The air inside the sanctuary was stifling. Despite the sheer size of SCP-3008, the survivors' camp felt claustrophobic, a cluster of makeshift walls and cobbled-together shelters crammed into a single corner of the endless store. Asher Cruz led the newcomers through a narrow gap in the barricade, his expression a careful mask of neutrality, though his sharp eyes never left them for long.
"Welcome to paradise," Asher muttered bitterly, waving a hand at the grim scene before them.
The survivors glanced up from their huddled positions. Most of them were seated on scraps of furniture or pallets, their faces pale and hollow, their clothes stained and tattered. A few of the younger ones flinched at the sight of Abel, their gazes darting nervously between him and the barricade, as though expecting him to turn on them at any moment.
Amalia adjusted her glasses and surveyed the camp with a clinical detachment, but Cain's face fell into a mask of quiet sympathy. Abel, by contrast, stood at the back of the group, his arms crossed, radiating indifference.
"This is what's left of us," Asher said, his voice hard. "We started with over fifty people. We're down to twenty-three… Scratch that—twenty." He said this with a bitter glance toward Amber.
Amber, undeterred, rushed toward a group near the far wall. Her friends—other teens—embraced her tightly, tears streaming down their faces. The momentary relief on their faces only made the rest of the camp's despair more palpable.
A gasp cut through the murmurs of the survivors. A middle-aged couple hurried forward, their faces etched with equal parts hope and desperation.
"Amber?" the woman called, her voice trembling. "Amber, where are the others? Where's Max? Where's my son?"
Amber froze mid-embrace, her body stiffening as the weight of their questions hit her like a blow. Slowly, she turned to face the couple, her friends retreating as guilt overtook her features.
"I… I led—"
"She left on her own to find them." Asher's voice cut through hers, sharp and resolute. He stepped forward, his expression grim as he shot Amber a quick, frustrated glance before turning to the parents. "I'm sorry, but no luck. She only made it back alive because of these three." He nodded toward Amalia, Cain, and Abel.
The woman's face crumpled, her husband pulling her close as she let out a muffled sob. "Max… no…" she whispered.
Amber looked down at her feet, her hands trembling. One of her friends put a comforting arm around her, but it didn't stop the tears welling in her eyes.
Amalia's voice broke the moment. "We'll find out what happened to your son—and anyone else still out there." Her tone was firm, resolute. "But we need to take this one step at a time."
The parents didn't respond, their grief too raw, but Asher shot Amalia a sharp look, as if to silently tell her to back off. Then, his gaze softened ever so slightly as he turned back to the couple. "I promise, we'll do what we can. For now, take some time. You'll need your strength."
They nodded weakly, letting themselves be guided back to the camp by another survivor.
Amber stayed rooted to the spot, her head bowed. Asher stepped closer to her, his tone low enough that only she could hear. "Don't do that again. They don't need the truth—they need hope. You get me?"
Amber nodded shakily, her voice barely audible. "I'm sorry… I just thought—"
"Doesn't matter what you thought," Asher interrupted, his voice still firm but lacking the bite from earlier. "You made it back alive. That's all that counts. Now don't waste it."
Amber swallowed hard, nodded again, and walked back to her friends, her shoulders hunched as if under the weight of the entire camp's expectations.
Cain, who had been watching silently from the sidelines, finally spoke up, his voice quiet but pointed. "That was kind of you."
Asher scoffed, not looking at him. "Kindness doesn't get you far in here. Survival does."
Amalia adjusted her glasses, drawing attention back to the group. "Most of us haven't eaten properly in weeks," Asher continued, as though shaking off the moment. He gestured toward a makeshift cooking station, where an older woman stirred a thin, watery stew over a flickering electric hot plate. "The supply runs are dangerous, and we lose more people every time we try. Medicine's even worse—Mira does what she can, but we're running out of bandages, let alone antibiotics."
Mira, seated on a faded armchair, scoffed as she wrapped a young man's bandaged leg with shaking hands. "Don't sugarcoat it, Cruz. We're not running out—we're out. Whatever that stew is, it's the last of what we have."
The tension in the camp was palpable, an unspoken weight pressing down on everyone. A wiry man near the barricade spoke up, his voice sharp with frustration. "We're not gonna last another week at this rate. We have to do something!"
"And what do you suggest, Garret?" Mira shot back. "Charge out there and get yourself killed? That worked great for the others."
Amalia held up a hand to quiet them, stepping into the center of the camp. Her tone was calm but commanding. "Let me be clear: I'm not here to take over your camp or make promises I can't keep. But I can help you. We can help you." She gestured toward Cain and Abel.
The survivors murmured, their voices rising in a mixture of hope and skepticism. Garret glared at Abel. "What about him? Looks more like one of those freaks out there than anyone I'd trust."
Cain stepped forward, his smile disarming. "I can assure you, we're very much on your side." His tone was light, but the sincerity in his voice cut through the tension.
Asher folded his arms. "You say that now, but I've got twenty mouths to feed, and no guarantee you're not going to make things worse."
Amalia met his gaze, her voice steady. "Then let me assess the situation and see what we're dealing with. The Foundation didn't send us in here blind. We have resources and information that can make a difference."
Asher's jaw tightened, but he nodded reluctantly. "Fine. You want to see the situation? Take a good look, Doc. This is what survival looks like in hell."
Amalia found Asher seated near the barricade, his spear propped against the wall beside him. The rest of the camp had quieted down, their murmurs replaced by the ambient hum of the fluorescent lights. She stepped closer, her boots scuffing against the worn laminate flooring.
"You always look this broody, or is it just me?" she asked, settling down on a nearby crate.
Asher glanced at her, his expression unreadable. "Not in the mood for small talk, Doc."
"Good," Amalia replied, folding her hands in her lap. "Because I'm not here for that."
Silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken words. Amalia broke it first.
"You don't trust us." It wasn't a question.
"Should I?" Asher shot back, his voice low. "You show up out of nowhere, dragging that thing"—he nodded in Abel's direction—"and expect me to roll out the red carpet?"
Amalia let the jab slide, leaning forward slightly. "I understand your hesitation. You've survived here longer than anyone else I've seen. But I also know you're running out of time. Your supplies are gone, your people are desperate, and every time you go out there, you lose more."
Asher's jaw tightened. "We've managed so far. We'll keep managing."
"Until when?" Amalia's tone was sharp now, cutting through his defensive wall. "Another week? Two? You're on borrowed time, Cruz, and you know it. That's why you let us in."
He didn't answer immediately, his gaze fixed on the dim horizon of endless shelves. "You think I don't know how bad it is?" he muttered. "I watch these people die one by one, Doc. I bury them. And every day, I wonder if I should've just left them behind and tried to find the exit on my own."
Amalia's expression softened, but her voice remained firm. "But you didn't. You stayed. That means you care, even if you pretend not to."
Asher gave a bitter laugh. "Caring doesn't mean squat in this place."
"No," Amalia admitted, "but a plan does."
At that, Asher turned to her, skepticism etched into his face. "You've got a plan? Let's hear it."
"We don't know enough yet," she admitted, "but I have a theory. This isn't just a store, Asher—it's an SCP. An anomaly pretending to be a place. And anomalies always have rules. If we find the right rule, we find a way out. Or at least a way to fight back."
Asher shook his head, a grim smile tugging at his lips. "That's a nice story, but it doesn't help me feed these people or keep them alive long enough to find your 'rule.'"
"That's where you come in," Amalia said. "You know this place better than anyone. You've mapped it, haven't you?"
He hesitated, then nodded. "What little I could. The layout changes, but there are patterns—sometimes."
"Good." Amalia leaned back, her tone lighter now. "Then we work together. You help me figure out the rules, and I'll help you keep these people alive."
Asher studied her for a long moment, his dark eyes searching hers. "And what about them?" He jerked his chin toward Cain and Abel, seated near the camp's edge.
"They're part of the solution," Amalia said simply. "Even Abel, whether he likes it or not."
Asher snorted. "We'll see about that."
Amalia stood, brushing off her pants. "We don't have to like each other, Cruz. We just have to survive."
She turned to leave, but his voice stopped her. "Doc."
She glanced back.
"If you get any of my people killed… I'll make sure you don't leave here either."
Amalia nodded, her face unreadable. "Noted."
The buzz around the camp was all about the three new visitors. Can we trust them? Are they just more mouths to feed? Unease was settling in amongst the survivors. They're all darting to Cain and Abel whenever it was inconspicuous enough.
Cain found Amber sitting alone on the edge of the camp, just outside the glow of the flickering electric lights. She was perched on an overturned crate, knees pulled up to her chest, arms wrapped tightly around them. Her face was buried in her arms, but the quiet, shuddering breaths gave away her tears.
He approached softly, the hum of the fluorescent lights overhead masking his footsteps. "Mind some company?" he asked gently, crouching down a few feet away.
Amber looked up, startled, her reddened eyes locking onto his. "What do you want?" she muttered, her voice raw.
"To talk," Cain said simply. He leaned back on his heels, resting his arms on his knees. "You've had a rough day."
She scoffed bitterly, wiping at her face with her sleeve. "Yeah, no shit."
They sat in silence for a moment before Cain spoke again, his tone calm but curious. "Why did you do it? Why go out there on your own?"
Amber hesitated, chewing on her bottom lip. "Because… someone had to," she said quietly. "No one else would, and I thought… I thought I could find it—a way out."
Cain tilted his head. "How did you even know where to look? From what I've seen, this place doesn't exactly have a reliable layout."
Amber gave a small, sad smile. "It doesn't, but it's not completely random. The store… it's like it has a schedule. Like the aisles get reset every day at the same time, and if you pay attention, you can figure out where things will show up. I had an idea on where the exit might be. Never actually saw it though."
"That's impressive," Cain said, genuine interest flickering in his voice. "You figured that out on your own?"
Amber nodded, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. "That's why I started making a map. It's not perfect, but it helps me figure out when it's safe to go out and where the supplies might show up. I wanted to tell Asher about it…but I'm not exactly his favorite person."
Cain gave her an incredulous grin. "Why would you think that?" He asked.
"Have you seen the way he scowls?" She said, raising her brow to show conviction. "That's him all the time, honestly, but with me it's way worse."
Cain leaned in closer to whisper. "The same guy that just lied to save your ass?"
"He's just trying to keep the peace. Trust me when I say he hates me." She said, burying her face between her knees.
Cain chuckled. "I don't think that's the case. I think he cares a great deal about you—about all of you. But going out there alone was reckless. I imagine kids in danger is the last thing he needs right now."
I thought…" Her voice broke slightly, and she looked away. "I thought I could use it this find us a way out."
Cain's gaze softened. "Can I see it again?"
Amber hesitated, then reached into her jacket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. She handed it to him wordlessly. Cain unfolded it carefully, revealing a rough but detailed map of the store's aisles and landmarks, with notes scribbled in the margins about times and item rotations.
"This is incredible," Cain said, studying the map closely. "You're smarter than you give yourself credit for."
Amber didn't reply, her gaze fixed on the ground.
Cain stood, folding the map neatly in his hands. "Thanks, Amber. This might be more useful than you think."
"Why?" she asked, glancing up at him.
Cain gave her a small, reassuring smile. "Let's just say you might've figured out something the rest of us missed."
He left her with that and made his way back toward the camp's center, where Amalia was still talking with Asher. As he approached, their conversation paused, both of them turning to look at him.
"Cain?" Amalia asked, raising an eyebrow. "What is it?"
"I think we have a clue," Cain said, holding up the map. "Amber made this."
He spread it out on the crate between them, pointing to the annotations. "She's been tracking the layout shifts. Says the store resets at regular intervals, like a schedule."
Amalia leaned in, studying the map with keen interest. "A schedule… of course. This isn't just a random anomaly—it's a store. That means it should have—"
"A manager," Asher interrupted, realization dawning in his voice.
Amalia straightened, her expression sharp. "Exactly. If this place is running on some kind of operational system, then there's someone—or something—running it. And if we find them, we might find the way out."
Asher frowned, his arms crossed. "Or we might find something worse."
Amalia gave him a grim look. "Either way, we don't have much of a choice. It's our best lead yet."
Cain folded his arms, glancing between them. "Then let's figure out where this 'manager' is hiding."
Chapter End—