[01.06.2019]
Transferal
It was a day few members on-duty at Area 3, Secure Biocontainment and Research, would forget and indeed it was something the Foundation had not undertaken since 2002. SCP-096 was being transported to a new site—and a new harbor for old tests long abandoned by those of the old guard, who had proven themselves irresponsible of the creature's possession by the last incident.
But nearly two decades, the much-feared and talked-up K-class event absent, had done much to change the minds of the O5 Council. As well as some maturation of, and rebalancing of power within, such a council.
The heavy, two-rotored transport helicopter began to descend into a walled-off section of the facility, directly west of the main biocontainment wing. The landing pad served as a courtyard of sorts, and several planted spaces around the borders of the broad paved square were teeming with researchers both in plainclothes and lab coats. A number were already wearing blackout visors (though not yet lowered as the helicopter was still descending) while others held them.
One figure in a visor stood out, as close as permissible to the landing pad for safety, with a quite large man in an orange jumpsuit just to her left and behind. He held something quite similar to the visors, but different—more high-tech. Sleek and black with an adjustable harness, its heavy-looking front had no discernible slots or lenses to look through but two depressions overtop the eyes' positions along with a blue light and two inner speaker-like structures built in. The D-class shifted his weight often, but eyed the gadget with great hope.
There was a third researcher further behind them. Shorter than the D-class man with a notable paunch and thick, gray beard. His squint was surly under similar bristly eyebrows and over the rim of what was clearly meant to look like fine horn-rimmed glasses (obviously, they were plastic and cheap). He too held a visor ready, in one of the hands of arms he kept deeply crossed. While few Foundation staff ever looked thrilled when in the process of receiving a potentially dangerous anomaly, he was certainly the grim outlier of the gathering.
The transport finally touched down, the two sides of the doors to the main compartment sliding open and two members of Eta-10 hopping down and securing a steel ramp into place. Another armed guard, though not with any special marks, followed down the ramp at a creeping backwards pace. Gripped in both hands of this third guard was a rigid catchpole-style lead, secured around its neck, coaxing it down to the pavement.
The D-class swallowed hard at his first ever sight of the creature. 096 was something like he had expected from the file, but somehow the clinical dryness of that description was no comparison to reality. Especially when it came to size: Even bent almost double, the man could tell it was well over a half meter taller than him. Hell, its gangly arms alone seemed to be as long as the average man was tall. Far paler, though. Its skin was nearly pearl-white all over with the exception of gray, unhealthy blotches here and there and a tracery of gray-pink scarring concentrated on the hands and feet. 096 shuffled forward to match the step of the guard tugging its leash, bipedally though briefly letting its long, battered fingers brace the ground as its head was pulled awkwardly low from height difference. Fortunately for all in attendance a loose dark bag of fabric was over its head, a cinch at the thing's throat keeping it there.
The Eta-10 men and the handler stopped a meter from the scientist and her D-class associate. The one on the left nodded to indicate the equipment in the large man's hands.
"Dr. Keaton," his tone was level, seasoned, thoroughly used to the proximity of terrifying creatures, "this is the sonar-imaging device to be tested before putting 096 into its chamber, correct?"
"Correct," she nodded, gesturing to the D-class directly. "And this is Martin Rhoades, designated D-5575, who has agreed to be sole preliminary tester of this S.A.I. headset."
"Right." The task force leader took a long pause, appraising the ex-felon more closely, "Kudos, Mr. Rhoades. You're a brave man."
"Well, uh, thank you," Martin's anxiety hiked at the praise, averting his eyes with a shrug, "but I mean, someone's gotta do it."
"We are confident this will not trigger it." Dr. Keaton added, "I would do the test myself were it not for the protocols. D-5575 has considerable experience restraining and pacifying zoological subjects, and so he is the most suitable to be the first to attempt handling 096 while using the headset."
The two Eta-10 dispersed into the crowd, assisting the many facility soldiers in ensuring that every person within sight of the landing pad had a blackout visor and understood how to wear it. One of the task force men spoke a sharp command into his radio and seconds later a similar blackout screen dropped down from every window to the courtyard—as well as the sides of the guard tower rooms facing inwards. The MTF leader returned to the center, standing a few feet behind the placid monster. All visors were down except for Dr. Keaton's and the Eta-10 officer's.
"Okay then," Martin raised the SAI headset to his face, looping the straps over his head and beginning to make small adjustments so that it fit snugly over his eyes and the bridge of his nose. Johanna turned, securing a couple of clamps on the back of his head. She pressed a small button on the side of the right eyepiece, which brought out a dull electric whirring from within and a brightening of the blue light on the center. "It's initializing," he said. Inside the visor, a Foundation logo spun slowly in a dull green-gray field. Then, darkness again as he heard a computational click from the internal workings. And then, a rough white grid appeared in chunks before him—after a few seconds, the grid-void before him was being filled with a variety of color-coded geometric forms. Walls formed up in an unwavering gray tone, and the helicopter a range of greens, its still slightly turning rotors making afterimages against the grid. And right in front of him the figures were a distinct range of reds and pinks. All but the head of the large crouched form of the creature—the headset helpfully registered the loose bag in a medium green.
"All objects tracking?" Dr. Keaton asked.
"Yes, everything's clear," Martin said, casting a wide look between the far left and right of the courtyard, "color coding is working great. Detail is blocky, but better than the prototype."
"How is movement tracking?" Johanna turned to the guard Martin was currently facing, "You there, could you raise and lower your arm?"
He did so—after being nudged by the Eta-10 leader to let him in on the fact he had been addressed while blinded. Martin watched the polygonal form of the guard's arm move, leaving fleeting ghosts to fade out a second after it. It reminded him of something he'd seen in a science museum as a child, long ago and in more innocent times.
"Movement tracking is good. I think it's ready to go," Martin breathed, shaking.
"Doctor, lower your visor," the Eta-10 leader ordered just before lowering his own. With all in darkness he uttered one more phrase under his breath, "Here we go…"
Martin grew accustomed to the odd visuals quickly; he had to. The only "seeing" person in the place, it was his duty now to remove the bag. His own polygonal hands reached forward into his view as he stepped into range of 096. It did not move except to suck in a hitching breath as the cinch loosened and the fabric slid off. D-5575 had expected himself to gasp, or at least have to consciously clench, at the crudely-mapped visage he'd witness, but…
As far as the S.A.I. headset was concerned, what lay under the bag was just a face, man-like and a weak-looking man at that. As far as Martin could tell, it was sunken-featured, a lean match for the rest of it. Eyes, ears, nose, bald dome, and a slightly open jaw with a perpetual frown—all upsettingly thin and strange but passably human. For a few seconds Martin could just stand examining it in silence, bag in his grip almost forgotten.
Then it moved. That was what inspired the spike of tightness in his chest, the numb throbbing behind his eyes as he was reminded that this image was a real, alive thing close enough to reach out and touch—or vice-versa. In spite of Dr. Keaton's confidence, D-5575 braced his ears.
SCP-096 had reacted to the removal of the fabric, and inched its downcast face up by degrees until it seemed to be staring into empty space just above Martin's head. A flutter of motion passed over the eyes; blinking. Its neck then twisted to the right and Martin was given an unsettling profile as it flexed and stretched its jaw. It hung open, way too open, for a second before snapping it shut again.
And then, with another wheezy puff of breath, it abandoned its crouch and sat down, overlong arms bent up against its ribs so it could set its palms down. Martin remembered to breathe. It appeared he wouldn't be dying today.
"Dr. Keaton, I think this headset is gonna be very useful," he said, carefully maneuvering the bag back over the compliant creature's head. Once he'd let the others know this, the guard flipped his visor up and handed off the catchpole to D-5575.
Under the babble of various researchers offering their congratulations to Dr. Keaton and murmurs of what would come next, Martin and a pair of guards quietly led 096 through the blast doors, to the entity's new "home", and hopefully final one.