The walls of the isolation ward were blinding white. David kept silent about the subtle changes in his body—and the resonance he felt with the captured SCP-939-B, as if linked by some unknown chemical signal. Every time he sensed it, his shoulder wound tingled faintly. He could sense the creature's agitation, its hunger, even a trace of confusion. He logged each impression on his encrypted terminal.
Foundation research on SCP-939-B had gone into overdrive under Dr. Green, acoustic specialist. He stared at the monitor showing the data feed from the cryo-stasis pod.
"Incredible!" Green muttered, excitement and unease in his voice. "It not only perfectly replicates every victim's voice, it can answer logically consistent follow-up questions!"
He played a recording. A researcher, using the voice of a deceased D-class, asked:
"Do you… remember me?"
SCP-939-B replied in the exact same tone, with just the right mixture of confusion and sorrow:
"You're… John— the one who used to slip me candy when you fed me, aren't you?"
Silence fell over the observation room. Its mimicry and understanding far outstripped any known record.
Meanwhile, Irene examined Thomas's blood sample. Though the red filaments in his arm were suppressed, the strange antibodies in his blood puzzled her—they resembled a symbiosis. She quietly compared her own blood to David's. The results showed several unusually smooth curves in his bloodwork, perfectly "in sync" with other metrics. His body seemed to be integrating something.
Zach was digging through deep-archive files.
"Boss, look at this!" He projected a fragmented report onto the screen, accompanied by a nearly indecipherable audio clip laced with sharp static and distant laments.
"Ten years ago, the Foundation quietly launched Project 'Red World' to use anomalous crystals—found in Siberian permafrost—to create controllable 'pocket subspace.' It was terminated after catastrophic personnel and material losses. The crystals in that report… they match the mother crystal from Pinewood Town."
Pinewood and its surroundings were now under lock-down, publicly blamed on a chemical spill. MTF teams scouring the underground ruins and forest found more troubling signs: mutated flora and fauna showing early traits of 939-like adaptation. The entire region seemed to be slowly consumed by an unseen force.
Lying on the isolation bed, David tried to draw on that strange connection. His mind was pulled into a kaleidoscopic vortex. He "saw" Pinewood's mine in antiquity—once a sacrificial site for a forgotten civilization. The scattered red crystals were its carefully cultivated "seeds," lying dormant for centuries.
At the same time, he sensed SCP-939-B in its cryo-pod. Even near absolute zero, its cells maintained faint activity, dividing and reassembling at imperceptible speed.
"It's evolving," Dr. Green's voice echoed in his mind like a frozen verdict. "An unprecedented adaptive evolution—it's actively adjusting to its containment."
Foundation leadership convened an emergency session on Pinewood's fate. Because of his unique bond with the variant and his critical role in the field, David was summoned to advise remotely.
Hardliners demanded a full sterilization of the Pinewood underground with thermobaric warheads or strategic chemical weapons.
"I object," David's voice resonated through the speaker. "We know almost nothing about the subterranean 'source.' Extreme measures could trigger unknown defenses, unleashing greater catastrophe. I propose sealing the site indefinitely, establishing permanent observation posts to monitor and gather data while we develop a safer solution."
Silence reigned. In the end, the O5 Council adopted a compromise: Pinewood Town would remain under indefinite quarantine as a Tier-0 Exclusion Zone. A multidisciplinary research task force would occupy the surrounding safe perimeter for long-term study of the 'Red World' phenomenon.
Thomas, under phage therapy combined with his unique antibodies, stabilized. His left arm bore the dark filaments permanently, like a living tattoo. Medical exams revealed those filaments formed a micro-ecosystem—complete with microcirculation and faint bioelectric activity, even regulating local temperature. His arm's strength and resilience were astonishingly enhanced. Thomas joked that he was half "plant-man," albeit a rather aggressive one.
David submitted his mission report, emphasizing SCP-939-B's extraordinary evolutionary potential and apparent hive mind, but he concealed his own transformations and that unnerving connection. That link might hold the key—or serve as the detonator for a far deeper crisis.
Late at night, David slipped past ward surveillance to the outer viewing gallery overlooking SCP-939-B's chamber. Behind thick blast glass and an energy barrier, he studied its blurred silhouette. As he approached, the bioelectric activity graph flickered—a small but distinct peak. Not fear or aggression… more like recognition.
Suddenly, alarms shattered Site-81's stillness:
"ALERT! Special Containment Wing—Cryo-Cell 07 reports unknown energy surge! Internal temperature rising!"
Cell 07: SCP-939-B's pod. David's heart clenched.
At that moment, agony seared his shoulder wound, as though something was clawing to escape from beneath his skin. He staggered, bracing himself against the hallway wall. The lights above stuttered in his vision.
He stared down at his hand. Beneath the skin, faint red filaments shifted—identical to those on Thomas's arm but more active, more ominous.
He dashed back to his isolation room. In the mirror's reflection, terror struck him cold.
His eyes, in the dim glow, gleamed with two small, unmistakable points of red light.
A child's voice—sweet, innocent, and chillingly hollow—resounded in his mind. It was his daughter's voice, but laced with inhuman authority:
"Daddy, the change… has begun.
You… will become the bridge."
The final alarm clanged through the corridors, and the world fell into darkness.