SCP 7257 -1, -2, -3 "A fist with an angry guy attached."

Ronin

From the secret files of the SCP Foundation:

"According to those who claim to know anything about him, the first part of Anthony Leonard d'Agosta's body to emerge from his mother's womb was his fist, which quite deliberately collided with the delivery nurse's nose, breaking it in two places. Although no-one has ever admitted to truly believing this, those who know him best seemed to have to think a moment or two before finding some reason not to. Whether true or not, this turned out to be symbolic of the way his life would go from then on out.

"As time passed, he was enrolled in, and attended, a small public school of absolutely no importance whatsoever. To make a long story short, and simply put, young Anthony liked to fight. He fought with the other students, irrespective of their size or socioeconomic status, he fought with the teachers to the extent that an off-duty police officer was hired just to keep him under control. This had the unforeseen side effect of a.) completely terminating the man's desire to work anywhere within five hundred yards of any public school building, and b.) when the off duty officer did not show on time the next day (having turned in his resignation), and a potential rage shooter did, demonstrating one special facet of young Anthony's rather unique psychosocial profile: 'Dis is our place; he ain't welcome.'

"The rage shooter did recover, albeit he permanently lost the use of his legs.

"Accounts differ, but somewhere between the ages of 9 and 13, young Anthony d'Agosta, who called no man 'father,' was scouted out by some important-seeming men from some governmental agency, again, exactly which one-if, indeed, any of them-is subject to conjecture. He was given a series of psychosocial tests of peculiar nature, to those who saw them. Those that caught any glimpse of them were required to sign governmental level NDAs.

"Young Anthony was taken off in a large, unmarked van, and many at the school breathed a physical sigh of relief. Perhaps now, they would have some peace.

"For a while. For a while.

"They couldn't know just how short a while it would be.

"Or what the circumstances of his return would be."

…

I wake up. Where am I?

Better question: Who am I?

Okay…what kinda movie starts off this way? Is it horror movies, comedy movies, drama, comedy-drama, drama-horror, horror-comedy…?

Oh, hell with it.

I hear screaming. Girls' voices…I open my eyes. Wait. Weren't they open before?

I'm outside, looking up at the biggest damn thundercloud I've seen in…waitaminite…wait just a damn minute…how can I know "it's the biggest damn thundercloud I've seen in" if I don't know who I even freakin' am?

Hell with it anyway. Where am I hearing those screams coming from?

There's what looks like some kinda low-slung red sports car, streamlined, spoiler on the back, swerving all over the nearby dirt road. Behind it…I rub my eyes, to make sure I'm not just seein' things.

Behind it is a blue coupe with a white top. Looks old-fashioned, but that's not what makes me rub my eyes again, just to be sure.

Because the thing seems to be sprouting an arm, a solid, physical arm, blue-sleeved, snaking out the driver's side of the vehicle. And "snaking" isn't too strong a term, either, because this thing is at least a good ten feet long, maybe longer, with, Isweartogod, an eye in the palm of the hand at the end of it. It's reaching out towards the sports car, while the blue coupe it's coming out of is trying to catch up. Red Sports Car swerves some more, and I hear the girls inside it screaming.

Okay, not on my watch. "Hey!" I shout, "Leave them alone!" Yeah, right, I tell myself. Like it's really gonna listen to me, the guy who doesn't even know his own damn name.

I begin running towards them. I have, of course, absolutely no possible way of catching them…except…I seem to be doing just exactly that. I don't understand. Those cars must be doing at least 45 mph, and I'm catching up to them. What am I, the Six Million Dollar Man?

How is it I know who that is?

Hell with it again. (How many "hell with it's" am I allowed in one night, anyway?) All I know is, I'm gonna run right up, across this little ditch here, a shortcut, and slam these maybe-bionic legs right into the side of THIS MOTHERFUCKIN' BLUE COUPE!

WHAMMMMMMM!

"REEEEEEEEE!"

See how you like it, Snake-arms.

It just really irritates me when a couple'a kids get picked on by some rando monster.

To be continued…