The room was cleared. Then the rooms beyond were cleared. Great metal sheets whos only intended purpose was to block out light and sight slid down over each and every door, an unflinching duty. Within the control room, thirty different assurances were checked, go ahead' s from more people than Ian had imagined would be invested in his little situation. Regent, Loanyard and other's he'd never heard of, engineers, automated systems, D-class observes, Higher ups so high Ian wasn't even aloud to know what their clearance level was called. And then it was his turn. Of course, when he was asked to give his authorisation, he said "What…? OH!... sure?" And immediately wanted to punch himself in the face.
Then one of the assistants in the control room activated a switch. It was unceremonious. This step in the briefing he had devised with Regent's help was called '096 Will then be moved to the experimental containment'. The sudden elaboration that followed was…. Terrible.
The large speaker presses up against the first chamber began to rumble first with untampered, soundless volume, then thundering out, the incoherent sounds of some wretched, angry animal.
Loud whimpers began to emanate from within the chamber as the volume and intensity of the noises increased. Then there was crying… and wailing, like somethings vocal chords had been turned inside out.
The most grotesque roar burst through the speakers. The jump in volume was incomprehensible, through the sound proofed walls it sounded like it was inside Ian's head and 096 began to scream in what anyone would identify as terror. The sound, which rattled for longer than any breath should allow, was then followed by a long and literally sickening stream of expletives that would turn the devil's stomach. Some of the foundation workers present began to cry too.
The tone was so deep it made Ian's heart beat out of sync, and it continued until something else within the chambers broke. There was a howl of agony, followed by a loud crash, then another as the sound of crying and loud footsteps moved down the corridor into the smaller chamber. The increasing distance did not make it quieter. The proximity alarms in the room beeped, and surprisingly it was Ian who slammed his hand on the door mechanism trigger. The metal bulkhead sliding into place was inaudible beneath the sound, which had stopped several seconds ago but was still echoing inside the room and his head.
Soon, the calm returned as 096's cries softened but continued, muffled further by the thick metal walls. Ian sighed, partially from tiredness, partially from feeling faint and partially because he didn't know if he would every sleep again, and all those sleepless nights were reverberating back through time and only this moment, concurrently.
A dirty, and quiet deservedly tired little part of his souls wanted to just stab himself in the eye and be done with it. And the part of him that should have fought this urge down was probably having an aneurism from stress.
"I should have worn headphones…" he thought weakly, wishing his sleepless premonitions had warned him earlier that he might need them. He got the sence that he was going to kick Regent between the legs next time he saw him, but in the moment he was more preoccupied, wishing he could just keel over and wake up at home in his bed.
He clenched his eyes shut. Then he took a deep breath. Then he slammed his head against the metal wall, and his two assistants jumped like he'd pulled out a gun. Then he breathed out.
"Alright then!" He said, very loudly, and only for himself though basically the entire site heard him. He was going to do this! He wasn't going to be afraid anymore! He wasn't going to be weak! He wasn't going to run! He wasn't going to let the foundation down! And he was NOT going to die here! And if he WAS going to die, he was at least going to die being useful!
It was an awful pep talk, and he disagreed with half of it, but it was better than nothing, and he really couldn't settle for nothing right now!
Shouldering his bag of supplies, he walked confidently over to the entrance of the first chamber, hopping up the stairs two at a time. That got his heart pumping. He missed running.
He shoved the cover off with his foot, wrapped himself in the climbing harness and threw himself in. he quickly lowered himself down, not fearing the drop or the landing. His form was perfect, smooth decent. If only there had been anyone around to see it. He was just glad he still remembered how. He rappelled himself through the air and landed with ease.
This would have looked completely awesome, if it weren't for the fact that it took Ian a whole minute of fumbling to get out of the harness. It was while he was struggling out of his leash that he realised, maybe he should have been more careful. Maybe he didn't remember how to do this. After finally pulling it off, he threw it at the wall in an attempt to have the last word.
Having a little huff, he shook out the stiffness that had rooted itself in his shoulders, stood up tall and adjusted the bag on his shoulder. Then he realised, belatedly, that he was in a horrifyingly dark corridor. The walls had been painted with an unreflective coating. The minimal light shining in from the hole died where it fell, shining down on him. There was a corner halfway down that turned off to the right and before he could even take a step towards it he suddenly realised that he had looked without thinking. Horrible images of SCP-096 gawking at him, screaming and running full pelt towards him with its arms outstretched, bony fingers reaching, filled his mind. He shivered. He could see it in the dark, whenever his eyes twitched. Two pinpricks of light, the only reflections, everywhere he looked, following his vision.
"Maybe it's alright to be a little afraid." He persuaded himself. He would have liked to curl up in his cell right about now.
In a rather desperate attempt to distract himself, Ian dug into his coat pocket. Instantly, he found something foreign. The doctor tugged on it, slowly, dragging it from his pocket like a snake. It was the piece of orange cloth he had worn as a blindfold when he had visited Arthur. He didn't remember putting it in his pocket. In fact, he had taken it off while still in the statue's room. He'd dropped it on the floor…
"Maybe he thought I would need it." Ian remembered something. He reached back into his other pocket. Finding the unartfully folded scrap of paper and flattening it out, Ian found that it calmed his nerves. The fact that such a drawing existed in this world had baffled a great many people, he'd been told. Loanyard had insisted they take 173's pretty little picture of hope and file it away, as evidence. He had lost that battle soundly, and Ian had kept it on his person, determined that it would not go missing. He folded it in half, then pushed it to his chest, absorbing the wholesome energies held by it's playfully scribbled lines.
He just needed to stay calm and in control of the situation, like he had done with Arthur… mostly.
Ian slowly lifted the blindfold to his head and tied it over his eyes. With one last emboldening squeeze, he tucked away the picture again, next to his heart and began stumbling forward with his arms out in front of him. It was better than holding his eyes shut. After a few moments he stumbled into the wall at the turning point of the corridor. He patted the wall and ran his hands along it, just to assure himself that it was there.
"….…." A chilling whine came down the hall. Ian froze. He couldn't hear anything else over the sound of his own heart in his ears, or the sound of the air rushing around inside his lungs. Buried under everything, realy or inside his head, there was a sound like a tree, creaking in the wind, bare feet patting against cold metal, unintelligible mumbling. The urge to pull up his blindfold was frightful, it was like an itch inside the bones of his wrist, like the skin of his hand was full of tar and not blood.
Darkness was good. Darkness was his friend. The only thing in there that could hurt him needed to be seen to be a threat. So, darkness was good. He closed his eyes tight under the blindfold, for good measure.
All Ian could see were the dancing shadows inside his eyelids, but he had to stay brave or that would be all he would ever see. Because he would be dead.
The right side of his face started stinging, but he had expected that as he had just slapped himself on purpose. "I have to stop thinking like that. I just have to get in there and do my job... No, wait!" he smacked his forehead as a new though cleared his head. "I have to go in there and help this guy!"
Ian had never been a person to do a job because it needed to be done. He could never get something done unless he was passionate about it, and he believed that it was right. Although in retrospect, if he had not been such a charitable person, he wouldn't have offered to help someone find their missing dog, which had led to him finding the ring the foundation had lost.
But that didn't matter now. What mattered was getting through to the shy-guy, and stopping it from being so murderous. Somehow. Ian once again adjusted the bag on his shoulder, despite the contents being actually rather light.
"Right…" he spoke aloud this time, eliciting a response from out in the dark. The doctor turned to face the larger room which now contained the SCP. Stalking loudly down the corridor, guided by the cries of the shy-guy. He ran his hand along the wall as he walked. He absentmindedly noticed that there where marks in the otherwise smooth metal, which must have been cause by 096 while it was running from the awful noise.
As the doctor grew closer to the sounds, which were becoming increasingly more frantic, he noticed that they began moving into the far corner of the room. The sound of scraping and crying grew louder, their area of motion smaller and smaller. Ian couldn't help but notice how terribly afraid it sounded. Its fear was genuine.
"It's almost as if it's forgotten what it can do." Ian mused as he moved to within touching distance. Or that's what he assumed as he could hear the tall creature whining at his feet.
"OK, step one." He thought as he laid the bag down and fumbled for the zip before opening it. The SCP sobbed at the sound of the zip being opened, so Ian stopped moving. As it continued to cry, Ian decided to respond.
"Sssshhhhhhhh…" he cooed quietly. The creature kept whimpering, but its rasping softened. So, Ian tried again. Eventually the Shy-guy was quiet, even though its breathing was still loud. He would have to remember that.
He took a long moment to enjoy the quiet, dropping a knee to the ice-cold floor. He felt for the bag again and reached inside it. It took a while but eventually he found the canvas bag and the string he had asked for. The juxtaposition of the items and the situation made him feel like he should scowl, but when he let into that urge, his blindfold shifted, and he very quickly abandoned that course of action when his heart leapt up into his nasal cavity.
After finding the open end of the bag, he readied himself. Slowly, he reached out towards 096. He and it jumped when his warm hand touched its cold skin. It started crying again, but more shushing from Ian quietened it again.
He tried again, even more slowly than before. Once again he touched the shy creature. It whimpered and shifted but didn't move away. Letting out a heavy, yet quiet breath, Ian began moving his fingers across the SCPs skin. He soon found that himself gripping its wrist. He then moved his hand down its long arm, following it up to its shoulder before leaving his fingers just below its collar bone. His other hand was holding onto the edge of the bag. This plan was so simple, it was stupid.
"Here I go…" Ian lifted the bag up to where his hand was, before manoeuvring it over the creature's head.
There were more sobs followed by more shushing. Finally, Ian took the string, slotted it through the special loops on the bag and tied it off, not too tightly though. This step would have been easier if he had threaded the string… before putting it on… But it was done.
Ian gave a deep sigh, and reached for his blind fold and very, very slowly lifted it off. His eyes stayed shut. They were starting to get sore from being held closed so tightly. His face was sweating, and the moisture was gathering in the creases, rattling his urge to blink.
"No point staling the inevitable", Ian though as he opened his eyes to the darkness.
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WooWeeWooWeeWooooaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah 3 chapters in one week, Huh. This is what happens when... people comment. Apparently I'm very easily motivated.
For real though... I am running out of content that I wrote 7 years ago... so guess what, it's gona be new stuff! On one hand, It will be better, on the other, I have to write it... ain't that just the way.
SO, if you want more of this, and apparently you do, I need more SCP's to write about. Make some suggestions. Make lots of suggestions. If I like 'em, I'll write about em, if not, I won't, its my story, HA.
I feel like I should thank you all for reading this? If you've made it this far, you must have the constitution of a god. I love it when people leave comments, love that little serotonin boost when that email drops, it really keeps me going.
Story Time; I wrote Ian out of spite. Not in a "this guy sucks" way, obviously, but I was in high school and we kept getting fed mediocre writers and poets because they were Scottish, and at the time (and I fully admit this was some kinda internalised racism) I hated it, and I hated them because they were Scottish... I am also Scottish, it was a whole thing. So I wrote Ian for NO OTHER REASON than to get over this "Why does it need to be Scottish" mentality I had. Why does he need to be Scottish? He doesn't, but he Is, its not a big deal. This isn't important, I just kinda wanted to document it.
I used to worry that it would read as forced. Now I realise, it doesn't Heckin' matter, because I love the way I wrote him. It used to make me feel kinda distanced from him, but now it's something that makes me feel closer to the character. I used to try and make it just flavour, but now when I write about him, I think about the place he lived as somewhere nearby.
Theres not realy a moral to this, but if I had to add one it would be... just be kind. give things you have some kinda bias against a chance... If its not hurting anyone, then do you realy need to stand with people who choose hate over love? I'd rather find the few good things in something with pure intentions than pour over it looking for flaws, and I've found that it makes it easier to love.
So, there, if you've made it this far, you get the deep Ian lore, and some wierd philosophical stuff. I'd be worried that my previous statement would be controversial, but, lets face it, if you've read this far into the happy story of a lonely little man who just wants to help the most frightening abominations, then you're alright in my book, and I tip my hat to you.
Stay classy
love wildly
Find the you that you want to be
...
and drink water... cannot stress that enough, it's good for your kidneys!
Next chapter will be soon... Unless I forget... :0
