Y'all should investigate SCP-173 art by tsuyomayo.
Grey.
He awoke to darkness, to a hum of electrical energy, coursing through his cell's walls. To the creaking of the aging pipes, the ratty old toilet and the leaking sink. In 10 minutes, the lights would flash on - and a new day would begin. Lighter sentencing, they told him. A chance to serve your country, they said.
How did this serve anyone?
His "work" involved waking at 6AM every day, cleaning the chamber of an animate rebar sculpture - a misanthropic sculpture, at that. Piss and shit and blood would greet him - if his fellow D-Class didn't blink during their janitorial escapades. After that, if someone hadn't been murdered by that stony stalker, they would eat their allotted first meal of the day. If the day truly began, that was - it'd been a while since he'd seen sunlight. They would then be at the mercy of the site guards - escorting them to a bumbling fool of a scientist.
Sometimes they'd be testing those things, SCPs, others, they run from them. Sometimes they were shot, clean in the back of the head, when they broke. And sometimes, when they hadn't broke yet.
Meal 2 followed that little site-wide tour. Then, depending on the day of the week, it'd be a visit to another one of the creature's cells. He would grow envious at the amenities provided to the abnormal, to the anomalous. When a necromantic man of medicine would receive cheese, and pork, where all he'd eat was a nutrient paste, well…
It made him wonder, because he truly couldn't remember; what had he done to deserve this? He remembered flashes, niggling little sparks of a life before this one, before he'd been cast into the bowels of the earth to slave in a tartarus, bleak and unending. He was told he had killed. Tortured. Raped. Alongside all those with him. The videos they watched, meant to habituate and pacify them, repeated as much.
You are here because you are a threat to society. They are here because they present a far, far worse threat than you.
Those videos took place before meal 3 - and then, after that, it was lights out. No wall too thick could muffle the cries of his fellow inmates, and nothing could stem the impact of their concrete tomb - it's writhing oppression and sheer domination of will. He was told by this month's guard that "sooner or later, they all drop", and for a while, he believed that. He stopped fraternising after his meal-buddy committed suicide via blinking. He stopped speaking when the oldest of them all, D-1940, simply donned a fucking mask.
Everyone dropped. Everyone but him. He was beginning to think of where he came from - if the flashes were a holdover from stories he'd overhear, or whether he was birthed by this very facility. Had he lived a life at all, or was it merely a trick of the drugs they fed them? Had he been in this place before - pouring over documents? Why did they look at him oddly - the scientist, the guards? Black, and white?
Sighing, rising, and washing his face with some tap water, he prepared for his day, staring into the dark mirror. The only light he had was from the dim red glow of the emergency lights, which lit up a retroreflective patch on his jumpsuit.
"D-9341," he muttered. He tried the names "Nines", "Dave", "Forty", "Three-Hunj", but none fit. They were not him.
Set to his fate, the D-Class stood at the back of his cell, like he had done for one hundred days. He counted the seconds in his head - waking 10 full minutes prior to the lights coming back on. Every day. At minute 5, he felt his stomach drop as the humming stopped. No power. The emergency lights were still on, but fading. The cells remained shut. Eerie.
30 seconds later, a new hum began. Weaker, quieter - their backup generator? He noticed no fluorescent buzzing coming from outside his cell - but heard different things. Skittering, groaning - the shifting of stone over stone, creaking metal, settling dirt. A scream - male. Another, cut short, and a thud. Crying, so much crying.
3 minutes of silence passed. The pipes warbled again, as the cell next to him flushed it's toilet. The sounds of retching were clear, even through that cold concrete. He felt every muscle tense, his heart pounding in his ears, his throat running dry as he continued counting - 1 minute and 30 seconds to go.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Black. Tock. White. Tock. Tick. Tock. Black. Tock. White. Tock.
Grey.
The site's intercom blared with static as the door opened on it's own, hydraulic locks releasing. Those fluorescent tubes lighting the halls of the D-Class cells turned themselves back on - and once he gained the will to move, he took cautious steps out. Adrenaline slowly pumped it's way through his veins as he noticed the cell doors - some torn open, and others, cleanly sealed. No pattern to it.
He thought of calling out. For a guard, for a fellow inmate, but decided against it. There had been a breach, that much he could garner. Blood trailed from his cellmate's doors all the way to the entrance of the D-Class block. With nowhere else to move, and with no sound of backup nearby, he swallowed a lump in his throat, sighed, and strode forward. Exiting his cell, he found more grey, more light tubes, more clean, sterilised ceramic and concrete, painted with blood, blackness. Notes were tossed around the place, as were bullet casings and bullet holes.
How long had it been like this?
He could hear people again - didn't sound like any of the D-Class, perhaps a guard? He followed - they were calm, reassuring, voice stern and kind all the same, until it broke, until the screams began again. Until they were cut short, rendered mute. D-9341's pace quickened as he found a hall that looked slightly different from all the others - and searched the rooms for anything - a keycard, a bottle of water, a ration pack, something he could hold onto and focus his attention on.
In a messy office, he found a research assistant's card, still warm to the touch. He also found a cup, half full, and drank of the clear liquid - spitting out once realising it was straight vodka. Upon second consideration, he imbibed the remainder of the drink, shivering, and set back out, swiping a bottle of half-gone pills from a nearby shelf.
Upon entering the hall once more, he came to a deep square room - his current walkway elevated above a series of desks. He had left the doors open behind him - but upon coming to this place, the ones in front and behind slammed shut, as if thrown closed by an outside force. He panicked.
The lights cut out, and came back on within a second. Before him, he noticed something strange, a red line, floating in midair. It had tendrils - flowing back and forth, connecting to things. One was connected to him, and following the line of the others, he saw bodies on the ground, unmoving. His throat locked up in shock as the line grew larger, bending and breaking at odd spots.
Suddenly, spewing dark, effluvial mist from it's maw, it opened. And as it opened, he felt his jumpsuit tighten. Blood flushed to his nethers as a hundred moaning throats rocketed a sound towards him, pouring forth from the tear in reality. At its bottom, and dripping down its sides, he saw a puddle of something sticky and sweet smelling, pooling slowly. As the tear grew wider, taller than him, he skidded back a step, before being locked in place.
From those singing spaces - that area between reality and wherever the fuck that portal led - stepped out a leg. Flesh, dark, tantalising - naked, too. At the ankle was a single gold chain, wrapped loose. A hand, smooth and soft, gripped the edge of the portal, carrying out the rest of the figure.
She was beauty.
It was a woman, or rather, something womanly. Her eyes were black, perhaps a very dark red, and her presence exuded an aura of something hot. Her chest, arms and legs showed great muscle - and even greater power beyond them. Her breasts seemed to jiggle with each step she took out of that portal - easily bigger than her head. Her sex, clear to the world as it was, was trimmed neatly, a slim, hairy triangle pointing downwards. Across her entire body were scribbles - upon closer inspection, words, ancient and eldritch.
D-9341 felt the need to tear his clothes off - to bow before this being, to give his body to her. He was kept still, standing, by her, it felt. It was an eternity before his eyes snapped upwards - meeting hers again. She grinned. And neared. And met his lips with hers, her fullness enveloping him - penetrating him. He moaned, feeling his whole body shiver with unabashed delight. His dick twitched against his suit, and with one fell sweep of her hand, it was removed from him, tossed to the moistened ground.
Her tongue invaded his mouth - making his space hers. She mewled into their embrace, hugging him, squishing his hard body to her gentle, nubile form. Her breasts pressed against him, nipples arcing an electric jolt to his now limp body, zapping all the way to his quaking balls. He came, came, and came until he couldn't cum again, spilling his speed onto the floor. And, just when he felt the true meaning of the word "spent", she stopped - pulling her tongue from his mouth, and layering a kiss to his quivering neck. As she parted, he felt her saliva burn him, in an oh-so-wondrous way. He whimpered.
"I'm glad I found you," she uttered, her voice affecting him such that his cock jetted another rope of jizz. It was so deep and husky and sensual, inhuman in a grand way, almost too perfect to hear.
"You're going to be something special," she giggled, beaming at him, "with my mark, you'll do beautiful things. Make right this suffering world, be the Phal to this site's Yon - or, in your tongue…"
She brought his head between her breasts, hugging him closer, kissing his scalp with tender, loving glee. She even chortled as she felt him shake against her, cock still spurting his seed with every hump.
"...You'll fuck. You'll fuck until every hole of every creature here is sore, and then, once they've reached their limit, you'll keep going. Until you've fixed me a gaggle of broken, beautiful and buxom matrons - reaped from their anomalous prisons."
His breathing hitched, and he tried so hard to stop himself as she mentioned those haunting words - trying to reel his mind back, to gain some semblance of control back over his body. But she commanded him, pried him from her beautiful form, his eyes glued to her callipygian rear as she sashayed away.
"W-w-wait!" he called, "W-Will I see you again? Who are y-"
She put a finger to her lips, shushing him, and blew a kiss his way. The same gas that escaped her dimensional tear pittered from her mouth in that sensual, adoring kiss - fluttering it's own way to him. Once the gas touched his lips again, her name broke into his ears with a thousand whispers - each nipping at his earlobe, gently cooing.
Queen. Imperatrix.
Her ass was the last thing he saw before she disappeared beyond her veil - her seeds of whorish delight sown for the reaping. D-9341 was stunned, jaw on the floor at the sight of the woman, and quickly fought off a huge depression in her wake. He reigned himself in, striking his chest once, twice, and returned his own breathing to normal. He blinked, trying to make sense of what the fuck just happened, and took note of the portal's fluids, his own cum, and his torn jumpsuit, all on the floor.
Was this a dream? Should he wake himself up? Or had he been tricked, deluded and insane from all his time spent underground? If this truly was an illusion, or a dream - was there a point in waking from the experience he just had? He had to know - had to check, somehow.
His cock throbbed at the thought of her again, but he stopped it - focussing on checking himself before doing anything else. Finding glass on the walls of the walkway, he put his fingers to the burning spot on his neck, and inspected. Glowing red, and pulsing with a furious, lusty energy, was a kiss-mark, like lipstick left on a lover. It brought him an odd sense of comfort - a drive, and only confused him further. D-9341 quickly remembered his briefing after that - curious if he was still under the spell of a mind-manipulator, or reality-bender - and tried putting one hand through the other.
It hit.
That was his jizz on the floor, and there was a keen, sweet wetness where the portal had been, seconds ago.
Her mark, the Queen's mark, still remained.
So what in the fucking hell was the inspiration for her goal, here? Why him? By creatures, did she mean the humans still alive, the SCPs, or both? He asked these questions to himself as he found a stairway leading down from the platform, keeping his eyes off the bodies. All the while, he noticed his cock was still rock-hard, dribbling with ample pre. His balls quaked every other second, as if building a stockpile of his essence for their next encounter - as if anticipating something he had no idea was coming.
He stopped as he heard a familiar noise. A horrifyingly familiar one.
And then, he blinked.
His heart nearly fucking stopped as that creature appeared before him in a sound of scraping stone and metal - but all was not right with it's form. It, now likely influenced by the reality-bender's presence, was another she. He leapt backwards, and got a good, long, unbroken look at what was once SCP-173. The sudden movement, and it's sudden stoppage had had a rippling effect on the being's flesh.
It was as if the being had been crafted out of tissue anew - like a quickening and enticing body made for the adolescent male fantasy. It's breasts jiggled still, recoiling from the lightning-fast movement, quaking from it's wide nipples to it's chest. It's belly, tummy, was soft looking - heavily curved and rounded, and it's ass shook with earth-breaking weight. D-9341 swore he could hear the flesh slap against itself with the jiggle - sounding a touch softer than the rebar and concrete it'd been cut from earlier.
It's face, now truly a face, was nothing short of gorgeous - though nothing would compare to the succubus that had touched him just moments ago. It's hair was as grey as the stone it was made from, with red markings in it's bangs - and striking, though vacant green eyes. It looked angry - following him wherever he went. Eyes still wide open, he controlled his breathing, hand roaming to his cock as he poured over her body again, moaning with anticipation.
The sane, rational part of his brain that said "avoid the neck-snapping golem" was quickly quieted by the much louder voice saying "obey your Queen". You'll fuck, she said - so his loins guided him. Toying with the SCP, he backed up a few metres more, and blinked, clutching his chest as she snapped towards him, gigantic jugs jiggling with joyous force - asscheeks slapping against the other with agonisingly arousing sound. Energised, he strode towards it - her - circling.
With his whole body trembling, he slammed his hand down upon the fat of her butt, marvelling at every warble and wobble of that soft flesh. It even reached down all the way to her thighs - her dripping, moistened thighs. Upon closer inspection, he noticed her pussy - puffy and pleading to be penetrated, was lubricating, moistening constantly - like the Imperatrix's portal had been before.
He swore he could've heard her breath seize then - upon her cunt being scrutinised! Was she… alive?
That knowledge, that question - even if he had made the sound up himself - brought a smirk to his face. He rose from his crouched view of her hot cunny, and brought his hand down upon her cheeks again - slapping, harder and harder, a sick revenge for all she had killed. All the while, he kept his eyes open, focussed, like a beast. His cock was responding to the jiggling, quivering, juicy stimuli with glee, spurting more and more pre as the Sculpture took her punishment.
With no further pretense, feeling his eyes dry a bit, he skidded back a few metres, and blinked. The sheer force of her speed and the displacement of the air would've knocked the oxygen from his lungs - if his face hadn't been buried by her buxom bosom. He struggled, eyes snapping up instantly, so she'd stop wiggling against him. She was alive! Her expression had changed - with a harsh blush tinging her soft cheeks, and tears, now dripping down them.
If she was angry before, she was pissed now. Pressing his head against her sternum, he managed to slip from her grip - taking note of her hands' stance - perfectly positioned to keep his head in place. Heart quickening, he controlled his breathing, before backing up again - ignoring the rapturous and horrified moans coming from the connecting halls. D-9341 took a moment to think on what the fuck was going on and what the fuck he was doing because of it. He thought again - am I going to have sex with this thing… With her?
Before he could reign in his cock, his libido, his mark began to burn. It didn't hurt, but it set his dick alight, tingling, yearning for a compatible heat, a hole to fuck. With renewed, arcane resolve - now firing through him, he followed his todger, shambling towards the Sculpture. He came from behind her again, caressing the soft of her back, hands roaming and groping and squeezing that ass of hers. It was intoxicating - he had to stop himself from dilly-dallying, ignoring the urge to play with her.
It almost hurt to bend his cock down, but he did so feverishly, quickly inspecting the Sculpture's tight, puckered hole. It, too, was leaking that same substance as the Queen's portal. He smirked, chortling as he lined his cock up to it - pressing his tip against her - prodding and poking and loosening her up. But there it was again - her breath, hitched, in shock, scared. The fact he had this power over her - this domineering and sheer ruling over her body, well…
It got to him. Pierced him deeper than any sane pleasure would. There was nothing like making the murderer of a thousand men, once a cold, unfeeling golem, feel fear. He let his tongue hang out as he kept his gaze on her, dragging it from the nape of her neck to her ear, nibbling at the lobe. She whimpered. So quiet and shrill it was, but he continued. D-9341 couldn't even fucking think of a word to say - so he let his body do the talking.
He pushed. And pushed. And pushed against the veil of the Sculpture, until she failed. Until she let him in, fully and completely. Until her anus squeezed him with crushing pressure, betraying her. Then, he pulled out - leaving just his tip in, and slammed back in, crotch to her ass - sending a jelly-like quake throughout her entire frozen body. And then, despite his cock already surrendering to the tightness, already spurting buckets of cum in her ass, he pulled back.
And fucked. And fucked, and fucked, feeling her juices continue to flow - wetting the floor beneath them in a small puddle, her cunt jetting out wave after wave of that orgasmic, sweet fluid. Getting a better grip, he locked his arms around her armpits, clasping at the back of her head. Eyes still locked on, pace speeding, he brought his nose to her, and breathed her scent in - erupting cum again as that earthy, saccharine odour hit his nose. It sent a shiver down his spine, tickling every hair on his body - making his skin speckle with fucking goosebumps.
And, eyes drying, tears pricking at the corner of his eyes from the sheer pleasurable overload, sure that his testicles were now drained, he pulled out with a groan, yelling in pleasure, falling back on his rear. He pedalled back, catching his breath, and blinked, quickly. Her position - her stance - changed.
She was closer to the floor - and her tits still shook with an audible jiggle - but he heard a squelching sound - a spurt of cum having slipped from her ass, streaking on the floor. Her face was scrunched up - cheeks a dark red, tears now freely flowing, but smiling, as well. He could only smirk, seeing her hands reaching out, a clear and righteous fury lit in her eyes.
D-9341 stood himself up, and circled back again, bringing his hand down upon her crouched ass, slapping wildly until he felt his cock jitter with more seed - hitting her toned back and hair. He continued slapping her ass until it matched the colour of her cheeks, an angry, pulsing red. He went round to her front again, and noticed her cute mouth was still nailed shut - her eyes following his every move. He smiled to her, feeling she knew exactly what he wanted to do.
Not finding a position well enough to fuck her, he stood back, lower to the ground this time, and beckoned her, with a "come hither" motion. With one blink, she was on all fours - just out of reach of him - scaring him again with that murderous look she had in her eyes. Good, he thought. He went round back once more, and, resisting the urge to abuse her tight, jizz-pouring asshole again, he parted her cheeks once more.
She hitched again. Her pussy was less guarded, more easily accepting of his man-meat. Too easy. But the dissatisfaction of the struggle proved little to hinder him - he continued, cumming again and again as that warmth hugged his dong. He took grip of her wide hips, and glued his eyes to the back of her head, thrusting in her again. Her pussy was more receptive, more inviting than her asshole was - milking him in rhythm for every drop of cum his cursed balls could churn out.
Every nerve in his body sparked with pleasured, beleaguered joy. Sweat poured down his tired human frame, cooling him quickly in the air-cycled halls of the site. His mind ignored the fresh dead around him - not noticing they'd disappeared with the Queen's entry. And with his conviction, his fate sealed, he dedicated his seed, his sex, and his body to that mysterious figure - crying out with every load spent, every drip of semen unloaded into the waiting womb of the womanly Sculpture.
Hours passed until he was done. Until the Sculpture began to swell with his seed - spurting out more and more as she scraped her way towards him, until her poses became more and more ragged. It was hours of non-stop fucking, cumming, marking the SCP with his seed, until her expression changed. First, from rage to fear, as she tried to leave him. That pose became his favourite, actually - her lying on the ground, a trail of hot white baby batter smeared across the floor - as her tits crashed into the floor.
She had one hand out - the other pulling herself along. So much beautiful, horrified emotion, contained in a single, still pose. But he followed her. Came again, and again, and again, until her holes gave him no resistance. Until his screams of pleasure filled the halls of the Foundation's site. He followed her, flipping her heavy form and spilling his hot goo onto her crying face.
And then - at that moment, with one more blink - she began to follow him. That rage broke. That fear, replaced with want, need, and lust. It was then he knew she had crumbled - shattered like the stone she had been cut from, just hours ago. And it was then the lights flickered - was then that tear appeared in the air again, faster this time. His heart nearly burst with a sickening love as his goddess, Queen, and Imperatrix appeared from the portal, slickened with… Something.
"My," she mewled, licking her fingers of the wetness, "you're efficient. Good."
She towered over the Sculpture - and it's eyes glued to her, shaking in fear. The Queen simpered at the SCP, brushing the cum-stained locks from her face, cupping her cheek with one hand, and cooed.
And then, she blinked.
SCP-173's hands were around the neck of the Queen, gripping her nubile skin with ferocious force. D-9341 swore he could've seen the Sculpture's lip tremble in fear, with the knowledge it had failed to kill this being. But the Queen kept smiling, easily prying the SCP's fingers off herself.
"You shouldn't have done that."
The Imperatrix brought just one finger to the Sculpture's forehead. And then, D-9341 saw it shake, for real. It quivered, jittered, and spasmed, until it was heaving and panting and breathing! Breathing! It continued fidgeting and jiggling and squirming until it opened it's mouth. Then, D-9341 witnessed the discharge, coming from the SCP's abused cunt. The Queen was making her cum.
The Queen was making her cum with such frenzying fucking fire, that SCP-173 was moving. Whatever filthy joy he took from making the thing fear him, was eclipsed by the Queen's wonderful power. It brought and breathed such a life into this unfeeling thing - until it's jaw opened with a sickening, silent scream.
It continued cumming, spraying it's juices on every damn tile beneath it, until the Queen retracted her hand. And then, it moved. It moved its arms down, first to it's own face, and then, it walked. It stumbled into the Queen's arms, smashing it's tits against hers, his cum smearing between them, and cried.
"There, there, child. You will be loved, and love the same," the Queen's voice assured her - a dark smile creeping to her lips as she stroked the crying woman's back, then ushering her into the portal's maw. It didn't close yet, but the Queen brought her attention back to her newly ordained vassal.
"Your use of my gift is… Pleasing. Yet still more creatures lurk, hunting. You will be their hunter."
She took a bare-footed step towards him, ignoring his spent seed and the tortured SCP's juices on the cold floor. He froze again, eyes starry and wide. And he accepted her next kiss, and the knowledge she imparted with it. His dick shook with glee as she made contact with him again, rendering his mind to mush. But through her embrace, her wet, dripping kiss, he was whispered to, once more.
A thousand whispers, plus one more - a name on their lips.
His name.