Inside S.H.I.E.L.D. Headquarters—
Maria's calm and composed words finally settled the tense atmosphere that had gripped the room moments before. For a brief moment, everyone could breathe a little easier.
Yes, she was right.
James's previous life clearly did not belong to this world. In fact, it wasn't even in the same dimension. No matter how terrifying SCP-096 was, surely it couldn't cross dimensional barriers... right?
Once this thought sank in, the overwhelming fear slowly faded from the agents' hearts. In its place, a strange blend of curiosity and excitement began to take root. After all, they were S.H.I.E.L.D. operatives—trained to expect the unexpected, and if nothing else, their appetite for the unknown could sometimes outweigh their fear.
Everyone now had the same question in mind:
How on Earth are James and his team going to contain such a terrifying creature?
The screen flickered again, and the scene changed.
When James appeared next, he was no longer in casual attire. He was fully geared up, wearing a sleek, black, individual combat uniform. He looked sharp, dangerous, and utterly focused. The low thrum of helicopter engines filled the background as the shot widened to reveal that James and his team were aboard a UH-60 Black Hawk helicopter, slicing through the skies.
Their instructor stood in the center of the cabin, his voice stern and unwavering as he addressed the squad.
"The containment of SCP-096 is divided into three distinct steps," the instructor began, his face as grim as a stone statue.
He held up a single finger.
"Step one: Eliminate SCP-096-1 before SCP-096 reaches them. This will cause it to enter a temporary state of stagnation, lasting approximately three to five seconds."
Nobody spoke. The gravity of the mission was beginning to weigh down on everyone. The silence in the helicopter was suffocating.
The instructor raised a second finger. "Step two: During that stagnation window, we unleash everything—heavy firepower. Our target is its upper body. As long as no one sees its face during this time, it will remain immobile."
Before he could raise his third finger, a voice broke the silence.
It was the team's resident chatterbox, a white guy with a nervous smile who always seemed to talk more when scared.
"Instructor, sir… what happens if someone accidentally sees its face during the operation?"
The instructor's icy gaze locked onto him. His words were sharp, like blades of frozen steel.
"Then we repeat step one. Over. And over."
A chilling silence followed. No one dared to breathe too loudly.
To repeat the first step continuously… that meant constantly killing anyone who became SCP-096-1. The implications were horrifying. Behind that one sentence was a mountain of inevitable sacrifices—people dying just for seeing a face.
Back in the live feed—
The helicopter roared louder as the camera shook with turbulence. The instructor barked into his comms:
"Five D-Class personnel have been placed exactly 1,000 meters west of SCP-096's last known position. They will each be exposed to photographs of its face in succession over the next 10 seconds. They will become SCP-096-1."
"This is our shot!"
"We strike when it moves! While avoiding eye contact, we light that bastard up with everything we've got!"
The weight of his words hit the squad like a brick wall.
For most of them, this was their first live deployment as members of the Mobile Task Force. Their past lives as agents hadn't prepared them for this level of threat. Still, there was no time to hesitate.
The instructor began the countdown.
"10…"
"9…"
The tension was palpable. Every finger curled tighter around triggers. Beads of sweat formed on foreheads. Even the instructor's hands were visibly strained as he clutched his rifle.
"4…"
That's when it happened.
A sudden, blood-curdling shriek tore through the live feed.
"Wuwuwu—AHHHHHHH!!!"
It was a horrible sound. Like nails screeching across a chalkboard, twisted and distorted. The sound alone was enough to send chills down spines.
Everyone watching the feed from S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters froze in terror. The chat window of the live broadcast, once bustling with curiosity and sarcasm, went dead silent for a moment—before exploding with reactions.
"What the hell was THAT?!"
"My heart rate just spiked—Jesus!"
"I've got goosebumps on top of goosebumps..."
Despite the sheer terror, their morbid curiosity pushed them to keep watching. Every viewer now shared a single desire:
They wanted to see what SCP-096 actually looked like.
Then came the voice of dread.
"Shit," the instructor growled. "Someone saw its face."
His face drained of color.
This was the absolute worst-case scenario.
If SCP-096-1 was located in a city or densely populated area, the outcome would be catastrophic. There was no telling how many people would be collateral damage.
The camera now focused on the landscape below.
From the view inside the Black Hawk, the operators could see a pale, unnaturally thin figure sprinting through the desert with horrifying speed. Its limbs looked too long, its movements too sharp and erratic—inhuman in every way.
Back in the viewing room, people instinctively shut their eyes, afraid that even through a screen, they might accidentally become the next SCP-096-1.
But the image had already been modified.
SCP-096's face was obscured entirely by a digitally-generated shadow—pitch-black, impenetrable. Whoever had encoded the image had done their job right.
Even so, everyone watching was still holding their breath.
Nick Fury finally allowed himself to exhale. Maria Hill stood beside him, cool as always, though the sheen of sweat on her brow betrayed her inner tension.
She whispered under her breath, "The exposure system from the previous life… It really did fix the visual output."
But there was no time to relax.
Another shout came from the radio.
"This is Nine-Tailed Fox—we've located the target! Someone definitely saw its face. I repeat, SCP-096 is in pursuit!"
The instructor's voice grew more urgent as he turned to James and the rest of the team.
"Free fire from this point on! Keep your eyes off its face!"
James needed no further instructions.
He leaned halfway out the helicopter window, gripping a modified XM500 anti-material rifle. His eyes locked on the rapidly approaching figure.
Bang!
Two shots rang out in quick succession.
The first bullet missed.
The second struck true, smashing into SCP-096's left calf. The creature stumbled—but only for a fraction of a second. It didn't even slow down.
Everyone watching gasped.
That thing tanked a .50 caliber anti-material round like it was a paper cut.
But James's shot had opened the floodgates.
The rest of the squad snapped into action.
It was a display of elite coordination. Six operatives, working in harmony, unleashed a relentless hailstorm of bullets.
Among them, the chatterbox white guy—now wielding a GAU-19 heavy machine gun—went absolutely wild. He braced himself against the side of the helicopter and began spraying bullets like a madman.
The air filled with the deafening roar of gunfire as hundreds of .50 caliber rounds sliced through the sky, turning into a net of death.
SCP-096 was caught in the center of it all.
Its flesh was torn and shredded with every passing second. Chunks of pale tissue exploded off its body. Blood sprayed across the desert sand in thick arcs.
And yet—it didn't stop.
It didn't even slow down.
Fear crept across the chatterbox's face as he yelled over the gunfire:
"Shit! That was twenty f*ing seconds of GAU-19 fire! Six hundred rounds! Might as well have been throwing pebbles at it!"
The creature kept coming.
As unstoppable as a force of nature.
The mission had only just begun, but already the team could feel the pressure mounting.
This wasn't just a containment breach.
It was a massacre in motion, and the only way to survive…
…was to be faster than death itself.
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