After successfully infiltrating and promptly demolishing yet another upstart GoI, Azalea had now found herself pacing through the halls of Site 38. She would be heading back to Site 30 the next day, and she had decided to enjoy the change of scenery before she had to head back, even if the hallways here really didn't look any different than those at Site 30.
She let out a bored huff of air. The mission had gone so well that it had hardly been interesting. Perhaps if Miller had been allowed to come along things would have been at least a little more fun, but as it stood this trip was quickly becoming a snooze-fest. A small part of her hoped that one of the SCPs at the site would get loose; at least then there'd be something interesting to tell Miller and Murphy about when she got back…
As it happened, just as she was thinking this, she heard the breach alarm go off.
Huh, careful what you wish for…
After a moment contemplating whether she had some sort of precognitive abilities on top of her shapeshifting, Azalea determined to find the source of the breach. She set off at a brisk pace through the halls, the sterile white lights having been replaced by an ominous, pulsating red glow. The shrill whine of klaxons hammered her ears until they started to ache. Researchers and other staff members scrambled for the nearest safe room, a few casting her curious glances as if wondering why an unarmed dragon would be running towards the source of the breach. Azalea on her part felt even more curious about what could be causing such a commotion.
With how afraid everyone is, this has to be a real nasty one. Then again, those eggheads have a habit of freaking out when even a safe scip gets loose.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a sudden shrill scream further ahead. Azalea froze for a second, briefly debating whether it was really a good idea to go charging toward the screaming. Her curiosity won out.
She passed by a couple more intersections, turning right at the third, only to stumble upon a lone researcher lying against the wall, no anomaly in sight. Azalea slowly approached the researcher – half expecting them to turn out to be whatever anomaly everyone was freaking out about – and noticed several bloodied bite-marks on their hind legs and tail.
They were a SeaWing, middle-aged from what she could tell, with dark green scales splotched by patches of dark blue and indigo. Their breathing was labored, their teeth gritted as if they were in excruciating pain. They turned to Azalea as she knelt beside them to inspect their wounds.
"Wha…why aren't you going to one of the saferooms?" the researcher asked. Azalea ignored them, more focused on the wounds and what could have caused them. The area around the wounds had begun to flatten, taking on the appearance and texture of cardboard. The effect was gradually spreading to subsume the researcher's hind legs and tail.
"What in the world…" Azalea muttered, befuddled by the researcher's bizarre condition. She'd have almost felt amused were it not for the circumstances.
"It was 1783," the researcher grunted, shifting their weight a little as the anomalous infection spread up past their knees. "Someone with type-B blood got near it while the containment chamber was open. It got through the D-class and nearby guards before they could shut the…hrng…the chamber…"
Azalea racked her brain for what exactly 1783 was. She thought she had heard someone mention it when she'd first arrived at the site before heading out on her assignment, but she couldn't remember any details. With how many SCPs there were out there, who could blame her for not having them all memorized?
Another thought crossed her mind. Wait, I've got type-B blood, don't I?
"D-Don't worry, it'll be alright. I can get you to one of the saferooms and…"
"Don't bother, I…gah…I know I'm done for. There're worse ways to go…" the researcher moaned. The alarms continued to cry, and Azalea thought she heard the heavy thud of one of the saferoom doors slamming shut.
The dying researcher was right, Azalea could think of at least a dozen more dreadful ends off the top of her head. She wasn't in the mood to put up with the researcher's pessimism, though, and reached down to wrap her foreleg around their torso and hoist them up. Just as she did, the infection spread to their torso and flattened it into a thin piece of cardboard.
The researcher wheezed, their breath beginning to escape them. Down the hall Azalea heard a slight skittering noise that she couldn't quite parse. It was probably 1783, and it was getting closer.
"G-Go…don't worry about me…" the researcher pleaded with what little energy they had left. "And…urg…c-could you find a nice spot for me when this is all…over…"
With that the infection ran its course, the researcher now no more than a cardboard cutout with detailed printing that resembled their former self, complete with a cardboard crosspiece at the base. Azalea tenderly set them upright, glancing down the hall toward where the skittering had come from. Whatever it was, it sounded like it could turn the corner at any second.
Out of time and out of options, Azalea hastily struck a frightened pose and shifted into her own cardboard standee form, the process practically muscle memory after all the times she'd taken it. Her printed eyes glanced over in the direction of the approaching anomaly, wondering what 1783 could possibly be. Would it be able to tell the difference between her and the unfortunate researcher beside her? What kind of wacky creature turned dragons into standees anyway? Was this all some elaborate prank?
Nah, that'd be too ridiculous.
The skittering came to a halt, and around the corner emerged SCP-1783. Azalea had to keep herself from letting out a chortle at the sight of it.
The anomaly was a roughly ¾ meter-tall pug built out of numerous cut-out segments of cardboard. It moved like it was straight out of an amateur stop-motion film, with it repeatedly teleporting forward a few centimeters in place of walking. Most amusing of all were the crudely drawn red eyes and foam on the cardboard pug's face, which utterly failed at capturing the intimidating look of a rabid dog and instead made it look rather goofy.
The pug slowly inched its way closer, jump-by-jump, as if it were attempting to be intimidating. All it served to do was make Azalea even more enamored by the little guy, even in spite of her being well aware of what it was capable of. She had to catch herself before she completely let her guard down, this thing was still a rampaging anomaly after all, even if it was an absolutely adorable one.
The pug inched up to the researcher standee, appearing to curiously sniff it a few times. It let out a quiet whine before instantaneously turning to face Azalea. She felt herself internally tense up as the rabid anomaly crept closer to her, the reality of her situation slamming back into her. There was no guarantee that her powers would protect her from whatever effects the anomaly's bite would have, after all.
The pug was now right up next to her, its head jerking upward to stare right into her eyes. Azalea tried her best to fix her gaze and keep any part of her face from moving; even with how little she could move in this form, she didn't feel like risking it. For what felt like a small eternity the cardboard pug stared up at her with its red, unblinking eyes, when…
"Bark, bark!"
In an instant, the drawn-on red eyes and foam on the pug's face were gone, replaced by a pair of happy semicircles. The pug began "running" in circles around Azalea, all the while the shapeshifter sitting there wondering what in the blazing moons was going on.
After about thirty seconds of the pug running around her, it paused in front of her and instantaneously shifted into another pose leaning down on its forelegs. After a moment's hesitation – and seeing as it didn't appear to be in its rabid state anymore – Azalea took a gamble and slowly shifted back into her normal form. For a second she worried that the pug would immediately go mad again, but all it seemed to be was a little confused as to how the two-dimensional cardboard dragon before it had suddenly become real.
"Well, um…you're a cute little guy when you aren't on a murderous rampage, aren't ya?" Azalea asked with only a slight sense of trepidation in her voice. She carefully held out a foretalon to the pug, who sniffed it a couple of times and licked it. At least that's what she thought it was doing when it bumped its snout up against her claws.
"Heh, so you wanna play little guy?" Azalea cooed, the adoration she'd felt for the cardboard pug beginning to return to her as her fears faded away. She glanced over down the hallway and with a running start leapt into the air, curling up her body and shrinking down into a small bouncy ball that bounced and rolled down the hallway with the initial momentum she'd given herself. The pug eagerly chased after her, scooping her up and carrying her back to where she'd set the unfortunate researcher at which point she would shift back and hurl herself across the hallway once again.
She didn't know how long it was she spent playing with 1783 in that hallway. Eventually a group of MTFs arrived to contain the anomaly, only to be utterly flabbergasted at the sight of Azalea playing fetch with the cardboard pug while using herself as the ball.
It seemed she'd have a lot of explaining to do.
"Alright, that should be the last of it!" Azalea called out, loading the last of the storage crates into the back of the truck. It was finally time for her to return to site 30, and she could hardly wait to tell Miller about everything that had happened the previous day.
The MTFs had managed to easily contain the cardboard pug after finding her playing with it, but upon taking it back to its containment cell it had become incredibly agitated, frequently attempting to bite the guards and escape. The researchers brought in Azalea to see if she could calm it down again, at which point it became clear that the little pupper was adamant about staying with her. And after some rather heated deliberation between the researchers and site director it was decided that SCP-1783 would be transferred to Site 30 where Azalea would act as its new guardian, with Azalea being totally on board for that plan.
How hard could raising a dog be? Even an anomalous one? I've just got to train it not to bite any of the good guys, easy enough.
Just as she was about to hop into the truck, she heard the heavy thundering of a waste disposal cart being pushed through the garage. She glanced over and noticed several cardboard cutouts sticking out of it, including a rather familiar looking one.
"Hey, wait!" she called out, bounding over to the worker.
They turned to her, eyes baggy and jaw slack, as if they had just woken up from a nap. "Huh, whadaya want?"
She reached into the bin and grabbed the cutout of the SeaWing researcher she'd met the previous day. "You mind if I take these?" she asked.
The worker stared at her, seeming very confused – and a little weirded out – about her request. Azalea wasn't sure if he knew that they were once real dragons just the day before, or if he even cared, but she certainly didn't feel like letting them be thrown out without even trying to find a way to turn them back.
"Uh…sure…" the worker finally grumbled, Azalea quickly reaching in and grabbing the rest of the cutouts. He continued on his way, casting one last confused glance back at her as the rumbling of his cart faded into the distance.
"Hey Azalea, are you coming or what?" the driver of the truck hollered at her.
"Just a second!" Azalea hollered back, tossing the transformed dragons into the back of the truck and hoisting herself up into the passenger's seat. She didn't know whether or not she'd be able to turn them back to normal, though with all the weird things in the possession of the Foundation it wasn't out of the question, and it would probably be something helpful for her to know considering she was the new guarding of 1783. Besides, even if she couldn't turn them back, she could at least fulfill that researcher's last request.
She turned to her new charge, the cardboard pug having settled itself in her lap in the passenger's seat. The driver, a burly MudWing with scars from previous tangles with raiders and other unsightly folks on the road, cast a warry glance towards it.
"Are you sure you should be keeping that thing up here?" he asked.
"That thing is a precious little bean, and it's perfectly happy where it is, isn't that right?" Azalea cooed, stroking the pug's back. It let out a contented whine and flipped over onto it's back. "Aw! Who's a good boy?"
The driver rolled his eyes and switched on the ignition. The truck rumbled to life and slowly crept its way out of the garage and onto the open road. Azalea leaned her head against the window, watching the scenery drift by as she gently rubbed 1783's belly.
It was time to head home.
