The piercing alarm tore into David's eardrums like steel needles, and a ripping agony in his left shoulder nearly toppled him. Staggering, he lunged toward the medical wing, kicking open the metal door of Irene's makeshift lab.
Irene's hands trembled over her samples as David's ashen face and sweat-drenched brow filled the doorway. She dropped her tools and supported him.
"David? What's wrong?"
He pointed at his shoulder, then to his eyes, forcing out hoarse words."It… it's inside me. I can feel it. And… my eyes…"
Irene whirled a portable bio-scanner into position. Its chill probe touched his skin. Data streams fluttered across the screen as Irene caught that fleeting red gleam in his pupils, then locked on the faint crimson filaments beneath his dressing. Her face went taut, pupils narrowing.
"Hold still. I need to examine you right now."
Under the cold surgical light, Irene peeled back the dressing. Fine, spider-silk–thin red strands pulsed slowly beneath the skin. Not frenzied like on Thomas—instead contained by an invisible barrier.
"Strange," she whispered, drawing blood and tissue samples and rushing them into the analyzer. Minutes later, she peered at the microscope display, brow furrowed in disbelief.
"There are trace 'red structures' in your blood… but your immune system has 'tamed' them. No rejection— instead a delicate symbiosis has formed."
David pressed against the wall, breath heaving. Symbiosis… with that creature?
A crackle on the comm broke the moment:"Captain! Irene! Cryo-Cell 07's energy surge has stabilized! That 939-B… it seems to have molted, then gone inert—like it's asleep!"
The emergency med alert lifted.
Security feeds showed SCP-939-B shedding its outer layer in one swift motion, its new carapace smoother and tougher, size unchanged. It then curled in a corner in semi-dormant repose. Researchers declared it an "adaptive restructuring" rather than the expected violent evolution.
Foundation command ordered a full battery of tests on SCP-939-B. New containment protocols were drafted overnight. Despite his pain, David tapped into his faint bond with the creature to offer vital suggestions: specific low-intensity sonic frequencies to calm it, and a dynamic temperature-gradient regimen to inhibit activity. His recommendations were implemented at once—custom sonic monitors and multi-zone climate controls installed without delay.
"New intel on Pinewood," Zach buzzed in with the latest satellite readout. Energy signatures in the subterranean crystal network had plummeted over the past twelve hours—now nearly dormant.
"The 'bridge' is broken," David murmured. His unforeseen role as conduit between creature and source—removed from Pinewood—may have cut the activation loop.
The Council decreed a permanent observation outpost around Pinewood, codenamed Watchtower Sentinel.
Research on SCP-939-B yielded staggering insights. Its unique sonic signature and unprecedented cellular adaptability hinted at potential weaponization—Dr. Green proposed harnessing these traits to develop a broad-spectrum sonic disruptor or even a pheromone-based "information weapon." Though its Object Class remained Keter, SCP-939-B was now tagged "High Research Value."
Thomas's recovery also brought surprises. The dark filaments in his arm remained but no longer spread, yet he gained an uncanny sensitivity to sonic nuances. When Zach accidentally triggered an infrasound test unnoticed by the rest of the team, Thomas doubled over in agony—then laughed wryly:"Hey, Boss, I guess this arm wasn't modified in vain. I'm a walking radar for lethal sound tricks!"
Zach turned misfortune into advantage: he rewrote the core audio-recognition algorithm using field data, cutting false positives below 5% and boosting known SCP-939 voice-pattern identification to 95%. The Foundation adopted his system as standard issue for all MTFs facing auditory anomalies. Zach earned a Technical Innovation Bronze Star—and a week's paid leave, though he'd likely spend it back in the lab.
Irene's medical research likewise broke new ground. She concluded David's and Thomas's infections were incurable but controllable via tailored inhibitors and immune modulation."It's more like… enforced evolution," she penned in her report. "Their bodies are adapting to the foreign agent and gaining certain advantages. If we unravel the mechanism, we might develop a broad-spectrum 'adaptogen' for flesh-contamination cases."
Beta-7 was commended for capturing the high-risk variant SCP-939-Omega, securing invaluable research samples and time. Awards included highest-level periodic physiological and psychological evaluations for the next year. David was reassigned from frontline command to Special Projects Advisor, overseeing "Red World" research and 939-Omega follow-up.
The final Containment Report classified SCP-939-Omega as "Secure," with special clauses mandating continuous Class-A sonic suppression and dynamic enclosure monitoring. As David signed off, a faint pulse thrummed at his shoulder wound. Through the strange tether he felt, SCP-939-Omega inside its cryo-pod seemed to accept its fate—quiet, patient, as though waiting.
Three weeks later, David was granted leave to go home. His daughter fluttered into his arms like a bright bird.
"Daddy! Look at my new drawing!" she chirped, holding up a sheet of paper.
David smiled—until he saw the artwork.
On the page was a twisted, nightmarish red world. The sky glowed dark crimson; the ground oozed fleshy hues. At its center stood a giant, unmistakably 939-shaped figure, its many eyes gazing beyond the borders of the drawing. Beside it, a small child in Foundation uniform stood—his own likeness.
A chill crept up David's spine. His throat tightened as he whispered,"Sweetheart… what… what is this?"
His daughter tilted her head, eyes shining innocently."It's the world I dreamed of, Daddy. The red friend says… it likes you."
His multi-function wrist monitor vibrated almost imperceptibly.
David's eyes went wide as the last light faded.
In the silent room, two tiny red dots glowed where his eyes should have been.