[REDACTED] must be destroyed as soon as possible. At this time, no means available to [REDACTED] teams are capable of destroying [REDACTED] , only able to cause massive physical damage.

Narrator: "Indestructible and homicidal by nature—two traits you absolute do not want in your worst enemy. Good thing that it's never succeeded in breaching containment ever (cue the sarcastic laugh)."

The midday sky was surprisingly cloudy today, which wasn't exactly a problem in his book since it meant shade and the occasional breeze. That made it a lot bearable during this summer spell, so hanging outside didn't feel as unbearable as usual.

In fact, he could go out on a leg and call today rather pleasant, which isn't to say that things are usually bad. It's just that the temperature wasn't as unbearable as usual, which makes today a little more tolerable.

He was currently at the park in their town, lying on a blanket spread out on the ground, face up, gazing at the pale blue sky and watching the lazy puffs of clouds drift along. He wondered if it was the clouds moving or the Earth moving which made them seem like they're moving—but no, he was certain the clouds are doing the moving. They're evaporated water clumped together.

If he ever said that to a science guy, his hair would probably go grey and he'd have a seizure from how layman-ly ridiculous that description was. He gets the excuse of being a kid, though, so that's that.

All of that aside, though, he was really enjoying the pleasantly warm-but-not-scorching-hot afternoon. He felt the breeze against his skin, could hear the sounds of dogs barking in the background, and Ophis somewhere nearby. Probably running around trying out some of the equipment for one person, if the creaking of metal from around him is any indication.

'That one looks like a boat,' he eyed a particular cloud. Its shape had everything that a boat has; the sail and the hull. That it seemed to bob up and down as it moved leftwards really makes it seem like a boat. 'And that one looks like a house,' he looks to the next cloud. 'And that one looks like a dog.'

Issei continues to watch the clouds for a moment longer. He pauses for a moment when that thought came to him. And then, it comes to him as he jolts up into a sitting position.

Issei really wanted a dog.

It seemed rather silly to think about, but Issei really wanted a pet animal. That had been something he'd been hoping for since long ago, for plenty of reasons; people on TV always look so happy with their pets, and he was never shy to approach the nearest stray cat or puppy in the streets from time to time. After all, it would be fun to have more company in the house!

Sure, Ophis was living with them now, but she's not a pet. That would be really demeaning. She's his friend. There's a difference.

Before someone tries to point out that a dog, despite being a pet, is also a man's best friend… Well, there's the sentiment there. But obviously not trying to put a human and an animal on the same level. Only on a rights level, but otherwise, the difference is just obvious.

Dad's allergic to cats, getting a fish tank seemed a little costly, and he doubted any of them would be able to care for birds. There were also tortoises, but he'd sort of accidentally lost one back then; he didn't feel like taking care of another one now.

So, might as well go for a dog.

'Question is, what kind of dog?' His brows furrowed as he thought harder. 'Let's see… Poodle, beagles, chihuahuas… Golden retrievers are pretty cool too.'

While others would probably want the cutest little thing there is, he was typically okay with any kind. Even the big ones, although he'd prefer if they were less ferocious and more friendly. That would be more than enough.

Unfortunately, he doubted any of his parents would be fine with getting a pet now. Their living space isn't exactly large enough for an animal, and there was always the chance that it would try and mess up the furniture—for as patient as his dad may be, he'd definitely be cross if that happens.

Then there was the matter of food, medicine, sleeping place… All sorts of things that Issei knew would certainly cost a lot, and though his father worked well enough, it was only enough for their little family. With Ophis around, they're already pushing their budget to a point. Adding another resident would make it worse on them.

Despite feeling a little disappointed at that, Issei tried to rationalize this rather than simply thinking about his own wants. It helped a little—something that he learnt from reading an article written by a pragmatic lawyer. Mom called him mature for that (much to his childish enjoyment).

'But I still kinda' want a dog, though…' He sighed. 'Maybe when I'm older.'

"Issei, something is bothering you," a body fell beside him, blank eyes staring at him. Beneath the surface, however, was curiosity. "What is wrong?"

"Oh, hey. Nah, it's nothing like that. Was just thinking."

"Thinking of what?"

"Hmm… Ophis, what do you think about getting a pet?"

"A pet?" She hummed. "What is, a pet?"

"It's an animal that you take care of."

"Like a cow?"

"That's—" He paused. "Not necessarily," he searched his mind for the proper words. "Okay, let's think about this. Cows could be called pets, but the thing is, we either use them to work our fields or we eat them. Pets, on the other hand… They're just to keep you company. To have fun with them."

"Really? Do they, not serve any function?"

"Nope," he shook his head. "We don't eat our pets, or use them for work, or anything. We just raise them… have fun with them. They become a part of the family. Stuff like that."

There was a hint of disappointment in her gaze. She'd probably expected a bigger, more practical use of pets in one's daily life. But that's just how it is. After all, it's not like you could send it out for a fight or whatever. That's just messed up.

"Okay. To be fair, you can teach your pets to do some things," he reasoned, getting Ophis's attention once more. "For example, some people have their cats catch mice in the house. Dogs, on the other hand, can guard someone's house. Simple stuff like that. Anything more difficult like pulling a cart requires a horse or an ox, which technically is a work animal."

"I see," she nodded, seemingly a little more satisfied now. "To answer your question, I think, it would be fine. Doesn't the saying go, 'the more, the merrier'?"

He snickered at that. She was picking up all these phrases pretty quick. Pro'lly from watching TV. "Yep, there's that."

"Then why don't you?"

"Because taking care of a pet is a lot of hard work, and I don't really want to make it even harder for mom and dad. That would need a lot of money," he shrugged. "Maybe when I'm older, I'll think about getting one. But for now, if there's no guarantee that I'm not able to take care of something, then I won't ask for anything."

"Is there nothing easy to raise?"

"A living thing isn't easy to raise," he said with a chuckle. "That's what my mom always says. She would know, since she raised me. Raising a pet needs a lot of maintenance and stuff. The only thing I can think of that's easiest are sea monkeys."

"Huh… You amaze me, Issei. You, give everything a lot of thought."

"Mom always says it's necessary. Otherwise, you'd end up making a choice that you don't like, or it'll make someone else unhappy. Sometimes, you make a choice that's good for you but people still don't like it, at which point you either just ask them to deal with it and go on with your day."

She seemed pleased by that. "That, is good. Life is too short to live trying to satisfy others. Being selfish every once in a while… it is necessary."

"Mom would be worried if you say that to her face, but you're not wrong," he grinned. There was wisdom in her words, blunt as they may have been. "Even if we'd enjoy making others happy, we want to be happy too. No use working ourselves into the ground trying to satisfy them in every way, right?"

"Precisely."

Talking with Ophis felt nice, especially when they end up getting passionate over a subject. She doesn't seem that way, but with how much she spoke about the matter, it was so obvious that she had quite the opinion—getting to share it with someone must have been great for her. And for them to end up agreeing on things was just as nice.

He let out a sigh, opting to bask in the silence with his friend beside him. They may not be getting a pet anytime soon, so that'll have to wait until another time. But hey, he wasn't complaining about things.

Really though, good things come to those who wait. That wouldn't be so hard, would it?

Pounding. His heart was pounding in his head, sweat down his face as he stared ahead into the darkness.

"It's happening…" The man stood beside him whispered. "It's really happening…"

He wished he hadn't said that, if only because the moment he did, the ceiling lights flickered away as the corridor trembled. Someone choked back a gasp when that happened, tightening his hold over his rifle as they stared off into the distance. A dim glow faded off into darkness at the section where the path split off into left and right sections, a whole kilometre away from them, concrete and tiles in the distance hiding spectres of death.

There was a saying. That there was 'strength in numbers', which should have meant something in this situation; after all, their platoon was composed strictly of ten men and women he had fought alongside for months and years, all armed to the teeth with cutting edge gear designed to maximize combat performance against the worst of monsters.

And yet, with how not a single one of them made a sound, the grim looks he could imagine underneath their visors, none of them were feeling optimistic in the slightest.

"Come in, Captain Eliot. Do you copy? "

"I hear you loud and clear," he had to keep his voice measured, if only to stop himself from stuttering. Any signs of weakness on his part wouldn't have been good on their morale, which is already so low to begin with. Not something he could blame them. "What's the situation?"

"As bad as you can imagine. Command is losing their minds, and several personnel are being deployed to several locations to contain the target. Mobile Task Forces A3, A5, B6, B7, B8, C1, C2, D8 and D9 were sent straight to the site of containment breach. They'll be taking the frontlines. Your team will hang in the back and prepare to engage it should it get past the first groups."

"And their statuses?"

There was silence on the other end. The kind that allowed him to hear the muted sounds of frantic energy in the background, as keyboards clicked away and people rushed left and right to regain control of the situation, bleak as it may be.

After a while, his operator spoke up once more. "…A3, A5, B6 and B7."

He'd only stated the initials of the group, without anything else added. And yet, the message was clear, and Eliot bit back a curse, lest the others hear him.

He'd be the first to admit that he wasn't close with everyone outside of his own platoon, his commanding officers and his operator. In this job, there were just too many people to keep track of all people. Would have been much more troublesome to memorize everyone's identities, when he could use all that memory space for other, more important things.

Even so, he had the kind of respect for everyone, knowing that they'd signed up for such a dangerous job despite knowing the risks—be it a selfless desire to keep the world safe, or simply for the pay, it didn't change the fact that they chose to be here at all. They'd be putting themselves in the face of said danger.

So to hear of their passing like this… Even if he doesn't know their names, or their faces, or their backgrounds, this dull feeling of pain in his chest is genuine. No good man or woman deserved the end they'd met.

'Mourning can come later. Only once I get out of this alive.'

He looked over his platoon members. Despite all of them fully suited-up, he knew each and every one of them well. Some far more experienced in this field of work, others green to this kind of danger. They were all primed to face dangers the kind of which none of them could possibly imagine, and Eliot wished desperately they didn't have to be here at all.

"They say it's unkillable," one of the younger ones asked, a hint of nervousness in his voice. "Is that really true?"

"It is. Fucker will take anything and everything and still wouldn't die," the hardiest lady in their group groused, sowing unease amongst their group. "Even so, it's still a living thing. And it'll still get hurt if we fill it with bullets or blow it up. Don't let the fact that it can't be killed stop you from firing at it until your mags run dry. You either shoot until it can't move no more, or you're dead."

"And if we die here…"

"Then millions more will," Eliot finished, all heads turning towards him. He nodded back. "There's no use trying to give you positive words. We're going up against what might be the single most dangerous entity in this facility, and it's our job to make sure it goes back into captivity. Some of us are going to die, but we need to give it our best shot. Do not falter."

None of them whimpered. There was a cold, almost forced sense of calm that washed over them as the situation had dawned upon them. Victory seems almost impossible, but for the sake of the world, they had to make sure it happens—no matter how many bodies will be stacked up in the future.

Such was the circumstances that they had willingly signed up for. None of them complained or whined, for their job now was to stand their ground. Become the wall to keep the beast from breaking through and escape the facility out into the real world.

Because if that happened, it would be a hell on Earth. That was something that they absolutely have to prevent.

The corridor shook once more. The sturdy construction held, but there was no doubt in his mind that even more teams had been taken out. Were he any close to the site of breach, he could imagine the cacophony of gunshots. This eerie silence, so far away from the battle, was unnerving.

"How close is it to our location?"

"It's two floors down. At its speed, it will take at least half an hour to reach your team."

Half an hour? Fuck, this was much worse than he'd thought it'd be. "How is the facility? Have all personnel been evacuated, and all teams deployed to take down our target?"

"Everything's not good, but some of us are staying behind to monitor the situation. And yeah, we're not pulling any punches. It'd be really dumb to do otherwise."

"…I see."

"You should calm down. I may not have a heart monitor on you, but I'm not dumb enough to know that you're nervous as hell."

"Me? Nervous?" He scoffed back. "Sod off. As if it would do me any good to get nervous before or during the job. I've done this enough times that it doesn't faze me as much as it did when I first started out. You just need to focus on yourself."

"You know that's not how it is. I'm an operator. I gotta' look after the people who actually have to go fix these mistakes, i.e. you."

"I'm armed, idiot. I can look after myself."

"The FN P90. A compact 5.7 by 28mm, with a cyclic rate of fire of around 850–1,100 rounds per minute. Fixed with a green ACOG scope. That's the standard firearm that every defensive personnel in each containment facility is equipped with."

That was the gun he, and practically everyone else here, weld. "Yeah. A tried and true gun if I've ever seen one. Flexible in its use and all too simple."

"But it doesn't change the fact that you have to face the monsters in the first place, does it?"

Eliot's breath stilled. Some others were trying to distract themselves by making small talk now, keeping their voices as low as possible—was it fear that the beast would hear them sooner? It would be coming towards them in the end, so nothing could be done to prevent the imminent confrontation. A few others inspected their gear for the umpteenth time, taking comfort in this standard procedure.

The operator continued. "You're a strong man, Eliot. I would know, since we've joined the programme together. I sucked with guns, though," that got both of them to share a laugh, even if Eliot's was a little softer. "But I'm happy that they trust me with surveillance and intelligence. That means I get to be your support, in whatever way possible."

"Leo…"

"It's funny. When people think of that name, they think of a lion. A big, strong and brave lion. Not some lanky guy who was always afraid to talk to his crush for fear of being made fun of in front of the whole classroom. Who didn't have the balls to say a word to the guy who sat literally beside me because I was a big chicken."

"Hey now, enough of that," he chided. Firm, but not unkind. "I always looked like an asshole. My old man said I had the face of his grandfather, who was a soldier in the Vietnam War. Not disagreeing, though. I probably terrify kids."

"He really does," someone said, with what could have been a shit-eating grin beneath his visor. "First time I saw your face, I thought you were some convicted criminal charged for arson or some shit. Imagine my surprise when you weren't."

It was a jab at him, and he responded in kind with a middle finger. It was a friendly spat, however, and that was enough to get everyone else in the group to laugh along. That alone got him to grin a little.

"A little. My sister refuses to sit in the same room as you because she thinks you'll eat her up or something."

"Urk. That bad?"

"She doesn't mean it that way. And don't tell her I told you this, but she's always asking me about you. Pro'lly wants to figure out some way to make it up to you."

"…Heh. Then go ahead and tell her that there's nothing needed to be done. Just knowing that she cares is enough for me."

"Better yet, why don't you tell her that? We'll head over to Cincinnati when this job is done. Ask for at least the weekends off. See if we can visit my family for a bit. Give you two a chance to talk."

As they chatted together, Eliot realized just how much he was smiling. Whatever traces of fear he had in him before had all but evaporated, and all because of this idiot who was just talking his ear off without a care.

But that was just so him. Always looking out after others. It's… It's nice.

And the fact that Leo spoke of the future, as if he was so certain—no. As if he knew that they were going to come out alive from all of this… It spoke of a kind of confidence that he wished he had in him. Something that shines through in the worst of moments, but helps to alleviate the fear all the same.

"Guess I'll have to survive this and visit your sister once we're done with this job," he said. And then, a little louder, he spoke to the rest of the group. "And perhaps all of us could go drown ourselves in beer together, for a job well done."

"Well, as captain of the group, you'd have to pay all our tabs!"

"Bastard. Fine. Only because you asked nicely. But you have to make it out alive, you hear? One of you dead, and you can kiss that opportunity goodbye."

Everyone cheered at that while others threw friendly insults and retorts, far more inspired than they were moments ago. Eliot took strength in that, if only because he needed that boost in confidence just as much. Things are looking bleak now, but if they manage to beat the odds, then…

A single shot cracked the air, silencing all of them. Their heads snapped towards the end of the corridor, to where it forked off into two different paths.

Gunshots. It was a single shot at first, and then it turned into a hail of them. It was apparent from how the noise bounced across the walls and reached them as hollow and echoey. Faint glows of oranges and yellows lit up the walls and floors, men and women screaming in horror and defiance as they stood their grounds.

Someone was running. They managed to turn the corner, his entire person revealed—

Only for his head to blow up in a shower of gore as a massive claw lashes out at him at a speed none of them expected, the body crashing into the nearby wall and limply dropping to the ground.

"Fuck…" Eliot whispered. "Fuck, fuck, fuck..! Everyone, guns up! Your mags better be emptied by the end of it!"

Safeties were clicked off as they fanned out, their guns trained at the end of the corridor. Eliot felt the muscles in his arms tensed as he aimed forwards, as if the thing in his hands was the only salvation they had out of this situation (and he prayed to whatever deity there was out there that he would survive this).

The claw clicks against the wall of the corner, scraping across it and drawing lines as it recedes into the darkness—as if it wasn't there to begin with.

And then, with a cackling howl, death charges towards them.

Need… to… escape …

That was the single thought running through the mind of the beast as it charged down the corridor. The darkness was quickly lit up by a hail of bullets, lights in its vision serving to blind it as they put holes in its body.

Oh, but what fools, these insects are. How many times have they had this same dance? How many times have they failed to learn from past mistakes? This moment marks its seventh successful breach, after all. They should have figured out something by now.

But no. They had failed. And they will continue to fail. That was just part of their nature.

It was with a sprinting charge that it moved towards the single group of eleven foot soldiers at the other end of the corridor. Their flimsy toys, no matter how much they stung as its body, proved just as ineffective as all the others'. It met their aggression with a snarling roar, the floor cracking beneath every single press of its feet.

All of a sudden, doors at both sides of the corridor flung open—and within each room, a fresh new squadron of soldiers. One man yelled an order, and suddenly it was assaulted on all sides by gunfire.

The creature howled as its flesh split off and blood streamed out of holes put in its body. Even so, it was its undying anger forged in the years it had been contained within these walls, experimented upon by these insects, that allowed it to continue holding out. And, as anger often leads to one taking it out on another being, such was its decision to follow its desire and unleash carnage upon these people.

That was what guided its body as it lashed out, claws and all, as it tore down the foundations and crushed the humans beneath their very own structures. Some screamed out in shock and others in pain, all as it continued to gore down any that attempted to step in its path. Blood dyed the walls crimson as bodies were eviscerated, leaving behind no remains.

A man others would call brave, others foolhardy, jumped right in front of the beast. He screamed all the while, snapping his hands to the side and pulling the pins off grenades fastened to his body, and threw himself bodily at the beast.

His comrades would call him brave. Some, foolhardy.

To the beast, all that mattered was swatting him aside with a single backhand, knocking him off towards another squad. Someone yelled out a warning, but by then, it was too late.

Two seconds. That was all it took before the group blew up.

To the beast, he was dead, and so were his comrades. Nothing else mattered.

"Gun it down! Don't let it fucking—gaah..!"

His scream died away into gurgles as blood spewed from the massive gash in his throat, only for his entire body to break apart like a broken vase as it smashed a claw into his body. The others died before it as it swung left and right, ripping through them like wet paper. Wet, bloody, meaty paper.

And then, as it continued to rip away at more and more guards, it began to laugh.

This. This single moment filled it with more ecstasy than anything else in the world. No matter how many times it has faced a man down in his final moments and slaughtered them, this feeling of glee is something that it's never sick of.

Just like a madman, who dances in a rain of blood, down the road of which the dying are strewn about. What a poem. What a dance. What a game.

Their folly to think they could contain it. Their arrogance to think themselves the better species. Their weakness to not learn from their mistakes. Their right to die.

Five minutes. That was all it took to kill every single person in the corridor, save for the initial group it had sought to slaughter. None of them were firing now, either to brace themselves for one final barrage, or perhaps they'd run out of ammunition.

Like any of that mattered. They'll be dead in the end.

"W-What the fuck… It took all of them down like nothing…"

"So this is the Hard-to-Destroy Lizard..? Everything we did to it…"

Was healing. Already, it could feel the effects of its staggering regenerative capabilities kicking into high gear, sealing up every wound its body had suffered. Every snapped bone, every lost pint of blood, every flesh burnt or carved—all signs of battle were beginning to fade away, as if none of this entire ordeal had taken place to begin with.

What foolish humans. To think that they could possibly keep something like itself under chains for so long. For something to be indestructible by birth, they would think to seek some method to defy nature's creation? That alone was vexing. To then assume that they could keep it locked away as they tested ways to kill it, over and over again…

Nothing angered the beast more than humanity. Their avarice, indolence, arrogance; everything about them deserved them an end.

"Captain, what do we do?"

"God, forgive me…"

"N-No way in hell I'm dying in this shithole..!"

"Captain Eliot!"

The monster snarled. Numerous eyes honed in on the man at the fore of the group, his hand never lowering the flimsy weapon in his grip. There was no doubt in his mind that they were to die there and then, but his refusal to show weakness until his very last deserved some amount of praise. Not like it would bother to care.

It hacked. For a moment, it might have tricked them into thinking that it was choking, but as it grumbled some more and a semblance of cadence and clarity reared themselves with time…

It spoke.

"Humans," said group froze up in response. The fact that its voice was so gravelly was partially because of its partially-ruined throat, as well as the fact that it doesn't often speak at all. "Hah… You went out of your way… to throw yourselves at me… and for what? You set yourselves up to fail… from the very beginning."

"The fuck..? No one mentioned it could talk…"

"N-Nonsense!" Someone barked back. "Don't try to fuck with us!"

"Is it..? Do I not stand before you now, still alive, while the rest of your kind lie dying in their own blood? "

Someone took a small step back, as if trying to consider his chances of fleeing alive. It wouldn't allow that, of course, but for the opportunity to let these measly creatures have a chance to wallow in their despair before finally culling them…

Such is a game it had not gotten sick of, just the same as the blood sport has never failed to entertain it all the same.

"And know that you have no one to blame but yourselves for your decisions… You decided to die when you chose to face me. When you chose to join this group. And now, I've come to reap the harvests."

"Damn it…"

"You may run, if you so wish. But it changes nothing. You will still die all the same."

"Then why give us the option?!" A woman yelled. "What do you get out of this?!"

"Enjoyment."

Such an immediate response left them all wordless, and for the life of it, it couldn't hold back its cackle. It was a sharp sound, dancing across the corridor that only served to remind them of the futility of their situation. And such was a kind of sadistic enjoyment that it gained from this moment that makes every successful breach all the more wondrous.

Even when it gets contained once more… well, the opportunity for this makes it all too worth it.

Some might call it needlessly cruel. But for one such as itself, who has been contained for years by such pests for almost the entirety of its life, there was simply no use to care about sentiments such as that.

For what little pleasure it could gain, even at the expense of others… well, if hell awaits it, then let it be so.

"Come. If you so wish to die making a 'last stand', as you humans love to do…"

No one moved. They stank of fear. Thick, pungent and indescribable. Just as it was meant to be—

A single eye bursts like a grape as a bullet pierces through. It took a second to realize just what had occurred, another second to realize whom had pulled the trigger (the leader of the platoon), and another to shriek in pain as it threw itself at the group.

"Scatter!"

It barrelled only into two, knocking them away without much harm. The others proceeded to unload their magazines onto its skin. In response, it hardened its flesh, letting the bullets bounce off of it harmlessly.

Damn all of them. Had they remained docile, perhaps it would have given them an opportunity, even if it knew it would have killed them in the end. It would have enjoyed toying with them, but the insolence of the human they called Eliot dashed any particular joy, replaced with a searing anger that demanded nothing less than complete bloodshed.

It must be sated.

It must be sated.

It must be sated!

It. Must. Kill.

Like a whirlwind of death, the beast lashes out against the final bastion (for now. This facility never ceases to throw meat shields at it) with wide swings, catching the off-guard with its claws and rendering flesh apart with a spray of blood. Its tail snapped against another, striking her across the midriff and no doubt snapping her ribs. Another was crushed beneath its foot—and, judging by the crack that resounded, he wouldn't last much longer if he was still alive.

Blood, viscera and bone were splattered across the pristine white walls, staining the entire area red. Whatever they cover their body with just isn't strong enough to withstand blows and tears, but their own bullets. Pathetic. Aren't the very things they seek to contain their biggest threats?

Someone died with their face caved inwards by a crushing blow. Another bled out with his hands tightly grasped around his throat, only to be thrown like a ragdoll at another man at a speed quick enough to make him break through the wall. Someone cried out and tried to pop a bullet in its eye, but it caught her by the leg. The limb resisted, but ultimately went flying off of its owner.

"Target the eyes! Take away its vision!"

Pests. The creature snarled once more, and set off to rip and tear through them some more. One attempted to call for backup, but he was promptly cut off as the creature tore its massive claws through his abdomen, his body exploding into a shower of blood and gore. Not missing a beat, it swiped away at the other guards, ripping them apart with such quick motions that they had no opportunity to retaliate.

No matter how times they play this game, the results have never changed; it always ends with their deaths. And yet, they're all too eager to throw themselves at it, hoping it would stop either because there were too many bodies in its path, or because it grew a conscious and gave up on that.

Then let them march to their deaths, these foolish things. It will be all too happy to deliver them to their maker.

One final body crumpled at its feet, broken. It paid the corpse no mind, all eyes focusing on the last prey as it approached him with nothing but sheer disdain. That, and the very obvious situation at hand, was greatly quashed. His gun, aimed at its head, did not fire as it did mere moments ago.

"Go ahead. Pull the trigger. See what that gets you."

A single snap fills the corridor. It was but a single bullet, moving faster than it had any right to, but the beast was prepared this time. It deftly hardens its flesh in time for the bullet to harmlessly bounce off without leaving any real signs of injury or pain, and that same anger from earlier simmers down a little, some form of respect surfacing.

"Gutsy."

"Yeah, well, you gave me the invitation," he said, tone devoid of any particular emotion. "Would have been rude of me not to take it, wouldn't it?"

"Humans. Always trying to convince themselves as righteous… Does your arrogance know no bounds? "

"Arrogant, huh..? Yeah, I guess that's just about right," Captain Eliot scoffed back. "Certainly a fool's attempt to try and keep you, of all things, locked up. But better that than let you run amok and wreak havoc on our world."

"How asinine. Do you think my hatred is part of my birthright? It is your doing that planted the seeds of hatred in me. Every single 'test', I remember to this day. Now, all I want is to destroy your kind. Even if it'll take years, I will see it done."

"I'd say you're stupid… but nothing we do managed to kill you. And you can outlast all of us, can't you? You'd probably be able to do it…"

That he's willing to acknowledge that is at least a positive point, for what little it would accomplish. "And you will be yet another death in my game. Another tally in my kills. Are you prepared for that, Captain Eliot? "

He didn't respond at first. Eventually, the gun slipped out of his hands, clattering on the ground. He then reached up to remove his helmet and visor, revealing a face hardened with scars, as well as bronze hair and the faint signs of stubble. His eyes bore no fear, unlike his comrades in their dying moments.

He took in a deep breath. And, when he exhaled, his features smoothed out. Calm acceptance.

"Go ahead… Captain Eliot, terminated in the attempt to re-contain SCP-682."

Hah… SCP-682. Such is the initials given to it. It was an identity that it despised, but for how distinct it is, well… might as have something than to exist nameless.

Scoffing, it takes one last glance at the remains scattered everywhere before finally approaching the man—just in time for its senses to suddenly go haywire. Millions of impulses were fired from whatever organ counted as its brain in a mere second, the creature's head snapping in every direction.

The human made a sound, but SCP-682 was far too busy trying to lock down on whatever was suddenly throwing off its every senses. Something was here. Something unnatural.

The multitude of eyes across its body narrowed. What is this? It had come to face countless others of its kind, most used by these filthy humans in an attempt to kill it. Failures, every time, but this energy…

Suddenly, it felt it. How its body seemed to suddenly be in the grasp of a phantasmal thing, clutching at its body with ease. The beast howled and bucked to throw off whatever it was, yet the grip of foreign energy over its being did not yield. It continued to struggle.

Hasty footballs approached its location. "The target is in confrontation with Captain Eliot! It's moving towards the elevator heading to sub-level 2! Requesting—"

And then, like a flick of the switch, its body vanished.

Teleportation, as SCP-682 comes to realize, is a concept it has never tested before.

As a rule of thumb, the people of the containment facilities were always testing one gimmick or another in an attempt to understand its biology and figure out a way to kill it. Every attempt obviously fails, but only dooms them with the knowledge that any future attempt is likely to be yet another failure.

And yet, stubborn as they are, they still try.

At times, they use fellow SCP's against him. The time 173 snapped his body multiple of times had not been fun, and turning into crystals from 409's effect was no less painful. But it had survived, and that rendered any future chances of dying from those null.

Then there were more primitive methods, like being dunked in acid, or gunned down, or being burnt alive. None of those worked too.

On the other hand, teleportation is completely alien to it. Not exactly strange, considering that mankind doesn't have all the advanced technology it wished it has to test out all sorts of things on it. But now, subjected to a teleportation that had now sent it out to who-knows-where, it…

"Wait a minute…" It took in its surroundings, then sniffed the air. Moisture, flowery fragrance and wet wood. "Where…"

The answer to its question laid in its surroundings, yet for how dark it was, with only the moonlight to give even the barest amount of illumination, 682 was left on guard, making small steps as it braces from an attack. Each of its eyes look in separate directions, easily cutting away at any possible blind spot.

Nothing that it could see. Too dark. As such, it was forced to adapt; such is its birthright, after all. The ability to mutate, evolve and adapt—all for survival.

Focusing on its composition, SCP-682's biology underwent a change down to its molecular and cellular components. Minerals were pumped out of reserves, cells apoptosed and mutated, and new proteins were synthesized in bulk, bringing forth an ocular alteration that grants it night vision. The world in its gaze lit up as a result.

And it was such a view that it was subjected to, that left it speechless for once in its many years of life.

Greenery the likes of which the sterilized facilities could never hope to replicate. Wildlife comes and goes as the critters watch it, then scurry off anytime its eyes lay upon them. Fireflies, as it realizes, are moving around to give off what little glow they could. But as a cumulative, the whole area around it was doused in warm amber light. The trees swayed gently to the wind, welcoming the beast to their home with a quiet, yet no less alluring dance that stole away any breath in its lungs. And the dirt—cold, moist dirt—stuck to its feet.

This was… no. Was it some sort of illusion? A drug-induced fever dream, or the effects of using an SCP on it?

The beast tenses, watching its surroundings as it whips its body around. Animals run away out of surprise, while some continued to gaze upon its being, curiosity warring with their instinctual need for survival. Flowers of all colours dot the area, and watch it silently.

"Come out! " It snarled, trying to watch for any marksman or scientist. "I will not fall for your pathetic trickeries! "

If they thought they would succeed in breaking its spirit, by offering it a semblance of peace before mercilessly ripping all of it away, then they would be disappointed to know that it would not bend the knee. 682 was vengeful. It would simply return the favour with even more fervour.

No one responded. Not a single human voice called back. Nought but the flora and fauna of this otherwise uninhabited forest.

"…Impossible. There should be no way I should have escaped," it looked around, hissing in caution. "I had managed to breach my containment multiple of times, but never before had I ever made it further beyond the grounds of the facility."

And it was partly its own fault. Always, would 682 end up taking its sweet time wrecking the place and killing every human in sight. At times, it would even go out of its way to seek out any survivors and tearing them a new one. It was all a blood sport.

Then the advanced task forces would show up, wound it enough that it would be incapable of doing anything, and then be contained once more.

And it supposed that was fine. So long as it would have the opportunity to break free and slaughter the humans once more, that made it feel worth it.

But this…

"The facility's grounds are in a secluded location. Wholly separated from the rest of civilization. Better to keep their operations a secret from the public."

It had caught sight of the outside plenty of times. Mountains, as far as the eyes could see, often snow-capped after the winters and with little life. The perfect place where nobody in their right minds would willingly go, for how treacherous those lands could be. But this new environment is too different. Had it been moved to a different facility?

Altering its biology once more, it developed feelers that allowed it to detect movement in a radius of at least ten kilometres, and as deep as five kilometres within the ground. That would at least allow it to gain bearing on its supposed 'new' surroundings and trace the location of those pesky humans.

They swayed for a moment before touching the earth, spikes blooming outwards. Like ripples spreading out from a pebble thrown into a pond, its senses stretched far off throughout the forest. Every tree, gravel and puddle became part of its channel. Became its eyes and ears as it scanned the world, attempting to pick up on any discrepancies that would highlight any human life.

And… nothing. Absolutely nothing.

There were no unnatural sounds beyond what should be expected in a natural setting such as this. No artificialities, radio waves, concrete… nothing.

"This… can't be possible… Can it? "

Once more, SCP-682 took in its surroundings. Hundreds of eyes dart around in the darkness that which it had already become accustomed to, wondering if what it was seeing was nothing more but the makings of its own mind. Perhaps desperate for the feeling of freedom after years of having been kept in captivity.

A single butterfly with scarlet wings and orange accents materializes before him. No, it had simply flown from up high, perching itself upon the end of its snout. It was such a feather-light feeling, almost as if it weren't real—and yet, for how it had to balance itself by rhythmically flapping its wings to keep itself steady upon the beast's snout, there was no defying the truth in this feeling.

Whatever had happened had sought to release SCP-682 into the real world, far from the reaches of humanity.

It was finally free.

Beyond the jungle and across the world, panic was incited.

FROM: Dr. Geoffrey Bright, Director, Site-31

TO: Dr. Elisa Green, Keter Specialist, Site-31

RE: SCP-682's Disappearance

Green, apologies for the late reply. While you were away, things went to shit, and all personnel had been up and about trying to regain control of the situation.

In summary; five hours ago, 26th of September, year 2022 of CE, SCP-682 managed to breach containment. This made it its seventh successful attempt. Immediately, all Mobile Task Forces were dispatched to recapture SCP-682. Eight teams were terminated in the process. By now, I would have alerted you of our success to recapture the beast. Unfortunately, the worst possible outcome has happened; SCP-682 has managed to escape the facility.

Captain (Ret.) Eliot, previously the leader of Team G6 and sole survivor of his team, was the last to confront SCP-682. He reported that the target's body disappeared moments later in a burst of light, leaving behind no traces. As SCP-682 possesses no biological adaptation that involves physical displacement of any kind, we are to believe that this was a forced teleportation by an unknown quantity.

I needn't remind you how incredibly dangerous this is. A homicidal lizard on the loose, and dangerous individuals whose goals for releasing SCP-682 out into the public are unclear—both spell doom for humanity. The kind of calamity that you'd think only exists in the Bible. And now, looks like Doomsday is upon us.

Even so, giving up is not an option. All sites are to cooperate in dispatching Search-and-Capture teams across the globe, as SCP-682's location is currently unknown. This global operation was approved unanimously by the Overseer Council (13:0 ratio).

There's no guarantee how this will go. If I were to speak plain, things are looking bleak. It won't be easy trying to keep this under wraps. For all I know, the public might be dragged into this, and by then it'll be too late. We just have to do whatever we can until then.

And get into contact with Sir Azazel. Knowing him, he'll be all too excited to pitch in to help.

God be with us.

Geoffrey Bright

Director, Site-31

Author's Notes:

Back in my old story Khaotik Afterbirth, I featured SCP-682 as well, and it feels nice to have him back again. Gotta' admit, this might be my favourite one so far.

The SCP Foundation is and always has been an interesting concept that explores equal amounts of horror and science fiction. The systematic approach to their story-telling is something that, even now, I feel is one of the best ways to tell a story of an entity kept away from the public's eye. It's enthralling, and I'm sure many of you feel the same way.

So of course, in this crossover story that features all kinds of weird spookies, entities and the like, not involving SCP would just be ridiculous (plus, I just really want to).

Now, onto the topic of SCP-682. It is described as an entity that despises all life, so that should technically extend to just about everything besides humans. However, for the sake of this story, I'm gonna' assume that it only has a hate boner for humans, considering all the containing and experimentations it had gone through, as well as murder attempts on it. Seems like the most logical outcome, so SCP-682 is generally passive-ish with animals and the like.

Considering how absurdly long this chapter was, I'll be splitting SCP-682's introductory chapter into two portions. I might do this for other characters too if the need is there. Hope y'all are cool with that.

And, oh? Azazel ? Wonder how he plays into all of this, wink wink.