"Dr Kyles." Loanyard said, in a way that was almost a greeting. Ian had been sitting across from him at his desk for ten minutes. He did not look like he had slept since they had last spoken. He did not look like he had slept since before he had been born.

"Dr Loanyard." Ian replied, candidly, slouched back in his chair. Loanyard sighed, and Ian wondered if he should tone the liveliness out of his voice to keep from overexerting his sapped and desaturated brain. He desided not to.

Loanyard blinked like he was trying to stave off butterflies attempting to crawl into his corneas, and then asked, shockingly, "How are you?"

All of Ian's facial features shifted upwards.

"Aye, I'm alright." He answered. He couldn't say the bed adjacent to his office was anything more than practical, but practical was apparently all he needed these days to be out like a light as soon as he was horizontal. It mildly came to mind that they might be drugging his water.

Loanyard hummed, and it held no meaning whatsoever.

"So, what are we up to today?" Ian interrupted his next extended lapse into silence before it began. The course of the conversation was almost normal.

"We," Loanyard started, after pushing his glasses back up his nose. "Have an obligation to fulfil, as part of the requirements for your continued access to level 2 resources." He explained and, both agreeably and terribly, recaptured some of his typical condescension and boredom. His tone was practicaly neutral. Ian didn't know what he disliked more, the tone or the content.

"What now?" He blinked.

Loanyard fully removed his glasses from his nose.

"In order to access your doctoral status," He said, twiddling with the hinge of his frames, pointing roughly to Ian's hanging ID. "We have to prove that you are a useful asset to the foundation."

Ian who had sat up, immediately slumped again.

"Why am I not surprised?" The words would normally only dance on the tip of his tongue, but this time he said them allowed and did not regret it.

"The situation with SCP-096 is not yet considered stable." Loanyard spoke like he was trying to bore a classroom full of children to death. Ian let his head roll back.

'Of course it isn't.' He thought but didn't say.

"It was desided that you would be exposed to several SCP's in order to evaluate the utility of your presence on this site."

If Ian's mouth had been full of priceless wine he would still have spat it out at that. As it was, he choked on air.

"You mean you stuck me in there with creepy Murder-hands… As a Test?" He spluttered and sat up again, trying his best not to leap over the desk. Loanyard only stared at him.

"Yes."

Ian took a standard, inward breath, then flopped backwards like a severed mannequin.

"It was desided that you should not be told about this in advance." Loanyard finished and replaced his glasses. He almost, almost sounded sympathetic. Ian might have nodded, but he wasn't sure.

"Given the current… Nature of 096's… situation, I was instructed to terminate this… arrangement. However, I was able to make a case for its continuity, but there are measures that need to be taken."

Ian continued staring at the ceiling. "Uh huh…"

There was the sound of paper rustling and something weighty being slapped onto the desk before him.

"We have been asked to produce a positive result on another harmful entity."

"…Uh huh…"

"I haven't personally worked with it. That seems incredibly fortunate in this instance."

Ian might have nodded again.

"Dr Kyles, this is very important." Loanyard scolded. Now he was sounding more like its old self.

Ian looked up. There was protest from his neck, and he couldn't help but think that that was the result of a merely practical bed. He was about to give up again and flop down into lifelessness when his eyes caught on the folder before him. It was decently hefty.

"Would you be mad if I asked you to summarise it?" He asked, still lounging, and Loanyard stood in response. He stepped out from behind the desk, rounded it and, to Ian's horror, put his hand on his shoulders.

"You had best read it yourself. Stand up."

Ian stood, even though every fibre of his body told him not to. He quickly discovered why when Loanyard placed both hands on, and then firmly squeezed, his shoulders.

"This is of the utmost importance. You must not tell ANYONE about this. Do not mention the procedure. Do not mention the SCP." Loanyard stared like a hard winter through his glasses.

"Ah, is it because of the memes?" Ian asked, actually less worried than the unworried state he had been in prior to the revelations he was currently trying to forget.

"Do not. Mention it. Not to the guards, not to your little friend in the Euclid containment. Absolutely Not to Regent." Loanyard stared, firmly ignoring his question, quietly bulldozing all others before they were even asked.

Ian blinked.

"Alright…" He muttered in reply.

"I cannot stress enough, you must keep this between us. The reason is far more complex than the nature of memetic agents." Loanyard pressed. His glasses were slipping down his nose.

"Ok, Ok, I get it! It doesn't leave this room!" Ian attested, and brough his own hands up to Loanyard's shoulders. He fought off the urge grab and shake him like a stubborn vending machine.

"Do not tell Regent."

"Alright, I promise!" He replied, feeling almost like he would trot himself down to Dan's office after this and tell him everything. The next thing he knew, the folder had been pressed against his chest.

"Sit." Loanyard insisted, adjusted his glasses and went to sit in his own chair.

"What?" Ian asked, not sitting.

"Sit there, read it. The procedure starts tomorrow."

"What?!" Ian choked and almost dropped the folder, still not sitting.

Loanyard didn't reply, he simply peeled a healthy stack off of one of his numerous piles of paperwork and set about writing. Ian dropped his shoulders and then dropped himself into the chair. He lay there, almost horizontally slouched. Loanyard scribbled on in the background of his hearing. Eventually, he braved a look at the front, levering it up off his chest. Printed in that heartlessm, lifeless font, on a square of white in an ocean of beige:

SCP data file:

Compiled: Dr J. L.

Verified: Dr P. P.

035

Keter


.

.

.

Ian sat, very still, relaxed in his chair, in his office, with his finger his chin. He was staring off into the corner of the ceiling. His eyes were creased in peaceful thought.

"Well?" Loanyard asked, sitting across from him, arms folded very tightly. Ian nodded, still deep in contemplation.

"… I'm going to need a sledgehammer."

"Dr Kyles it's not that simple."

"It could be."

Loanyard gave a sharp sigh and brought his fingers to the bridge of his nose, not for the first time today.

"This situation is very delicate."

"Don't tell me," Ian started, rolling around in his chair. "I think I've figured it out."

Loanyard gestures for him to go on, exasperated but fully alert.

"It's cause' half your buddies are it's crazy mask cultists." He finished, joking overtly, raising one eyebrow and making a face. Loanyard didn't laugh or even roll his eyes. He just sighed again.

"That is a very insensitive way of putting it… but essentially…" He didn't finish, and there was another sign.

The reasons for Loanyard's excessive discretion were being slowly illuminated. For Ian it felt like trying to find a naked rat in a deli counter, in the middle of the night, with only a match.

"So, I can't tell Regent becaus-"

"Because he may attempt to compromise the procedure, yes." Loanyard stabbed in, blunt as a concrete slab. Ian blinked.

"…What…?" He muttered. Regent was odd, strange even, could talk a steel wall into submission. Ian would not call him a traitor.

Loanyard closed his eyes very tightly. He clasped his hands together and bowed his head.

"… Dr Kyles… we must not allow this procedure to fail. We must therefore focus on the task and not allow it to be disturbed by our personal attachments." He spoke slowly and said every word with clear precision. The disconnect between the words and the lagging context was enough to put stars in his eyes.

Ian's mind, not soothed, raced with theories and feelings. The file, despite its lack of gore and terror, had made him sick to his stomach. The heartless, dare he say soulless creature squatting inside a perfectly innocent, if creepy theatre mask, utterly empty of compassion or respect for life or sanity, made him want to vomit like he'd been poisoned. The thought of it wrapping its will around someone, reducing them from who they were to an obedient drone with words alone, tormenting anyone that defied it, revelling in the death of anyone it could end. He had bitten the inside of his lip so hard it had bled like a river. This had sent him to the infirmary again. He had almost choked at the notion that the soft handed nurse could have been anywhere near that monster. That it's whispers might be prickling in their ears, that it's voice might ring in their head as they tried to sleep. Just thinking about it made him want to thrash like he had a fever. His mouth was so full of questions and curses he couldn't even summon up another meaningless sound of confusion. Eventually he spat something up.

"What do you mean about Regent?" He asked softly and menacingly, like the source of his confusion had been one hundred years ago. Loanyard dared to breath and not answer him.

"I don't believe it is necessary for you to know any more."

Ian stood up. How many hours had he spent reading up on the terrible effects of the monsters in this place in the last day? He was almost certain it had been all the hours he had been awake. The idle curiosity of pouring over filibustering documents to draw his mind away from the demon he was expected to face was now congealing into a terrible mesh of realisation. The inside of his head was being coated in a veneer of anxiety.

"Actually, I think I bloody do." He stated, loudly. "Do you even know what getting me involved with this could do to him?" He spouted, suddenly caring about a great many things heading in far too many directions.

"I have considered it extensively." Loanyard said carefully but didn't meet his eye. Ian twitched.

"And you don't think maybe it could have, oh I don't know, an unexpected effect?"

"We do not expect dangerous results for formerly expos-"

"And who the hell is We?!"

"Dr Kyles, Please!" Loanyard was suddenly standing, and as stern as a rock. "Regent is lucky enough to be alive, let alone still cognizant, but he is, and if you wish for him to remain that way, it would go no short way towards helping if we could dampen the effects of SCP-035, do you understand?"

Ian flexed his jaw like he was talking but not even air came out.

"The fact that this procedure is being permitted is more of a shock than you could possibly know. We cannot waste this opportunity."

Ian ground his teeth together. Loanyard breathed very hard.

"… We had best get to it, haddent we?" He stated, not asking. Ian had the heart to snarl. He didn't. He followed after Loanyard as he marched out into the hall, not even pausing to wait for the one person he actually needed. Said person swallowed hard and charged off after him.

The halls were empty. There was no one here. Most doors were sealed. Those that weren't had the minimum number of guards they could get away with. Doctors Loanyard and Kyles beat steadily downwards, taking familiar and then unfamiliar turns.

'Inanimate entity storage' Passed them along the walls, in great, yellow letters. The concrete was painted in a dark grey. White lines marked a walkway down the centre of the corridor, and pathways into the vaults. The doors looked bomb-proof, Nuke-proof, if that was even possible.

Then the walls drew in closer, windows looking into the storage spaces were so thick that light could barely make it through the glass. They turned through tight corners and ran headlong into a pair of guards who peeled away and hauled open the door without question or provocation.

They suddenly stopped. They were inside a cozy little chamber, preceding a great, steel door. They were not alone. Along the farthest wall from the containment stood a guard in white and black flack armour, riffle in hand, and an older woman, with a mop and bucket, dressed in D-class orange.

Ian said nothing. He wanted to speak. He couldn't.

Again, Loanyard took his shoulders, and spun him, to look in his eyes, and again every cell in Ian's body protested.

"You will enter the chamber. You will say nothing. You will do nothing."

Ian's teeth creaked.

"Do not report any effects. Do not touch the SCP."

His jaw cracked. Loanyard made a motion, letting go, and the guard stepped up to the door, pulling it open. The D-class followed and stepped inside. Something pushed Ian's back. He passed through the door. It was closed behind him. What he saw in the sliver of light before the dark set in

The walls were red… and brown… The floor was congealing in pools. The pedestal in the centre was black with muck, and sludge. Sat atop it, under a glass case, a white mask, with a smug, broad smile.

Then it was dark.

The dark of the cell he had crawled into before, lightless, and cursed by a blindfold, had been a gently shrouding force. This was a mask of steel, wrapped around his face.

But he could see.

The blackest red stung his retinas, picking out every surface like he was wrapped in layer upon layer of skin, and that was all that protected him from a light that could have birthed a universe.

He could see that smile. Ian could almost find it in his form to frown. He felt the twitch in his muscles… he couldn't move.

Beside him in the dark, the D-Class abandoned her mop and bucket. Her pocket jingled and she retrieved a set of keys. Splashing in the puddles of filth on the floor, she stepped up behind the pedestal, pushing they key into it. She turned it. There was a click. She lifted off the glass. She placed it on the ground.

She reached for the mask.

"Don't! Please don't do that!" Ian shouted, unwilling to stop himself. His voice echoed around the room. Her hand paused. In the blackness, he could almost see the whites of her eyes. He wondered if that was the reflection of his sympathetic pleading he could see in them, or if it was her own. She blinked slowly, grasping minutely. Ian reached over the mask and took her wrist.

"Please don't touch it."

She blinked again. Her lips parted. He could hear Loanyard's sour expression through the walls. He shook his head slowly, mouthing a silent 'no'.

"… It can't be that bad." She said. He had never heard someone so sure, so confident, so unfazed, and so empty. So drained of everything. She pushed against his hold.

Ian had nothing to say. No rebuttal. He could only hold on as she reached down, now shaking, and took the mask. She raised it to her face. He let go.

The porcelain met her skin. She tensed. She twitched. She lurched. Her neck rolled all the way back. She hung there, still standing but limp, like a puppet on a string. Then she stood up, stretching back, arms contorting, skin blistering in black boils around her neck, and reached up into a relaxed stretch. She rolled her fingers around the edge of the pedestal and stretched her back. The lights flashed. They flickered and chugged and turned back on.

"Oh, how long it's been." She chimed, and she did not sound like her anymore. The body rolled it's neck again, turning towards him two deep, black sockets. It looked him up and down. He didn't move, save for his ragged breathing and the shaking of his balled fist. The mask tilted.

"…That was a very kind thing you tried to do." It said. It's assurance was so tender. So delicate. Despite himself, Ian felt the anger loosen from his shoulders. He took a deep breath, and closed his eyes. He thought of Loanyard's instructions. He ignored them.

"You killed her. Do you know that?" He spoke with a bedevilled calm. Looking again, it was still stood there, like a statue. It's neck twisted, an unnatural motion, but it held the hollow echo of pity.

"There are far worse things, in this miserable place, than death." It said. The ounce of condescension in it's tone was far too much like a gentle hand on his shoulder, the juxtaposition of reassurance and understanding in that voice. Ian had no reply.

"If it were not me, it would have been something else. Something wilder. Something cruel. And if it were not something else," It spoke easily. There was a shadow of a shadow of anger, pity, remorse. "Then it would have been them… But you know that."

It tilted its head, and from its leaned posture, it's face was almost straight. It stood up, ambled closer with a limpness about it's limbs. It stepped around the podium, but stopped when Ian stepped back. It perched it's stolen hip upon the crumbling surface.

"I've heard about you." It stated. Was that eagerness or foreboding?

"Have you now?" Ian replied, dripping with something more venomous than sarcasm. It nodded slowly, crossing its arms, slumping to the side. Something black was bubbling inside it's neck.

"So is it true then? You are the man that cannot be killed?" It asked, simpering almost, leaning.

"I'm surprised you haven't heard that too." Ian retorted, crossing his own arms. It shrugged vaguely.

"There is no better source than straight from the horse's mouth."

Ian could feel an ache in his left temple. It was crawling backwards towards his spine. He felt something sink in his stomach. He stretched his neck. It cracked.

"And they gave you a badge." It observed the smears along the walls. There was a chill emitting from its expression-locked eyes. It wasn't pity. It was worse. It was subtler… and it was knowing.

Ian's hand went to his lanyard, bumping into the ID hanging there. Almost in verification, he turned it to face him, read the words there. There was no image of his face. There was only the closed lock of the foundation's logo, his rank, and his name.

O-2

Dr I. G. Kyles.

The pale orange of the card looked almost sickly in the tinted light bouncing off the ichor-coloured walls. 035 pried no more. It's evaluation only intensified. It tilted its head, first to one side, then down, then to the other. It seemed pleased. Ian was suddenly begging himself not to say any more.

"At least they seem to be keeping you well." It stated, with something in its tone that had skinned kindness alive and was now wearing its face. It was a sweet and noble smile, with a knife behind it's back. It was begging for a rebuttal. Ian was biting the sore part of his lip, choking on an 'Um, actually.'

035 stared, only shuddering imperceptibly under it's face, it's stolen eyes were not blinking. Suddenly, without the prior shuffling of humanity, it craned it's neck, stretching with too much efficiency.

"Oh it has been too long…" It muttered, almost as if to itself. It tilted it's head back to Ian, the angle of the lights casting it's expression in a maniacal light, even as its body was twisted in a sort of relaxation. It regarded him a second longer. "… I don't suppose I could ask you to open the door for me?"

"You what?" Ian spluttered. 035 tipped it's head amiably. It was a sickening motion.

"I assumed you had the authority to do that." It explained, as if they were speaking about the weather. Ian felt mildly like someone had yanked on his oesophagus. Did he have that authority? He had not even thought about it. He didn't have a choice about going in. With 096 he had needed to enter and leave. Here? Was he even expected to leave? The swirling thoughts should have been stirred further by the sympathetic sigh of his cell-mate. Instead, they ground to a halt.

"Alright now, I've got a question." He said, suddenly sharp. 035 was unphased.

"Go ahead." It invited, twisting it's arm, and its neck.

Ian nodded, exuberantly, itching to ask, entirely not waiting for an invitation.

"Why are you such an arsehole?"

035 twitched. It juddered. It made a minute adjustment to it's limbs.

"…What?"

Ian continued nodding.

"You know, a wanker? A prick? An absolute bastard?" He gesticulated around, trying to illustrate his point in the air.

035 looked around, as if the question had been misattributed.

"Cause I get being angry, I could understand that I'm bloody furious right now," Ian barrelled on, not waiting for or wanting a reply, feeling an ache on his knuckles. 035 twitched further. It was a far more mortal motion. It looked like it was trying to muster up something like shock.

"And let me tell you, I could be the angriest guy alive, and I'd still never do Any of the shite you've done." Ian continued, baring his teeth, and finished with a pointed, "What the hell is wrong with you?"

035 was speechless. Either because it was utterly incapable of providing an answer, or because it had been struck dumb by the audacity of the accusation.

A squirming knot of more vitriolic sentiments tied itself up in the back of his throat. He could practicaly hear Loanyard banging his head against the wall, so with great difficulty, he choked them back down.

Under its mask, 035's ill-gotten eyes were darting. Its body was spasming like it's stolen heart was trying to wriggle free of its chest. It's jaw was working, soundlessly, behind it's face. It was frowning now.

"I-… It's my na-… When you get to-… They needed me to tell-… Who are you to ask-… When I-…"

Over and over, it tried and failed to put an answer past it's lips. Each one started and abruptly ended with the same tone of sincere disbelief, like it couldn't find something to say that it realy believed to be true.

"Does it matter?" It tried, still sickeningly dissatisfied with it's own answer, trying to squirm out of the conversations path, like a rat in a trap.

"Aye, it does." Ian stated, after a hearty moment of trying not to.

035's jaw flapped again. Ian would have been a liar it he said he wasn't enjoying its suffering. At least this suffering was mild… and justified, he told himself.

"… I-" It tried again. Ian felt sick again. Not from something trying to dig its way into his brain. Not from awful tales of suffering and the laughter it begot. He felt sick because when he heard that rancid, fallible, trembling syllable, his lips parted to impart comfort. Holding the words in coated his tongue in a bitter sludge.

"…I don't-" 035 started, and then forced itself to stop. Again, the sympathetic slime lurched in his mouth.

Slowly, it stilled, like a bubbling pot removed from the heat. It twisted its neck, the veins running black there, dripping. It's eyes were closed beneath it's porcelain shell, Ian could see them when the angles of it's neck allowed the light into the crevasse. When it looked to him again, it was utterly still, like it had clamped its hands over the shifting pieces of its crumbling façade.

"… Perhaps there is some merit to the rumours." It said. It's candour had dried up, though it's inhuman charm remained. "What a fascinating little trick." It commended, wryly, and rather than feeling put down, something too bold was bolstered in Ian's chest. 035's visage was locked into a tragic frown, but it felt like it was scowling.

Nestled beside the tiny part of his heart that was celebrating the irritation of the SCP, he was breathing a sigh of relief that his ungodly luck was holding out. 035 stood up to it's full, stolen height, no longer leaning on it's pedestal, no longer slouching into itself.

A line of something black and thick trickled from the corner of its eye.

"I do wonder just how well it works."

Ian swallowed a mouthful of air.

"I wouldn't suggest testing it." He suddenly struggled, not sure who he was defending. The black liquid worked its way down through the creases of it's mask. It began dripping off the chin in a steady stream. Where it landed, on clothes and concrete, began bubbling and melting away. Ian wished he had spent more time memorising it's data file. Ian lifted his hand up quickly, jumping upon the realisation that his unwelcome companion was inching closer, like a vengeful cloud.

"Ah… It's never easy, is it…" Ian conceded, not quite considering just how hard his time at the foundation could have been. 035 stretched its neck. There was an audible pop.

"Not for you, I have all the time in the world…" It muttered, calm as a breeze on a summer morning, before a hurricane came rushing in.

Ian already knew what was going to happen. Unfortunately, he had already backed himself against the door.

035 leapt at him. One hand went to his throat, the other went to the edge of it's mask. It's fingers hit his windpipe in its softest spots and the air stopped dead halfway to his lungs. His foot found it's hip and shoved, but lost purchase and slipped.

The mask, now that mocking grin once more, was peeling away from it's face like the cover of a book. Great sheets of that caustic, ink-black liquid cam pouring out from behind it. The stolen hand of the now dead D-class was melting away, leaving dripping ichor and grey stained bone.

"Don't struggle!" It advised, it demanded, it begged. Ian kicked it again. The liquid was pooling in the folds of his shirt, dripping down his lab coat, collecting around his shoes. His key card dropped from his neck and clattered into the puddle. The juice was achingly cold, a clawing, pressing cold, until the moment it reached his skin. He felt the touch, felt it gnawing his body. He felt it over the fading in his limbs as his blood ran short of oxygen. Someone was banging on the door.

Something hissed down his neck. The face leaning in, the face beneath the face, the skull, running black with that liquid, was looming so close he could feel the cold stretching out from it. The streams tightened into lines which ran as black as midnight straight down past the collar of his shirt. The hissing grew louder.

There was a burst of heat. The fizzling became fiercer, spitting out instead of biting down. Ian could not look, but he felt the fingers loosen. The mask faltered on it's approach to encompass his face, it flinched, it retreated back, but not without another firm kick from Ian. It stumbled into it's former pedestal.

Ian gasped, fighting desperately the urge to keep kicking. The metal of the door stung at his back and stars darted in his vision. Coughing and spluttering, trying and failing to push himself up out of the doorway, the black ooze was still spitting, jumping away from his body in what looked like sparks. He looked down at his disintegrating shirt and, like an idiot, in his stunned panic swept his hand down what was left of the fabric, pushing off a slab of the ichor, and coating his hand with it.

"Crap!" He spat, trying to wipe his hand on the wall. He stared at his doomed fingers, but was shocked to see when his darting eyes shifted out of his control, 035 was doing the same.

Another spark flew from his fingers. Then more came, flecks of white growling and leaping. They made his skin tingle, and they were hot. He opened his mouth to make a sound of dismay but was beaten to it.

035 was shaking it's hands, it's arms, sending droplets of black splattering around the room. It moved like it was being bitten by a swarm of ants, like it's skeleton was in backwards.

The sparking calmed along Ian's arms. Where the liquid had bubbled and spat, it had thickened, and lightened. A milkiness was spreading under its surface tension. He pulled back his shirt, looking to where his skin had been bitten and chewed. White was pushing through the black, across his torso, seeping back up through his clothes.

035 came to stop against the far wall. It was staring at him, both hands pressed to the concrete. The black was still leaking from its eyes. It's body was half saturated in the stuff, it was melting away, but it stayed standing. Ian stayed pressed against the door. The puddle below his feet was slowly turning white. Diffracted colours were dancing on its translucent surface.

Neither of them moved. Ian could hear the fist still being pounded against the door behind him. 035 was breathing hard. It juddered. Slowly it reached up a hand, evaluating it before it's weeping, frowning visage. It's half-skinned hand had only the thinnest veneer of it's poison coating its surface. No white droplets sprang from it's dripping body. It was trembling.

With no haste at all, it lifted it's fingers, slower than glacial ice, towards it's face, towards it's eye. The digits did not reach the greasy porcelain before they jumped away, a flash of white snapping out from inside. It whimpered. It's empty sockets started hissing. It yelped, reaching into the gaps, then covering it's eyes over completely. It scrapped and clawed at the lines of its face, trying to wipe itself clean of the corruptions corruption. The black flow was stifled by lines of white. Try as it might, it couldn't shake the change. It moaned like a clogged vacuum cleaner, watching the new liquid drip from it's hands. It turned it's head towards Ian, body hunched, eyes dripping a solid white, that dripped like rain off its chin.

"You…" It murmured, shaking. Staring around in disbelief, it looked ready to collapse before dropping to its knees. Unable to help himself, Ian stepped forward.

035 stood again, lurching up. Then Ian was the one to drop as the glass case it had been held underwent flying over his head and smashed against the door. It shoved what was left of its crumbling pedestal out of its way and took several great, heavy steps towards him.

Sliding on the now harmless white film, Ian shoved himself into the corner, scrabbling to pull himself up the sticky, blood slicked wall. 035 was skidding too, but it's intent was very clearly set. Ian bit his lip.

The door flew open. The muzzle of a gun appeared past the frame. It barked and flashed and 035 was struck in the chest, arms and legs. Ian didn't have time to cover his ears because his hand was already shoving the barrel harmlessly up to the ceiling.

He cursed and spat at the pain of the gunpowder-heated metal. The chamber cracked, something jamming itself so hard against the door above the clip that it bent outwards, The trigger clicked uselessly. 035's stolen corpse dropped its mask.

Hissing and cradling his hand, Ian stepped back from the sharp look of the armed agent. They very quickly retreated, shouting some order or other at him through the door. He stood there, holding his hand, not able to make himself look at what was left of the D-class.

He retrieved his ID from the floor. It had been half eaten by the corruption, the last vestiges of the clip and lanyard letting go as he lifted it. He looked to 035, where it rocked back and forth, abandoned face down in the filth of it's own making.

"… Arsehole…" Ian muttered, and wandered back through the door, which was pulled shut behind him.

Loanyard said nothing as he passed the two guards stood outside the anti-chamber. The guards said nothing, though they did both look at him extensively. He was half-clothed, missing most of one shoe and all of the other, and his shirt. His hair was full of slime. He said nothing either, though he did offer Loanyard a terribly rude gesture.

A group of cleaners appeared at Loanyard's nod, and bustled past Ian as soon as he was out in the corridor proper. He vaguely recalled being looked over for any lingering spots of corruption. He could hear something metal being levelled at his back as he made to leave.

Loanyard, still silent, took his arm and led him back towards the floors exit, back through the Safe containment, exposed sock and bare foot slapping wet against the concrete. Calls were being made into and from Loanyard's Radio.

He found himself being shoved into a squat little room that was, compaired to the rest of the facility, crawling with people. Three medical personnel pulled him into a chair opposite a wiry little woman and started cutting his clothes off. He was suddenly being prodded with cold, wet rags, and questions. Someone was mopping his body and squeezing the rag into a vial. He swatted them away very quickly. The questions weren't exactly very comfortable either.

"How long was your exposure?"

"What information, if any, did 035 give you?"

"What information did you give 035?"

"Were you manipulated or coerced in any way?"

"Do you have any urge to end your life?"

He answered as truthfully as he could be bothered to, and very briefly, and fortunately able to default to a negative "Nothing" or "No". When they tried to take his trousers off, he thought he might start kicking again.

Finaly he was left to sit alone, wearing an outfit even more bland than the one he had been wrapped in before, and certainly less flattering. The dull beige brought out the bags under his eyes.

The door was closed. All that remained of his encounter were a few drops of drying liquid on the floor, and his mangled ID. They'd tried to take it. They had not succeeded. Ian stared at it. Then he stared at the table. Then he stared at the door.

He had the authority.

The door was not locked. There was a guard stationed outside. They raised their hand to stop him, but he simply levelled a pointed finger at them.

"Stay Here." Was all he said. His order was obeyed, but he was striding barefoot up the corridor before he could be shocked.

There was only one place on this base he wanted to be right now, and he was going to go there, Loanyard, and the foundation, be damned.

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Ian stood outside the office of Daniel J. Regent. He had knocked, then he had knocked again. He planned to knock a third time. He hadn't exactly been conservative with the number or volume of knocks. When he did knock again, he added more than a few extra notes, and was hardly subtle. His knuckles were starting to hurt. There was no answer. He waited, tapping the doorframe with his fingers. He knocked again and wondered what would happen if he ran headfirst into the door. Would the lock fail and let him in? Or would he just be terribly, terribly concussed? Before he could work himself up to trying it, a figure appeared at the end of the hall of doors. If Ian had one guess who it was, even if he were wrong, he would not have wanted to be unshielded in the corridor. He tried the handle of Regents door… again. The metal door didn't even shake when he rammed his shoulder against it, an action he immediately regretted. All attempts quickly ran out of steam at Loanyard's frowning face inserted itself into his peripherals.

"I told you to stay put."

"Well I didn't hear you." The pair exchanged, as dry as the surface of mars. Loanyard breathed hard through his nose.

"I need to debrief you." He huffed and Ian sighed.

"And I need a nap."

"Dr Kyles-" Loanyard was interrupted by Ian once again banging on Regent's office door. "What are you doing?" He snapped in a whisper.

"I can't get into my own bloody office can I?" Ian snapped back, much less quiet, waving his deformed badge in Loanyard's tight little face.

Turning away and breathing very hard in a structured, therapist mandated sort of way, Loanyard rubbed at the bridge of his nose. Suddenly feeling seconds from giving up entirely, Ian slumped against the wall, letting his head fall limp against the door in one final knock.

"We will discuss todays procedure… Later." Loanyard conceded. All things considered it was a very generous offer.

"We will, Aye?" Ian snarked, still slumped like a mop against the wall. He was waiting for another stinging addition, and since he had nowhere to go, he saw no harm in taunting it, and Loanyard.

"But since we're here," The doctor continued, as if Ian had kept his mouth shut. "There is another thing we need to discuss." He pushed past, knocked, and scanned a key card. It wasn't a levelled access pass, and it unlocked the door. Ian had been told that was not possible. They pushed into the room.

It was much the same as it had been. There were fewer things on Regents typically uncluttered desk, the chair of which was also empty.

Loanyard had apparently decided to let Ian do the peaking around the door, because he barely even looked into the office.

"Hello!" Regent greeted sweetly from the couch and waved. 096, dressed in a beige ensemble that suited it more than it suited Ian and was cuddling very firmly into Regent's stomach. "…Sorry." Dan added, with a guilty smile, and a point to his captor. The same sack was still bundled over it's head, it's long arms sticking out far past the sleaves of it's new shirt. It had a blanket over it's back.

Ian couldn't help but sigh in relief. He slipped his dejected key cards back into his pocket and moved to walk over. He was caught by the arm.

"Good afternoon, Dr Regent." Loanyard greeted with a terrible candour, holding Ian back with one arm, readjusting his glasses with the other. He did not look towards that side of the room.

"I'm afraid we need to talk about your… Guest." The words should have been addressed to Regent, and yet Ian felt like he was the one who was about to get a lecture. He couldn't stop the deep sign that forced its way out of his lungs, nor the extravagant roll that rocked his eyes back in his skull.

"Kyles, I know you think you mean well," He had started, holding his arm, tipping him away from distractions. Ian was doing his best not to pay attention. Loanyard insisted on continuing. "But it has been desided that the risk outweighs the reward." He explained. Ian couldn't help but feel like he was being spoken to as a teenager might be, by a not particularly competent teacher.

"Oh aye, it's been desided has it?" He tried not to spit with a grimace or a snarl. Loanyard sighed. He was grinding his teeth and would not meet his eyes again. That set a stinging crease above Ian's eyebrows.

"Kyles, you are being given the opportunity to remedy the situation. If you fail to do so, things will be taken out of my hands."

"Aw, this is good for me? Will I earn a gold star?"

"Kyles." Loanyard was all teeth. "Put that thing back in it's containment or-"

"Or what, you'll shoot me?" He muttered plainly, directly into Loanyard's face.

Loanyard gulped a mouthful of air. He scowled but it barley had any effect on his face. His jaw creaked and his skin affected an abnormal colour that might have come from blood actually moving through his face. "Or I will have you returned to the D-class containment."

Now Ian scowled. He was not incensed. He was not upset. He found that his hand was wrapped around Loanyard's collar.

"You want to try that?" He tugged him closer, and the tensing of his muscled sent a shock of something decadent through his body. Something decadent and angry.

"Let go." Loanyard winced, instantly tense, perched on his tiptoes.

"You think you're such a Big Man." Ian began, mouth moving on its own, lifting his hand higher and pulling the doctor with him.

"Kyles this is out of-"

"No no no, you think you can do whatever you like cause you're aw' secrete and important."

He didn't look over to 096, to Regent. But they were looking.

Good.

"How many people have you killed? An' the only reason you stopped at me is because you can't."

"The 035 procedure wasn't my call-"

"I'll break your jaw. So, wheesht. You think I won't do it. I'll batter you like a pinata." And now his fist was in a ball. Days or weeks or months or years of discomfort and disquieting emotions had pushed the angry part of his brain right to the surface. He could feel the vein throbbing in his forehead, and in the back of his neck.

"You want me to be your wee pet, fix aw' your problems and then sit quietly in my box. But where would you be without me, Eh?" He shook Loanyard like a ferret. "So, you are gona go tell your boss he can kiss my ass and thank me for it."

Loanyard whistled, fast and hard through his teeth. There was not a hint of anger on his face. Which was a very good thing, for his teeth. It kept them in his mouth. If only he could have kept it shut as well.

"You are going to regret this if you do not stop, right this instant." His advice was remarkably sound, and calm.

Now Ian was all teeth. He dropped and shoved.

"You want me to stop? Aw'right. I'll stop." He warned, and flashed a snarl, and pointed the punch he had stored in his chest somewhere else.

He marched across the room. He eased Regent away from his friend. He took 096 by the shoulders. It tipped his head.

"Kyles, this does not need to go any further."

Ian whipped around. He regretted the distance only for the fighting anger stored restlessly in his chest. The hundred different sources were picking fights, vying to be the one that pulled the trigger. The deaths. The lies. The torture. The pressure. The threats. The guns. The cold, unflinching hand of the foundation.

"Aye it does."

He ripped off the cord and pulled off the mask encasing 096's head.

Loanyard closed his eyes. He covered them. He turned away. He wailed.

He wailed like his entire body was being unwrapped, all cells at once peeling apart, membranes separating but not splitting. Regent, already turned away in expectation, still turned to stone. Ian could almost see the concrete block sinking into his stomach.

096 craned it's neck. There was a crack. Regent winced. Loanyard dropped to his knees.

Ian stared. His gaze was pointed. Laser-focused. Eyes wide. Just like the SCP.

It's eyes twitched. It's lips cracked open. It juddered.

"…O…" It enunciated, verbosely.

The skin around it's cheeks sagged, making it look profoundly sad. It's head tipped to the other side, and it's upper lips tried pulling up at the edges. If confusion was an emotion it could feel, then it was showing evidently on its face. It's jaw widened, tongue pulling back in it's mouth, like it might speak, or be sick. It's nose, high and small and pointy, flexed. The bags around it's glassy eyes stretched, deepening, then smoothing.

Nothing happened.

The couch creaked. Regent turned, fully, towards certain death. His eyes were closed, and his face was a blank slate. His lips parted, then closed again, then opened again.

"… IanAre you dead?"

096 made an odd sound in it's throat, it being odd in that it almost sounded like "…?..."

"I don't think so." He said, overtaken by inexplicable waves of calm.

Loanyard had laid his head on the ground. His hands were clasped together at his chest. He might have been muttering a prayer. Ian still wanted to punch him a little, but watching him cower and whimper, that urge started fading. When he looked back, He could see the whites of Regent's eyes.

"…Hello sweetheart…." He said softly, voice breaking through into the higher registers. His eyes were wide, and watering. He lifted his hand, shaking deftly, and let the knuckle of his curled finger bump into it's trembling jaw. It's lips curled and flexed, stooping into a frown. A twitch grew in it's eyes.

"Hey! Hey, hey, hey, it's ok! We're ok…" Regent whispered, leaning closer, sitting up. "We're ok right?" He asked, even softer, sparing Ian the fastest, most frightened glance. Ian blinked. He nodded.

"Yeah… We're ok…" He answered, swallowing against his suddenly bone-dry throat. He held the sack in his hands. He turned the seam between his fingers.

096's eyes, grey, hollow, shimmering, began to flicker, questing out, little by little, around the room. With a flick of his wrist, he sent the bag careening under the desk, sliding out of sight.

Talking a deep breath, was like a warm breeze around a chunk of ice inside his chest. His eyelids fluttered in surprise at the feeling, the dichotomy of it. The sudden contrast. He shook, loosening the chill and his hand reached out on its own. His hand landed on it's arm, on it's wrist where it was retracting from around Regent's chest. It was not as cold as before. His fingers moved, in comfort, and he found that he was nodding to himself. It felt, after the day he had had, like the spring breeze and the warm rays of sunlight shaking the snow from the bows of an old holly bush that was expecting another month of winter. And again, he was surprised.

This shouldn't be happening. It shouldn't be allowed. But here he was. There was no paperwork for this. Ian didn't know what was perplexing him more, that, or the fact that he had the urge to fill out paperwork. He knotted his eyebrows even as he coddled the SCP. It's trembling lip stopped. When he looked up from his shoes. It was staring up at him.

It didn't blink. It's eyes were still in it's head. The dampness of tears cut short leaked into the creases of it's faces. It's eyebrows were slowly drawn together. It looked like it was frowning… or pouting. Ian swallowed again.

"Hi…" He tried, tripping on his own tangled emotions. He didn't expect a reply this time. He turned to look over his shoulder, to check on Loanyard and the last crumbling vestiges of his sanity. He jumped like he'd been struck by lighting when the back of his skull was gripped, and a wavering growl erupted behind him. He was turned against his will, to face 096 again. It split it's lip and whined an angry little whine.

"Sorry-" He mumbled without thinking and Regent chimed in too with,

"Hey, Hey now, be gentle." Softly tucking his fingers under 096's, where they were tangled in Ian's hair, clasping his skull.

It finaly turned it's attention away from him, directing it's now blatant pout at Regent, and it's hand popped off of his head and into Dan's hand. It opened it's mouth again and enunciated no small amount of displeasure. Regent laughed sweetly to himself.

"Hey, come on! Heeeeeeey…" He shushed it, reaching with his free hand up over it's shoulder and pulled it closer. Oddly, it resisted, pushing back with an elbow. The moment Regent let go, it slumped easily against his chest, still pouting, but less so now. There was a sadness in the creases around its eyes.

"That feels better, doesn't it? Yeah, that feels better…" Regent comforted, leaning back again, cradling it. It's lips parted again.

"… e…" It announced. The sound could almost have been simply the release of pressure from inside its throat. Regent nodded, and his eyes were wide.

"Yeah, it does feel better, doesn't it?" He added, calmly. His face looked ready to split with emotion. Ian's cheeks puffed out as he blew a long, slow breath, and let his own eyes widen too.

It had been a long day. He realy wanted some warm, dry socks. And a comfier shirt. And a nap. He frowned at the unhappy knowledge in his head. He didn't like that it was there. He didn't like that he could be made to forget it. He stared at 096, stared right into it's killer eyes. He was fine. The rules could change, couldn't they? He was alive. He shouldn't be. So, he was fine. Wasn't he?

Why didn't he feel fine?

He swallowed once more, let his heavy head drop. He heaved out a deep breath.

Behind him, there was movement. He stood up, eyes still on 096, whose eyes were drifting shut, and stepped backwards, slow as a snail, turning once he was three steps back.

Loanyard was sitting up, on his knees, hands clasped together. His eyes were calmly closed. His expression was perfectly plain. Ian's mouth started drying up again as he recalled his earlier threat. Before he could open his mouth, or even find the words to speak, Loanyard had stood up, straightened his lab coat, and the glasses over his still closed eyes, and turned for the door. Ian jumped after him.

"Oh!... Oh dear…" Regent muttered as they both bundled out of the room, one after the other.

"Hey, hang on a second!" Ian called.

Loanyard was already off up the corridor before Ian could figure out of he should let Regent's door shut. It pressed itself closed. He hurtled off after Loanyard. He was glad to have lost his half-melted shoe.

His sprint came to a screeching halt as Loanyard rounded on him, lifting a hand, hovering a warning finger in front of Ian's chest. He would have taken the dead, clouded eyes of 096 over the death-stare he was receiving now.

Loanyard's lips parted slowly. With an storms-eye calm, he spoke.

"… I have a report to write."

Ian took a hard breath through his teeth.

"Not yet you don't." He refuted, voice overflowing with desperation, even while his face was pressed into determination. He could see the tips of Loanyard's incisors past his lips. He was almost snarling. He twitched like his mouth was being electrocuted. He said nothing.

Ian was breathing hard. His sprint had been hard, but no amount of air could sooth his desire to pant. His heart was racing out of his chest. They stood there, frozen in place. There was a very strong urge welling up in him to give Loanyard a hug. He wanted to be sick.

"Just let me try something." He blurted, rushing on like he was chasing the end of a conversation they had had in the silence.

Loanyard had no reaction. He was breathing hard too. He also looked like he was going to be sick. He was shaking so much that his glasses were sliding off his nose. He clenched his teeth. He said nothing.

Pounding heart settling into a hard rhythm, breathing in so deeply his chest pressed right up against the fabric of his shirt, Ian was gripped by a chill. The hall felt like it stretched into an infinite blackness behind him. He closed his parted lips, moistened them, wet his mouth, swallowed hard. Loanyard still hadn't moved. He mustered up one last thing to say.

"… I just need one thing."

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In a couple days, the iconic image of Izumi Kato's Untitled 2004 will be removed from SCP-173's page on the SCP wiki. He will almost certainly never see this, but I'd like to thank Kato-san for being so, so generous with all the time he allowed the SCP wiki to use this image. I hope we can all agree that the wiki is making the right choice, respecting Kato-san's intellectual property by removing Untitled 2004 from the website. It is the most respectful decision they could have made. If any of you end up being able to, I encourage you to go and view some of Kato-san's work. Creepy it may be, but he truly captures some unique emotions in his work, and that is a skill that is not to be sniffed at.

It's strange because I work in a gallery now, a modern art gallery of all places. There is a not inconceivable chance that one day, I could be working in the same halls as dear Untitled 2004. It's not impossible. Some day…

I'm not sure what will be done to replace Untitled 2004 as SCP-173, if that's even possible. The vibe of the piece is so perfect, goofy, innocent, not menacing for its shape or colours at much as for its presence, not just in the room, but its soul, the expression. In my opinion, it is easy to make a scary SCP, but what Kato-san captured in Untitled 2004 is something more than that. I hope it's new design has arms…. It needs to give hugs… sue me, that's my only requirement.

For the purposes of this silly little fanfiction on ye olde internet, 173's description will remain as it is. I had considered making some kind of narrative change to explain the why it is different, but in the end, I feel that for the purpose of this story, I'm happy paying homage to Untitled 2004.

SO, art appreciation and online politics aside, you get an extra long one today. EXPLICITLY because I wanted to celebrate SCP, and the lovable peanut that started it all. I could not fathom splitting it up JUST to make it go further. I love this story. I love you guys for reading my story. How do the first chapters compare, five… no seven years later… Jeez…. Are they bad? I haven't looked at chapter one in like… 5 years?

Does it suck? I'm curious.

ALSO, what SCP should I hit up next? I have an idea, but its not my favourite, its more narratively cohesive than like, haha, funny monster go BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR. I will be re-reading some of the other suggested SCP's again.

One last question, I swear, what do you guys thing of 035? Not just my version, but the actual version. Apparently its popular? I'd never run into it before someone suggested it, or if I did I don't remember it.

Have an awesome day guys.