "You want to hide in here with me, don't you?"
After a few moments "...Yes..." Ian smiled a little and pulled down his blindfold so it hung round his neck. He looked over to the access door set into the bulkhead. While trying to keep his eyes off 173, he walked over to the door and put his hand in his pocket, fishing out the piece of wire from before. He warped the shape again so it would fit in the new lock and began fiddling with it. There was scuffling from behind him as he worked, and he looked over to see that the statue had moved back into its corner. He gave it an apologetic look and considered leaving the soldier outside, for now at least. This though was interrupted by a violently shrill scream.
"IT'S HERE! IT'S HERE!" the private backed up against the door, batting his fist against it with one of his arms. Ian was in the process of opening. "OPEN THE DOOR! OPEN THE DOOR!" He screamed again and banged on the metal bulkhead, hoping that force would make it open faster. Finally picking the lock, the Scotsman threw open the door. The private fell through it and landed on his back and started to scramble backwards. "CLOSE THE DOOR! CLOSE THE DOOR! CLOSE THE DOOR!" he rolled onto his front and crawled desperately along the floor, yelping at the sight of the second SCP in a 15 meter radius of him.
Ian moved across the doors frame to push the heavy metal gate shut. Then his gaze flew to the area outside of the door when he heard a noise like oil being thrown on a hot plate. His eyes became achingly wide when they fell upon the tiniest glint of white, in sunken, black pits.
Fear like this wasn't natural. It was an instinctual terror, amplified by the mindless, empty shell of the motile being before him. SCP-106 very existence seemed to lacerate his soul.
It was silent, or at least whatever noise its decaying vocal cords were capable of was being drowned out by the roaring of melting concrete. Slabs of matter, stained black, began peeling off the wall, and pooling around the SCPs feet as they emerged through the wall.
Ian stood there. Staring into the abyss, it was like the darkness was closing in.
