"So this SCP Foundation of yours has contained anomalies in the thousands ranging from nigh harmless furniture to actual Emperor-forsaken entities of the warp?"

"I don't exactly know the details, but I believe that pretty much sums it up."

"How? How do mortals like you manage to accomplish so much?"

"Eh, we try our best. Learning from the anomalous for hundreds of years helps as well I guess."

"The Imperium has existed for over ten thousand years, and even then the Emperor and his Sons required great effort and dedication to achieve that which we have done."

"Well, you Imperium folks do have several wars and an entire galaxy to control, while we are pretty much limited to what's in our system. Any anomalies within reach is within our jurisdiction."

"You do not fear anything going… awry? Perhaps a containment breach occurring?"

1-1 shrugged. "Contrary to popular belief, it rarely ever occurs. Even still, we have specialists who know how to deal with it. Besides, it only happens in the few big areas and sites, and so far casualties have been low, so manpower isn't too much of an issue."

"How does an organisation of your scale stay secretive? Surely with how many people you employ, there would be some news escaping."

"Oh for sure. There can be up to several million personnel employed at a time, and keeping all those people quiet is nigh impossible. But impossibility doesn't exist to the Foundation. The occasional whistleblower does exist, but they get taken care of easily. Those who explicitly know about our existence usually directly interact with us whether in conflict or not."

The Sergeant, Imran, was quiet for a moment. "Do you understand the risks you take?"

1-1 pondered the question before answering. "We do. Most of the time. Sometimes, an out-of-touch scientist can be all over his head and try something stupid. In that case, it's up to soldiers like us to clean up the mess they make."

"Fascinating. Your Foundation shows great effort in keeping your population safe against the anomalous. Although, many of your actions may be deemed heretical by the Imperium's more…. fervent believers."

"Heresy or not, at the end of the day, it keeps humanity living another day free of terror. Die in the dark, so they can live in the light. Don't you guys have anything like the Foundation? Y'know, to keep people safe?"

Imran appeared to think about the question. "The Imperium is beset on all sides by the mutant, the heretic and the alien. As such, the Inquisition was formed with the express purpose of dealing the myriad of threats be they from inside or outside."

"Though at times, the Inquisition can prove to be more harm than good towards the Imperium as a whole." Irfan added, with Imran side-eyeing him after the sentence.

"It's problems like that that's the reason the Foundation has its Ethics Committee, so the guys in charge of saving the world don't get any funny ideas about ruling it instead."

"We have much to learn from your Foundation, though i suppose the same can be said from you as well."

"Believe me, if the O5's get wind of this, they're going to rain hell on all of us if anything goes wrong. But I guess it comes with the territory, since our jobs mostly just—oh we're here."

The two teams stood in front of the entrance of the Site Director's office, its carved wooden doors somewhat complimenting the aesthetic of the entire building. Or perhaps the other metal sliding doors look too much out of place instead. That leaves me wondering…

"How the hell did you guys fit through the doors in the first place?" 1-1 asked his Astartes counterpart.

"We… have our methods." Imran answered sheepishly.

"Right…" 1-1 acknowledged. Inwardly however, he couldn't help but imagine an two-and-a-half metre tall giant squeezing through the tiny doors of the facility, maybe even getting stuck in one.

"The doors are locked and can only be opened via the keypad beside it. Unfortunately, it's going to take some time for us to find the code. If we shoot the locks, chances are the entire goddamn place with light up like a christmas tree and bring all manner of things here, so we're gonna have to wait. I thi—"

BOOM…. BOOM

The entire party turned towards their backs, wary of whatever may appear. The sound was muffled, but more and more of it can be heard. The Astartes for their part held their weapons high, ready for anything to happen.

Miqhail was the first to notice something different. Another sound, faint and unfamiliar, like steel melting in acid. He faced where the sound came from, and ran straight towards it.

1-4 felt a rush of panic as the armoured giant suddenly took a dash towards him. The others were slower to react, not even managing to aim at the Astartes. Suddenly, hands with the colours of rusted metal reached out from behind him, covered his mouth and began to drag him by the throat. His skin burned and boiled in contact with the dark and oily fluids that seeped from the limbs of the monster. His windpipe was scorched as the hands slowly melted off the skin and flesh of his neck. The Astartes was just a moment late to save him before he was dragged into the gaping darkness.

Miqhail saw it. The face of evil. A smiling old man, utterly encased in the hateful liquids that it produced. Its teeth and eyes glittered against the light, a sharp contrast to the darkness enveloping the rest of its body. Its ear-to-ear grin never faltered for a single moment as it pulled the poor mortal. To call it a monster would be an understatement. Worst of all however, Miqhail couldn't stop it in time. Just as his power lance reached the being, it vanished through the portal it came from, dragging along its victim into it. Just then did the other members of the party understand what had just happened.

"IT'S 106! EVERYONE GET BACK!" 1-1 shouted. Everyone complied, slowly backing away from the dark puddle covering the wall and floor near the office doors. Everyone save for Miqhail.

He was pissed, reasonably so. The Space Marine stood there waiting for the creature to reappear from the portal, and so when it finally did, he had never moved faster.

He buried the blade of the lance into its chest, the monomolecular edge slicing deep into its cavity, as well as its power field sending shocks of electricity into its body. Yet somehow, it appeared entirely unfazed, never breaking the smile it wore. Worse still, the blade was oddly stuck within the monster, not even an Angel of Death could pull it out. The old man simply gripped the handle of the spear, and it began melting, like everything it touched. Miqhail roared in defiant fury, and released the grip of his lance. He resorted to striking the old man with his fists, each punch strong enough to crush an ork skull into fine paste. The damage was superficial, if there even was any. The old man was pushed back again and again, its head turning with the force of each punch. And yet, there was no wound, no bruise, no indicator that it was effective.

Behind him, he could hear frantic orders by 1-1 towards his team, as well as Sergeant Imran ordering him to stop. Miqhail developed a plan in his mind to disengage but felt the thing deserved a few more minutes of violence.

Until finally, Miqhail threw a right hook that was intercepted by the old man. He could see the smile on its face growing ever so slightly, when his own armoured fist began dissolving in the void-black ichor of the old mans hand. He was being dragged in as well. The creature seemed unburdened by the weight of the giant that it hefted, only caring that it entered the portal. Miqhail struggled to release himself from the grasp of the old man, only managing to delay his entrance into the portal. The old man had vanished inside it by now, with his right shoulder nearing the edge of the void door. In his last moments, Miqhail pulled a grenade out from his belt, and primed it for explosion. If he were to die here, then this would be his last attempt to destroy this monster. The pin of the grenade produced a small metallic sound as it bounced off the ground. The Astartes found himself almost fully immersed in the portal and turned to look at his Sergeant for one last time. Only a nod was exchanged, the lenses of the Astartes fading behind the darkness of the void door.

Moments later, a resounding boom was heard as light poured through the inky black portal. For but a second. The darkness was disturbed yet returned still once again.

Behind his helmet, Imran gritted his teeth. The actions of Miqhail was foolish, especially for an Astartes. Self sacrifice was a noble act, but only if it proved necessary. The Emperor created these warriors to think, not to act blindly with rage. We are not the sons of Angron, He thought. He panned over to the mortals. What he saw made him grimace again.

2-2 had wasted no time in transcribing the runes from his handy notebook onto the ground around them. It was 5 runes in total, drawn in an arch around the black liquid of 106. He still hadn't fully remembered the basic rune types, and somewhat regretted putting off memorising it in case of an emergency. Like this, I guess. He hurriedly etched the runes with chalk from his pockets, making sure to double-check the accuracy of the drawing so it can actually work as intended. Next, he pulled out his combat knife and began drawing blood from his fingers. He made sure to pour only a few drops onto each rune, enough so that they will be reactive to oral spells. He was just finishing the last rune when the old man appeared again. The slow, sloughing sound of viscous fluid became clear to his ears as 106 reemerged from its hell-hole. "SHIT!" 2-2 stumbled, struggling to regain his footing after being caught off guard by its sudden arrival. He quickly rose back up as the runes he inscribed began to glow, courtesy of 2-1 immediately chanting after the last rune was drawn.

Chains of bright blueish metal materialised from the runes. The chains rushed out of the drawings with immense speed. They wrapped around the old man, locking its limbs in place, and slowly dragged it back into the hell pit it spawned from. The grin on 106 finally faltered as it struggle with all its might to resist the pull. Alas, it wasn't strong enough, the chains finally submerging it back forcefully into which it came from. All while the rest of the team merely looked on in terror of what had occurred. A moment of silence followed, until it was broken by 1-1. "Damn it! 1-4's gone already. Fuck!" Visible frustration had been etched onto his face, making him look like he could snap at any second. The Space Marines stayed quiet, awfully so. They seemed wary of the Serpents; not bothering to lower their weapons.

Imran spoke up. "You have psykers as soldiers?" The mortal team stared at the Sergeant, seemingly dumbfounded at his question. "Wha-What? Psykers? What the hell are you talking about now?" 1-1 practically shouted with the volume he spoke at.

Harith instantly raised his boltgun towards 1-1, triggering a chain reaction of weapons raising against one another between the Astartes and the MTF. "At ease." Imran simply ordered, moreso directed towards his squad than towards the mortals. His subordinates complied, lowering their weapons once again, this time also holstering them. 1-1 breathed a sigh of both relief and calming, finally gathering his senses. "Shit, sorry. Nerves got the better of me."

"It is alright. I have seen guardsmen suffer worse. I assume you are inexperienced for there to be such a reaction."

"No… It's not that. I've just never lost a squadmate under my command before." 1-1 paused a moment before continuing. "Henr— 1-4's been part of my squad for a few years now. I'd hoped he'd be part of it for a few more. I just…. Can't get used to it you know?" This statement was met by utter silence from the Sergeant. "Right, I forgot. Superhuman warriors of the Emperor. Of course you don't feel the same."

"We may have been forged as weapons, but we were once human too. It is courage and honour that keeps us together, united in service to the Imperium and the whole of mankind. We understand loss, but to grieve is a luxury we are not allowed." Imran stopped for a moment. "Now, tell me. These… Serpents of yours. Are they psykers? Do they have an innate connection to the Immaterium?"

"No… No they don't. Their powers are their own, not bound by any anomalies. Anyone can learn what they have, it just takes time."

Imran turned his head towards Irfan, awaiting his opinion. "It's true." The latent psyker said. "I detected no foul smell of the Warp. Only a strange, foreign scent permeate off these Serpents." Imran nodded. "I know you grieve guardsman, but ultimately the objective still stands. We must continue forth."

1-1 replied. "You're right. We're here anyways. Might as well finish the job."

With that, they headed into the Site Director's office. Wary for whatever may come next.

—

Really sorry for the short chapter and the fact that i release so slow.

I fucking HATED writing this, everytime i see what i wrote i feel like i just want to rewrite it.

Im terrible at writing people can you tell? Me too. Once i finish the whole fic i think ill rewrite it.

ill prolly post the rewritten version in ao3 once im done.