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whumpitisthen · 11 months ago

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A True Sacrifice

It's an exceptionally quiet day at the facility today. The corridors are empty, the guards are sparse and the cafeteria buzzes with a nervous anticipation.

The slop the staff have the gall to call food has never been quite this well received. While usually most of the captives find distracting each other with idle chatter more pleasant than chowing down on the watery stew, today no one even looks another in the eyes. Everyone is hunched over their own trays and concentrate on only that, whispering to their neighbouring chairs if they must. No one is absent.

He sits at the end of a mostly empty table, watching two women share worried looks, looking over their shoulders for danger. The guards stand at attention, a serious look on all their faces. The black armoured uniforms and powerful looking rifles, while not exactly unexpected to see, are certainly an upgrade to the batons and the lighter padded outfits they usually have on. They do not communicate with each other either, only murmur into their radios once in a while, keeping their concealed eyes trained on the inmates.

He had heard too, of course. He heard about what is meant to go down today.

He has learned to both love and despise things like this — uncommon things. On the one hand, every day is the exact same — same food, same chores, same tests, same abuse. Unpleasant and mind-numbingly boring; and so when something scary enough happens that even the guards don their full security gear, he finds a particular interest in the careful air that settles over them.

On the other hand, nothing good ever comes from disorder. Not when everyone is warned in advance for an upcoming 'event'. Not when nearly every doctor, assistant and low ranking security officer has left the building, and only the most highly trained special forces remain, locked in a room with all the prisoners. Not when the name of that creature is mentioned in the report.

There are many unexplainable phenomena that exist between these four walls. Some of them are harmless, simply illogical items that humanity does not understand just yet, and so they keep them here until they do. A lot of them are harmful, yet not fully understood, so they are kept for examination as well as safety concerning the rest of the world. There are even some creatures, some that seem friendly or non-violent at worst, but are nevertheless held here for the nature of their bodies or their abilities or whatever else the scientists deem them unfit to be let free for.

And then some of them are downright dangerous, evil beings. Ones who need to be kept locked up and closely monitored, because all they know is destruction. Ones that find their purpose in deliberately hurting humans or anything living. Efficient killers, chaotic entities, spirits of another time or even dimension who almost resemble humans, but are twisted in their minds, harming those they meet, even if hurting isn't their intention. Plagues, contained disasters, beasts, hypnotic objects, a hive mind. He has been lucky enough not to be sent to visit any of them so far. He has heard horror stories from some of the older, more experienced prisoners, and was allowed to read some of their files every once in a while by a doctor who seemed just as fascinated by these things as him. Just the thought of being in the vicinity of some of these subjects sends a violent chill down his spine.

Well, he has been lucky so far. Maybe he will remain lucky enough to avoid today's guest as well?

The lights flicker, and any idle noise that may have existed before then is sucked out of the air. Every captive is frozen stiff, hesitantly jerking their heads in all directions wide-eyed, looking for guidance. He, for one. chooses to lean on his elbows and hunch over, walking through a prayer in his head. He can feel it approaching.

He had read the note left on his wall over and over; a small, torn, yellowed piece of paper with dark spots and browning ink. Unsure of who could have left it there, he settled on it being a normal occurrence in this place, and that maybe one of the friendlier creatures decided to leave him with some advice. He hopes it's advice, anyway.

"It exists in laws set by your kind only as long as it remains entertained. It has been knocking on its door for a week, louder every day. Its observers are terrified!

Tomorrow, it will ask for more entertainment."

The lights flicker again, three times in a row, and now people are starting to panic. Everyone was told to stay still, quiet and calm — if they want to survive. Normal people would at least question that casual threat on their lives, but most prisoners here have already learned that if you are ordered to follow such strange rules that come from the researchers, there is most definitely a very good reason you were, and should do your best to do as they say. If they tell you you cannot, say, look inside an inconspicuous red book with a gash on its cover set on a pedestal in the middle of the cell it's placed in, you better not, because chances are, someone before you has, and whatever happened to them was bad enough to warrant a warning for those that follow. He, regrettably, has had first-hand experience with that one. The things he saw on those pages still haunt him to this day, mixing into vivid night terrors every time he closes his eyes. He hasn't disobeyed anyone since then.

Despite all that, warnings are truly useless when primal instincts take over. He can pick out a couple of people starting to break down in fear, who are promptly held close by other captives — not entirely out of worry for them, more so out of concern for the collective them. It's best to help out the weak link in case their own skins are on the line and they become collateral damage because of one idiot who couldn't just sit still like he was told.

The guard closest to him talks into his radio, and in the quiet, he can pick out that even the soldier's voice is shaking with nerves. He wonders if all these armoured, scary looking guys will even be able to do anything if shit hits the fan. This doesn't seem like the kind of experiment that can be fixed with some guns and ammo if it goes wrong. If it was, there would be hundreds of the guys and the doctors would at least be present in the vicinity. They must be here for another reason; maybe to observe what happens inside while the scientists are away.

One thing they were all told was that once the lights go out, it will enter the room, and that once it does, everyone is absolutely prohibited from moving or reacting to anything at all until the lights are back on. No exceptions. They were told to just squeeze their eyes shut, keep their lips sealed and bear it until it's over. If they can do that, nothing will happen to them.

Then they were told that one of them won't make it out.

That's when it all came together in his head. He knows exactly which creature will visit today. He knows why it's visiting and how horrible the consequences of being picked by it are. He knows exactly what that note meant.

This is a subject that cannot be contained. Not by humans, not by any specific material, not by any spell or limit or whatever else. It has no weakness to be exploited, nor does it have a special connection to anything that could be manipulated. It exists outside of the laws set for people in this world, including but not limited to the very laws of physics. The only reason it remains here and obeys the rules of the facility is because it is playful and conceited, and it fancies a bit of fun more than senseless, endless tyranny over this world. It likes messing with people, hurting them and distressing them greatly with its presence. It finds humans fascinating. It is confident they cannot do anything about its existence or actions, but it finds living without consequences far too boring and predictable. No fun at all.

So, it made a deal with humans. It would act in accordance with the rules set for it by humanity for as long as they can entertain it. It will remain in its cell, it will not hurt anyone, it will not cause problems on purpose, it will not show itself at all — remaining a shadow dwelling monster instead, making it so that as long as there is light, it cannot cause mischief. All that on the principle of playing a fair game, of course. This makes controlling it not only possible, but easy. Unless, of course, the rules of the game are not adhered to well enough. Or it decides to bend some rules or find loopholes. It would not be the first time.

The price? A sacrificial lamb. It will be provided with one human of its choice, who it will ‘play’ with as much as it wants. However, its definition of fun and play are very different from what one might expect — it wishes only to bring that person to the very brink over and over, stretching them thinner and breaking them down to tiny pieces that it can build into something different and observe. And then, once that human breaks one too many times from the constant relentless torture and bending of the mind — if they even manage to survive for that long, — it tears them apart and demands another one. It will leave its cell to look for a new toy from the collection of prisoners provided by its captors. The deal seemed miraculously beneficial at the time to everyone, and it probably still remains so to this day. After all, what's one dead human every once in a while in exchange for control over what some believe to be the devil himself?

The young man reminisces about the note. It said the beast has been banging on its door for a week, getting louder and louder each day. It must have been getting very impatient after having finally snuffed out another life and waiting to be sent someone new. He heard it’s always a surprise when it decides it has grown bored. Sometimes it only takes a few days for the sacrifice to be tortured to death, other times it keeps its playthings around for months, slowly consuming them on a level no one could ever understand but them and their tormentor. It meticulously morphs them into something they never wanted to be and forces them into a corner by repetition and pain. It leaves him nauseous, the thought of what the poor guy who is chosen will be made to go through. This is an anomaly; there is no telling if the first chosen will even make it out of this room.

Now, the lights in the hallway leading to the cafeteria dim, flickering erratically until they finally die out one by one. It's like watching it approach in real time, not by seeing its body walk, only the darkness that follows it grow. Not long before it reaches the double doors — locked to keep everyone inside in the event of panic taking over and chaos ensuing, — he makes the conscious decision to take a deep breath and relax as much as he possibly can. He lays his head on top of the table in front of him, forehead warming the metal surface. He then surrounds himself with his arms tightly, building a little tent of warmth and protection to hopefully block out any sound or sight that may distress him. Maybe he can just completely ignore everything around him. Maybe it will be over quicker than he thinks. Maybe it won't even look his way if he can make himself small and unassuming enough, just quickly snatches up someone else and leaves right after, returning to its cell forever and he will never see it again. It's possible. That's the best he can hope for.

His heart stutters in unison with everyone else's when the last light outside goes out with a droning buzz, concealing what must be eyes peering in through the windows at the top. In the deathly silence, three slow, innocent knocks ring loud against every eardrum.

It is here.

"May I come in?" — follows its intimidating voice soon after. A grin can be heard through its low, throaty timbre, twisted humour dripping from its tongue. It sounds like it finds the notion of obeying powerless creatures like humans amusing. Like someone pretending to be invested in playing house with their niece, struggling to keep a straight face as they play along in something so juvenile.

None of the guards react, while the captives only plant their hands firmer to their mouths. You'd have to be some special kind of stupidly arrogant to think anything you say will be taken seriously by this thing. He supposes if such arrogance exists, it would be found among the head professors here. They must think themselves deities to be fucking around with supernatural destructive entities like this one without fear.

To his surprise, the hesitant footsteps of the guard next to him reach his ears, fading towards the entrance. Are they actually going to open the door for it? A tremendous amount of concentration is required to squash any thoughts coalescing in his brain of making a run for it and slipping out through the door while it's unlocked. Even if he somehow miraculously got through it, what would it solve? He would get shot before he makes it that far, and if not, then he will be running right into the clutches of a monster. Nevertheless, his desperate mind tries convincing itself that there is a way out of this.

"Aw, really now... Is there no one willing to play with me? I'll behave, I promise," — it all but whines, but he can feel its impatience growing. He has never been more aware of the hairs on the back of his neck than now as they prickle and lift with the shiver that runs down his back. Maybe it is for the best that one of the security officers grew a pair and decided to join in on the game of pretend, if only so it will stop hauntingly musing and clawing at that damn door. — "Oh! Hello there, little one. Are you lost?"

The guard says nothing in response, completely ignoring its mockery. He hears the keycard sliding into its slot on the wall, unlocking the doors with a sharp electric shriek. With great hesitance, and an audible inhale, the soldier reaches for the horizontal bar to push down on and open up the way inside for the menacing thing, stepping off to the side in tandem with the swing of the door hinges.

As the door is pulled open, there is only a blink of massive, sharp claws latching onto it before the light bulbs inside the cafeteria explode at once, drowning everything in near complete darkness, leaving only the red hue of the emergency lighting painting the walls with bloody shadows. A small commotion breaks out, the dramatic change in surroundings managing to freak out a few people, causing a bit of a scene towards the leftmost corner from where he sits. Listening to others panic only serves to scare him more, but he manages to keep it all under his skin, trying to distract himself from his quickly rising heart rate by self soothing motions. Around and ‘round, over and over again his thumb travels the sleeve of his prison uniform. Slow circles. He concentrates on trying to do the most perfect circle he can on the smooth fabric.

The small panic is ignored by the creature for now in favour of focusing on the valiant effort from the guard who was brave enough to approach it. It must appreciate the gesture.

It breathes out a chuckle that barely sounds human at all. — "What a brave little soldier you are. Thank you for letting me in, Brandon. Lovely to see you again."

It knows the guard? As far as the prisoner knows, no one here wears name badges at all except for him and the other captives. It could be that he guards the creature's cell, and they have interacted before. Perhaps seen each other. However, that still does not explain how it could know his name when no one is allowed to talk to it.

"Tell me — is your wife still ill? Have you managed to scrape together enough money to save her yet?" — It coos at the armoured guard, enunciating each word to draw out the hurtful sentence. This seems like an incredibly intimate, serious conversation to be having right now. Something tells him that it's not that the two have been chatting away with each other when nobody's looking, more so that it just knows much more about the people residing here than it lets on. The way it phrased the question seems too mean-spirited and mocking to be genuine, and the sympathetic drawl it used was less than convincing.

"Now, what is that expression for? I'm merely curious." — The guard must gesture or nod in some way, because though he says nothing in response, the prisoner can hear the heavy, languid steps of the creature entering the cafeteria finally, huffing in dramatic annoyance. That grin does not leave its mouth. — "Alright, alright. Don't let me distract you from your very important job."

The doors close and the telltale buzzer of the lock sliding back into place seals the fate of each captive in the room.

For the first time since it got here, it finally acknowledges the presence of the crowd of people anticipating their possible deaths sitting in neat rows at long lines of tables. He can only hope no one is dumb enough to act out; there is no telling what it will do if it is displeased. — "Awe, just look at you all. Trembling in your boots, like newborn kittens."

As it stalks deeper into the room, he listens to Brandon move back to his position next to him. He catches the clicking of his armour sheets knocking into each other from his shivering, despite him standing completely still. Even through the mask it's obvious how hard he is trying to keep it together, taking long, deep breaths in order to keep calm. The captive wonders if it was an allotted job to open the door for the creature, or if he really just thought it best to play along with its games.

"No need to be so scared… After all, I'm the most harmless thing in this facility. Perfectly contained and controlled. Predictable!" — It bangs on one of the tables right after 'predictable', jerking everyone in the cafeteria terribly. It giggles to itself in delight. Despite the warning the prisoners received about not reacting to anything it does, it has yet to punish failure to follow rules. And truthfully, everyone flinched, including the security personnel surrounding the room. It pauses, glancing from prisoner head to prisoner head, then passes over the guards once, waiting a good few seconds before continuing. — "You are all so well-behaved — were you expecting me? Did you know I would come out to play today?"

The way it saunters through the room like it belongs anywhere near here is almost disorienting. Somehow he is the one who feels like he doesn't belong. And truly, he doesn't. He wouldn't be here if he wasn't in the wrong place at the wrong time on that fateful day. He wouldn't be here if that one guard didn't see him sneaking out of his cell a few weeks ago. He would be free, finishing up university and truly starting out his adult life. He wishes every day for a miracle, but he doesn't even know what kind of miracle would be able to save him. One that could destroy this whole damn building, let everyone who was kidnapped against their will free, while also trapping all the abnormal, dangerous curiosities and experiments it holds safely deep below the surface.

The next time the thing speaks, its voice comes from a radically different direction from where he heard its footsteps leading. — "I did warn them in advance... It can't be that I frightened them so much they ran off, can it? There is not another soul in this whole place but us, little lambs."

A sharp gasp and a sob, somewhere to his far right. There is the subtle whisper of the uniforms the captives wear, the noise it makes as it is twisted. It has someone. Has it grabbed them? He wants to see what's happening so bad, but he wants to stay alive more. He keeps his head down and his eyes shut. — "It's so nice of them to leave me such a lovely gift."

"No, please, please — "

"It's just unfortunate that they had wasted my time — and yet more unfortunate that they didn't even come to watch me some more, as they so like to do."

It must have made its choice. He prepares himself for the death wail and desperate pleading of the poor soul, expecting the monster to latch into them and drag them away back to its own cell soon. He tries to plug his ears and curl up as tight as possible, to somehow block out the terrible, traumatising event and be glad it wasn't him that was chosen. What a morbid, inhumane thought. The only thing more shameful than being happy for another's misfortune is the fact he feels absolutely no shame for thinking like that.

“Hmm… I was really looking forward to showing them this."

The screech of agony comes and grows in volume so quickly he barely has time to jam his fingers deeper into his ears before it ends. Abruptly. A sickening crunch and a splash of liquid hitting the linoleum floor, then silence. Deathly silence. No one dares to utter a word. What happened? Is it over? He certainly won't be the one to risk asking.

Long enough goes by for one of his fellow captives to ask instead of him, tears audible in her voice. He would be lying if he wasn't close to bawling as well. — "I-Is it over?" — comes the innocent whisper. When her voice isn't immediately answered with violence and death, he dares to open up his fingers just a little to look through the cracks. She would not have been able to even finish that sentence if it wasn't over, right?

He sees a massive shadow cross the room right in front of him, blocking out the red light beating down on his face for only a split second. It moved inhumanely fast. It was inhumanely tall. It also had at least three more pairs of long limbs than a human would, each ending in too many bladed fingers.

It's gone before he could even squeeze his eyes shut again, already out of sight. It moves rapidly and without a sound — a horrible chill freezes his body in place at the primal fear that takes hold of him. He prays it didn't catch him flinching so violently.

Right after he concludes that it is definitely not gone yet, it answers the question for her, —

"I am afraid I am not done just yet."

The same woman who spoke up now screams for her life, her desperate cry only overpowered by the creature's demented laughter as it tears her apart without as much as another word. All that remains is the latter half of her corpse, fallen to the ground with a dull, final thud. This is bad, this is very bad. It must have killed its first chosen as well, — is he just meant to sit there until his turn comes? Just hope that his shivering and gasping of terror won't be too loud for it to end him? How long is he meant to stay like this?

Its long, deep sigh is filled to the brim with contentment. — "You break so easily..."

A shot goes off then, deafening like the screeching, roaring guffaws it lets out as it bends to dodge the bullet, leaping away into a corner swiftly. It clicks its tongue, probably at the one who shot at it. Its voice drops to a low growl that resembles the purr of a carnivore. — "Aww, did I break a rule? Did I make the big, scary humans angry?"

More shots follow in rapid succession, exploding from all angles, more and more of the guards lifting their respective guns to join in. Now the captives are made to scream from the added stress, frightened not only by the creature's antics, but from the gunfire as well. Some almost hope to get shot rather than ripped in twain by it. If any bullets reach at all they do not hurt it, as the only reaction it gives is uncontrollable laughter and mockery.

Worst of all, he can't even tell who's still alive anymore. Between the bullets and the creature roaming the floor, there's no way nobody is caught in the crossfire. A stray bullet catches his shoulder, singing his skin on its way. He cries out, gripping at it, but luckily it is more busy jumping from prisoner to prisoner to use them as living shields than with punishing them for their understandable reactions one by one. Something sounds almost bitter in its voice as it speaks between the rain of bullets.

"You almost got me!"

A muffled cry and the sound of a heavy rifle hitting the floor.

"Go on, make me obey!"

Ripping of armour, of flesh.

"Show me how scary you can be!"

Something bangs on the table in front of him with a sickening crunch.

"Oh, you shot your own. How sad."

In the end, when the fire dies down and silence stretches between drips of blood, no one dares to say a word. Whoever is still alive has either passed out from injuries or overstimulation, or has receded so deep inside their own minds that they still twitch and quake at echoes of long gone fire. He feels closer to the latter, unable to even move an inch if he tried, ears ringing like a church bell.

The room now strongly smells of gunpowder and blood. Most of the soldiers are dead, only a couple hiding away in corners, injured or just terrified, and a single one standing stock still, hands clasped tightly around his gun. He can hear him gasping for air.

It wanders between the corpses as if it was skipping through a meadow of flowers. It seems just as peaceful too.

"Mmm..." — It stops somewhere in the middle of the room, cocking its head to the side. It coughs out a snicker. — "Now you seem disappointed in me."

It's talking to someone again, but who? He's sure he's the only one left conscious after all that. His toes curl with the thought that it is talking to him.

"Oh, could it be?" — It sounds giddy, growing louder, condescending. It stretches every syllable threateningly, playful. His guts tie themselves in knots at its awful tone. — "I can hear you, Doctor! Brandon, you didn't tell me you had her on the line!"

If he concentrates, he can just barely pick out the tiny voice yelling orders at Brandon from his radio. He is obviously not following them, clutching that heavy piece of metal in his hands like his last lifeline, hugging it close instead of defending himself with it. He does not move, but the creature doesn't mind walking closer to him instead, kicking corpses out of the way nonchalantly. — "She has caught it all, has she? Doctorrrr, why didn't you show up today? I was looking forward to seeing you."

It is coming closer again, closer to Brandon most likely. He wonders just what in the actual hell this guy did to have made friends with something like it. One wrong move is enough for it to tear out your throat, and yet it treats him like a dear friend compared to everyone else. The tip of his rifle still burns from all the lead he shot its way prior to it killing off most of his colleagues.

The radio has become suspiciously quiet.

"You left me this delicious gift, but didn't even come to see me? Brandon, tell her to come visit me!" — It is right next to him, talking to Brandon — it's just his luck that he managed to sit next to the murder demon's only buddy.

Brandon says nothing. It's voice darkens then, purring out these words, — "I truly would have loved to see you today, doctor. It's a shame you weren't here. I would have been more than happy to let you join in on the fun. I would have loved to show you the consequences of your carelessness in person."

The radio sparks to life again, her voice coming hurriedly, — yelling at Brandon to shoot it now now now — but not much more makes it out before it grips the black box and tears it off of the guard, whispering right into it to make sure the one on the other side listens well, — “Next time you need someone to test your new toys out on, make sure they actually work before you piss me off. See you on Monday, love.”

Whichever scientist it is talking to starts yelling again, voice distorting with the steadily increasing pressure it uses to crush the small device in its hand. The last dying static that makes it out of the speaker is snuffed out viciously, causing both other men to flinch when it shoves the thing into the wall right next to Brandon's head, shattering it to pieces and letting the plastic shards fall to the blood covered floor. It's silent once again.

So the fuckers were watching. Of course they were, nothing happens in this godforsaken place without their knowledge. However, what the demon meant was clear — the scientists have displeased it by making it wait despite their agreement, angered it when they didn't even come in to witness its retribution in person out of cowardice — proving they knew fully well they had messed up — and then made it furious when they opened fire as soon as it began doling out more pain than they thought it should. All that, banking on these new weapons being sufficient enough to stop it. It’s all clear to him now — it decided to hold this horrifying spectacle as a punishment and as a warning in response to the arrogance that had let the researchers slip up and forget their place. Now, of course, the ones paying for it are people like him, with no control over the situation, not people like that doctor watching from a safe distance from what must be another lab, or even her own home, free of all consequences for her rash actions.

Well, free for now. He doubts it will forget her disrespect come Monday. If he was in her place, he would quit and never return.

"What do you think, my darling Brandon? Shall I make the message more prominent?" — Its spine creaks like a firecracker. He imagines the massive thing hovering over the cornered soldier with a scary grin, daring him to shoot it so it can make him regret he was ever born in the blink of an eye. The last bastion of this toy castle, standing between a wall and a creature that could tear down this entire building, if only it wanted to.

No shots are fired, no screams are heard. A loud metallic bang on the floor — Brandon dropping his weapon. The creature hums a pleasant sound after nearly a minute of unsettling eye-contact and only the sound of their own breathing, finally snickering and backing off of the terrified guard. It seems satisfied. — “Atta boy. I knew I liked you for a reason.”

Brandon’s quivering lips part behind the mask of his helmet, letting past a shaky exhale. He pushes himself back further, searching for balance on the wall behind him with his knees feeling like they could buckle at any moment. Though he is a special case, he is far from immune to the vicious whims of the horrific creature.

The monster begins wandering the room once again, surveying the darkness for prisoners that may still be alive. Its demeanour has changed, though; it seems much more irritable, less playful. It is no longer hiding its heavy footsteps, and it no longer taunts and mocks neither Brandon, nor anyone else. He doesn't know if the change is a good or a bad thing. He's only glad it hadn't noticed him yet.

It finds a possible candidate for itself but kills them off in the same moment when said candidate jumps to their feet in a blind panic and tries to run from it. It sends an arm through their abdomen, lifting them up towards the ceiling and tossing them into a wall, no doubt shattering their spine and killing them. The way it kills does not become any less terrifying, no matter how many times he has to listen to bones crack and flesh rip. It sighs, moving on. — “Disappointing. Awfully disappointing.”

Another life snuffed out not a minute later — it's almost dismissive with how carelessly it sends bodies flying through the air like puppets. No one seems to be able to satisfy it. It’s like it has lost interest in playing along. That isn't exactly surprising, if he thinks about it. If he was such an all-powerful, menacing beast with no kryptonite, and his fun was ruined by the people he had made a deal with out of boredom, he probably wouldn't stick to the rules either, but ignore them and look for other ways to amuse himself.

However, stuck with his thoughts as he is, the only thing he could truly concentrate on is one question: what if no one will be chosen by it today? It can surely just break out of here and look for more meat, if not just completely abandon the agreement and go on a merciless hunting spree. That would be disastrous, maybe irreversible. He can only hope that if he is killed today, unable to please it, it will at least find the motherfucker who kidnapped him and kill them too. All of them.

Bodies that still have a soul in them are scarce. The mental fortitude he needs to stay so still and quiet as he listens to it smashing someone's skull into a wall just a couple tables over has become even scarcer. He's going to die here. He will. It doesn't want a prisoner like him, it just wants to destroy. No rules tie it down until the doctors repent, and to repent they might have to give their lives. It's just going to kill off each leftover prisoner one by one; probably Brandon too once it runs out of defenceless captives.

“Is this it? This is what I was made to wait for?” — It comes up behind another man and doesn't even wait for him to react, snapping his neck in one quick motion. — “What a waste of my time. This is getting more and more boring, Brandon, and you know how I get when I'm bored.”

As if demonstrating, it snaps the arm of a person lying on the ground, already injured from a gunshot just to hear them wail. Once it heard enough, it tears off the whole limb, and moves onto the next one, not letting up until their body finally gives out. The prisoner can't see any of it, but he can more than sufficiently imagine it from the horrid sounds.

He can hear frustration clear as day in its otherwise emotionless voice. This is the end. It's only a matter of time before it finds him. At least he won't be taken by it, tortured for god knows how long; and he takes solace in that. His death will be brutal, but quick. Maybe he should just get its attention and be done with it.

He considers it, but his train of thought is swiftly interrupted. — “May I make a suggestion?”

It's a timid, yet loud, hesitant voice muffled by a padded helmet. No one but silence answers it. The beast stops in its tracks, pausing for just a moment. He cannot believe he heard that right. The first thing he feels is bitterness, for he really will be left all alone when the creature eliminates this suicidal soldier before him.

“Brandonnn…” — it sings at him, a vile, dangerous melody crawling with unsaid intentions. However, to his surprise, it doesn't instantly leap across the floor to tackle the guard and behead him for breaking a rule. Instead, its eyes find Brandon, humming to him from what sounds to be across the room. It brings small relief to hear that smile having returned to its face. If nothing else, at least it's interested again. — “You are being very brave today. You aren't supposed to speak to me, don't you know? It's very dangerous.”

It purrs at him knowingly, but doesn't pounce on him. Not yet. What could Brandon's plan be? Distraction? Self-sacrifice? Maybe the monster whisperer can find a way to calm it down after all. He holds his breath, praying that whatever the guard is about to do doesn't end in more carnage.

“Well, seeing as, uh, we're all breaking the rules, I thought I'd, I'd join in.” — It's unusual to hear a prison guard so nervous; usually they sound either bored and emotionless, or antagonistic as they drag captives off to help out with deadly experiments that are too dangerous for more important people to take part in. It's hard to feel righteous joy at listening to one of the people who routinely treats all like him as less than human finally being on the receiving end of the cruelty of a subject like this when he may be next; but he can't say it's impossible. Every stutter makes both men more anxious, and the monster more intrigued.

The creature starts walking towards him at a languid pace. The guard tenses. — “You just can't help playing with fire.” — He can almost hear Brandon's heart pounding from where he cowers. The silence is deafening. — “And what may your suggestion be?”

He hesitates to answer. It’s approaching him, now closing in on him much too quick to think clearly. Like a timer, counting down with each step towards his death. Like convincing the Grim Reaper to grant him more time.

As it steps up to him, towering over the man in a terribly intimidating fashion, he forces himself to answer it in the smallest, most strained little voice he has ever heard from a guard, — “I think you would like this one.”

The confusion is quickly overridden by terror. It can't be. Brandon can't do this to him. It's not hard to imagine what the offering could be, but he still tries to come up with a different answer. Breathing becomes a challenge. The creature's curiosity has been peaked, however. It looks towards where Brandon points with a questioning hum.

The prisoner can feel its gaze landing on him. Its voice travels towards him while it addresses the guard.

“I am very curious why you think I would.”

For a moment, hope reappears in his heart. He at the very least managed to put it in a better mood and distracted it, but that is not enough to save anyone, especially not him, now that he drew attention to him like this. Everyone is still just as stuck, but maybe a miracle could happen, and he manages to convince it to go after someone else — the doctor, for example. Whichever one pissed it off so bad.

Brandon swallows thick as he thinks of the right words to say next. The longer he talks, the more his hope of ever getting out of this in one piece diminishes. — “He, he has been behaving perfectly this whole time. He has been quiet, and still, and, and I know you like the ones that, uh… that are easy on the eyes, as well as obedient.”

The creature is laser focused on every word he says, equal parts amusement and something darker lurking beneath. — “I must say, it is nice to hear your voice. A welcome change. Keep talking for me. Convince me.”

It turns away from Brandon to scrutinise the captive’s quivering body instead, burning holes into the top of his head. Though he cannot see what's going on, he can hear it very well, and when it starts walking over to him, he gags on a sob and his breaths become irregular.

“Right, uhh — I've seen him around a lot. He's new, but he's never really been a troublemaker. He, uh, seems smart, a bookworm. A loner. I heard he was a top student at a nearby academy before he was brought here. I always see him reading reports and docs. I'm sure he's read yours too. Maybe he could be… interesting, to play with. Right?” — This was humiliating, dehumanising and evil. With every word it became harder to stay still, yet easier to lose himself in despair. Brandon is basically killing him in the most roundabout, terrifying way. It seems to be considering this option, thinking it over. — “Come on, what else… And, uhh, I spoke to him once. I think you'd like his voice, he's got this soft, light way of speaking. Maybe it sounds good as he… screams. You know? He cries easily too. I've heard from one of the others that he's a crybaby. He isn't used to pain. His life was pretty easy as far as I know, so he bruises easily. I think he, uhh, he could… entertain you for a little bit?”

“Mmm. Is that so…” — It's behind him, it's right behind him, what is he meant to do? He no longer supports Brandon's idea, and he downright despises it once the demon starts touching him. He feels its long fingers wrap around his shoulder, teasing at his neck. It purrs as it listens to Brandon, clearly delighted by some of the things he says about him in this awful, uncomfortable, much too personal rant. — “Oh, that does sound very enticing. And he is indeed very well behaved. I barely noticed him at all.”

As it leans over him to observe from up close, he gives up entirely on trying to survive, jerking away from those awful, dangerous claws with a whimper; to the delight of the monster. He doesn't want to be chosen, he really doesn't, he can't do this, he can't — but he can't even force a single plea out of his throat. He is frozen solid, yet pliable in its embrace as it circles him, inspects him, smells him. Possibly worst of all, he can't even bring himself to be angry with Brandon. He probably would have tried something similar in his place. However painful it feels to be betrayed by someone who seemed to be on his side, it is still for the greater good to sacrifice one for the lives of many. He just never expected to be sacrificed himself. He assumed there must be another from the hundred other prisoners next to him that would be a better choice, and found crucial comfort in that.

He tries to avoid looking at it as it pulls and nags at him. Its frigid claws freeze his lungs and burn his skin. This fear is unlike anything he has ever felt before. Debilitating, primal, fit for a prey animal in the clutches of a predator. It makes alien sounds that resemble giddiness, digging through his hair eagerly, grabbing onto a stray lock and jerking it hard enough to wrench his head to the side, keeping him bent like that. Its words chill him to the bone as it murmurs into his ear. — “You lasted so, so long, little lamb. If only your shepherd dog could have scared off the wolf on his own, huh? His owner is not here to help, and he is too cowardly to give up his life to save yours. How sad.”

It does not sound sad whatsoever; it sounds wicked and excited. It completely suffocates him with all those limbs, feeling every part of him. He has never felt so many hands on him at once. It's awful, he can't even fight off any of them before they have him by the wrists and ankles and waist and neck and chest and he is completely defenceless against all of it. He feels himself being lifted into the air and there are even more hands touching him, coming to caress his face and knot his hair, and when he opens his mouth to scream a desperate wail of helplessness, fingers enter his mouth to push on his tongue and explore his molars.

Brandon has gone quiet, averting his eyes and trying his best to ignore what he has done. It's for the greater good, that's all that matters. And he might keep his job after all, despite his failure to follow orders from his boss. If he returns in one piece and with a successfully tamed monster back in its cell chewing on its newest victim, perhaps he will be excused for it.

When it finally seems satisfied, it simply drops him, uncaring of the height he was held at. He lands painfully on his front, scraping his chin off the floor. He tries to clamber away immediately, blindly backing away from it, but those hands return sooner than expected, gripping him by the neck to keep him in place.

It forces him to look in its eyes. It has awful, terrifying, coal black orbs that pierce him right through. Whatever it is looking for in his teary expression, it finds it, because it grins with sharp teeth and takes hold of one of his wrists again, dragging him along with itself. It walks right past Brandon, tearing the doors open with no issue. It pauses in the doorway, turning to the guard once more.

“Thank you for helping me choose, my dear Brandon. I hope to see you again soon,” — it says, waving him goodbye. It wastes no time to return to its cell, a newly reignited curiosity pulling it towards the corridor. Brandon succeeded in exciting it. Ideas of torment materialise in its head already as it listens to the poor prisoner sob, pulling at the fingers gripping him tight.

In a moment they are both gone. The lights brighten, the danger is gone. The few people who survived this encounter are saved. Brandon escorts them back to their cells, one by one, taking the time to let quiet tears fall as he shuffles through the sea of dead. He does not have the peace of mind to write a report nor to notify anyone about it being over for another couple hours. And in reality, it isn't over. It never is. The prisoner will die sooner or later, and then he will have to do this again and again and again. He will have to live with his choices, and if it comes down to it, he will have to make the same decision again.

The next day, as he stands outside the cell door, listening to the unending wailing and begging coming from behind the solid steel, he will have to convince himself that this is better. That he made the right choice. He will cry and apologise over and over again to the locked metal gate.

And it will be listening to him, satisfied with its one true victim's pain.

Masterlist | Ko-Fi

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wolveria · 5 months ago

Text

The Anomaly Archives - Reality #003

AU of The Raven's Hymn

Pairing: SCP-049 x Reader

Chapter Warnings: Sex pollen, non-consensual drugging, dubious consent, noncon, mutual noncon, vaginal sex, cold!049

AO3

SCP-049 was a wonderful subject to work with.

You didn’t really work with him, as such. You watched him perform his mysterious surgeries, scribbling in his leatherbound journal as you observed from the security of the room adjacent. He was fastidious, intelligent, and above all, polite. At least, when you gave him instructions through the intercom, he obeyed with a pleasant, “Very well, Doctor.”

You weren’t a doctor, but you didn’t correct him. He knew of your credentials from when you’d introduced yourself roughly a month ago. 049 was a new SCP in your rotation, and he was a nice change. You already had so much new data to work with, as something had sparked the SCP from his lethargic state soon after you assumed your new station.

Logic would dictate you were the introduced variable that stirred him from his dormancy, but you doubted it. A new researcher was... well, nothing new. As far as you could tell, you simply had good timing.

Still, the anomaly paid close attention to your presence. The glass was mirrored—so you’d been told, you’d never been inside the chamber itself—but the way he gazed at it, straight to where you sat before the monitors, left you feeling exposed.

Despite the unsettling attention, your hard work paid off. Just on the other side of the door was the anomaly, currently being restrained and secured in the interview room. Dr. Puli had finally acknowledged your progress and allowed the interview, despite his reservations.

You didn’t understand his hesitancy. SCP-049 was a relatively tame anomaly, and your new methods had helped placate him further. Sure, he wasn’t technically allowed any human subjects, but no one would miss the corpses from the morgue. They were tagged to be destroyed, and it would have been a waste of resources.

“Are you ready?”

You jumped, nearly spilling your mostly empty cup of coffee. They must have upped the caffeine concentration; you’d been jittery all morning after taking your first sip, sweat dotting your forehead as your skin prickled with heat. You reminded yourself to cut back the next morning.

“I am,” you said to your boss where he stood beside you, facing the interview room. There was a second door to the right that led to the observation room.

“Good. Because I, uh... won’t be able to sit in on this one, unfortunately.”

You eyed his apologetic smile, spotting the frustration underneath.

“Oh? Why not?”

“We have a couple of humanoid transfers and I’ve been asked to oversee it.” Dr. Puli glanced toward the two doors, releasing a breath. “But I know you’ll do well. And if anything goes wrong—not that it will—you’ll have all the help you need. Our new Site Director will be observing, and he wants things to go smoothly.”

You nearly choked on the coffee you’d brought to your lips.

“The Site Director is here?”

“Yes, he... asked to sit on it. It sounded like he was impressed with your progress. No one else has been able to get the anomaly to engage, let alone cooperate.”

You gave a nervous smile. At least no one seemed to be mad about those bodies you designated for 049’s use. Still, the news put a damper on your excitement. Dr. Puli wouldn’t say what happened to the last Site Director, and no one else would speak about him either. Your interactions with Leahy had been sparse and rare, but you hadn’t had a problem with him.

But his replacement, Site Director Johannson, was another story. He was an older man, perhaps in his 60s judging by the white hair, but there was nothing grandfatherly about him. When he looked at you, you got the sense he wasn’t seeing you at all.

Your assessment of him didn’t improve after you’d been requested to wear a very specific ensemble for this interview. No one had asked you to wear a skirt before, and you felt like progress had been set back a good 50 years.

A radio chirped to your left, belonging to one of the guards where it was clipped to his vest. He clicked on the microphone and spoke to his counterparts inside.

“You’re clear,” he informed you, though his head remained stiffly forward.

“Wish me luck.”

You handed Dr. Puli your empty coffee cup when he held out his hand for it.

“You don’t need it, but... good luck.”

He gave you one last smile and stepped away, your two escort guards moving at your back. It was overkill, in your opinion, but you wouldn’t wave off the extra security. You didn’t plan to make the same mistake your predecessors did, underestimating what 049 was capable of simply because of his disarming presence.

There was nothing very disarming about the SCP waiting inside. The door slid back to reveal the dark form sitting at the table, his shoulders hunched, and his head bowed. His mask lifted upwards so quickly it was almost a jerk, his eyes focused on you like a large hawk spotting a mouse in a meadow.

You frowned at the unusual behavior but continued forward, your tablet held against your chest as you entered the interview room. The Class III Humanoid Restriction Harness was in place, two extender bars connecting the collar around his neck to the grips of the two guards who flanked him. Even sitting down with his wrists shackled to the table, they weren’t taking any chances.

Typically, you would be at ease in the SCP’s presence, but something had clearly agitated him. You assumed the guards had been rougher than necessary, leaving the poor entity ruffled and misused.

You sat at the table opposite of 049, laid the tablet flat on the table, and gave him a reassuring smile.

“I’m going to ask you a few questions today. Is it okay if I record this interview?”

The SCP stared at you, but his grey eyes seemed fixed on the wall behind you.

“SCP-049?”

“I would not suggest making a record of what is about to transpire, but I fear that decision is outside your control.”

It was your turn to stare. His words were low, grinding in his throat as if it was difficult to speak, and his gaze was on you, too sharp and jagged.

“SCP-049, are you feeling all right?”

One of the guards behind you clicked his radio, but you heard nothing else, indicating he had switched to his headset. Behind the glass, the weight of stares were heavy on you, a reminder that your position was on the line.

There was a crinkle of chains as 049’s folded hands shifted on the table.

“Are you?”

The question brought you up short. The way it was presented was fairly neutral, but this level of stubbornness was unlike him.

“SCP-049, if you are unwilling to cooperate for this interview, then you will be escorted back to your cell.”

“No. I will not.”

He leaned forward, chains pulled taut at the movement.

“Neither you nor I will be leaving this room. Not, I suspect, for a while.”

You opened your mouth to ask him what the hell was wrong with him, and then fell into shocked silence as the two guards at his flank unhooked the extender bars. Without explanation, all of the guards turned away, opened the doors on their respective sides of the room, and walked out.

All you could do was watch, frozen until the room was emptied of all but you and the SCP.

You leapt from your chair, tablet forgotten as you swiped your keycard in front of the reader. It didn’t so much as beep. You pounded on the door, calm professionalism forgotten as panic crawled up your throat.

You went to the mirrored observation window next, banging your hand against the surface so hard it wobbled, and then you stared at your reflection. Your forehead was beaded with sweat, your hair already damp, and heat sufficed your skin.

“You are feeling the effects.”

You met 049’s reflected gaze in the mirror.

“Of what?”

His head tilted, as of the answer was obvious.

“Of what they have given us both.”

Your mind immediately backtracked to earlier that morning and the unusually bitter coffee some tech had handed you before the interview. You’d heard of things like this happening before, mostly through sensationalized rumors after someone disappeared, but you never thought it would happen to you.

You and the SCP were caught in an experiment, exposed to an unknown chemical, and the results would be documented.

049 must have glimpsed it in your eyes, the hollow dread eating away the pit of your stomach. The SCP yanked through his chains, the links scattering across the floor like spilled jewels from a broken necklace. He rose to his feet, broad shoulders blocking out the light behind him, his beaked mask dipped as his gaze burned through you.

You bolted to the far corner of the room, but the entity was right on your heels. He grabbed a fistful of your coat, yanked you backwards, and slammed you sideways into the closest wall. Your scream was choked off from the hand wrapped around your neck.

Your struggles to escape were as fruitless as a bird slapping its wings against the side of its cage, his fingers as unyielding as the bars. He glared down at you with that same predatory focus, and you were so terrified of what he would do that your mind took several long moments to catch up.

049 gripped you with direct skin-to-skin contact, and you were still alive. That shouldn’t be possible. No one understood why his touch was lethal, or if he had control of it. Perhaps this answered that question.

But his eyes narrowed and searched your face, as if he too was stumped by the situation. You weren’t given a moment of reprieve; 049 pulled you way from the wall, readjusting his hold so it was on the nape of your neck, and he shoved you down onto the interview table, bent over its edge.

An animal noise was ripped out of you as he followed you down, his torso pressed against your back, his metallic, rasping words in your ear.

“You have been betrayed, Doctor,” he said low enough that only you could hear. “Though I do not believe you were sent in here to die by my hand. After all, what would be the purpose of dosing you if the expectation was for this experiment to be done on a corpse. Of course, these charlatans conduct nonsensical and disturbed tests and call it science; I would not be surprised if necrophilia was on the agenda.”

His tone was almost conversational, as if you weren’t trembling and gasping in his grip, the gazelle trapped under the lion. You winced as he leaned closer, belatedly remembering he couldn’t actually bite.

“They must already know you are… special. This does not bode well for you.”

You agreed with that—none of this looked good. Had you done something to piss off someone up the ladder? Or was this Johannson getting rid of Leahy’s hires to make room for his own?

You supposed it didn’t matter, you were here now, and your only real focus was on trying to ignore the ache between your legs, made worse the longer he leaned on your back. You pressed your forehead against the cold metal of the table with a desperate attempt to remain still, but your body was traitorous, swayed by the drug that had been slipped in your coffee.

049 let out a strained breath as you lifted your hips and rubbed against him, desperate for friction through the thick fabric of your skirt. You’d never worn a damn skirt to work before, had never been required to, and now, you were almost grateful for it. Every second that passed made your skin burn hotter, and you whined low in your throat. You would do anything to make it stop.

049 released his hold on your neck; he no longer needed to worry about you running. His hands trailed along your sides, the touch curious, and when he reached the hem of your skirt and pushed it up to your hips, you arched your back in anticipation. You were aware of the mirrored observation window, but it was a thought at the back of your mind, nowhere near as important as the promise of relief.

The SCP surprised you by flipping you over, your back now flat against the table as he loomed over you. He reached under your skirt and pushed your underwear to the side, his fingers sinking deep inside with one smooth motion.

The back of your head banged against the table as you bucked against his hand, and your legs naturally found their way around his hips. He plunged deeper, his fingers squeezed between your tight walls, and when his thumb found your clit you lost the sense you had left.

“Please,” you begged for something you weren’t sure he had. Previous researchers hadn’t found evidence of any sort of genitalia, but they hadn’t exactly been looking. Even if all he had were his fingers, you didn’t care. You just needed something. Anything.

But he removed his fingers, kept your underwear pulled to the side, and something unmistakably phallic prodded your cunt.

You pressed your heels against the small of his back, the head of his cock breaching you not enough, and he snarled in response. Fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs, he hauled your hips off the table and slid inside you with a single thrust.

There was no air in your lungs to scream with, and honestly, oxygen didn’t seem a priority when it felt like he was going to split you in half. You didn’t know if it was the drugs or the fact you were dripping wet, but it didn’t hurt—in fact, it only ached when he stopped moving.

You sensed a similar restlessness from him, even as he paused to take a breath, he couldn’t hold still, his hips rubbing against yours. Your fingers dug into the thick fabric of his arms as he held your hips at an angle, beyond words and even thoughts at this point.

049 pulled back only a couple of inches before thrusting in again, as if he couldn’t bear to not be buried in your heat. Your fingers increased their grip, and 049 gave an irritated growl at your impatience, snapping his hips forward in answer. You let go of him, pleasantly boneless as he decided to stop testing the new sensations and started to fuck you in earnest. He thrust forward in the same movement of pulling you to him, like you were a thing he was using to chase his own pleasure.

You throbbed around his cock at the idea of being used like his personal toy, and you weren’t sure you could blame it on the drugs.

049 changed his angle, laying almost flat on top of you as he hitched your legs around his waist. Your hips were on the table again as his pace slowed, but the deeper thrusts hit a spot that wound you tighter with each hit.

Your breath staggered and small whimpers escaped. Able to remain silent for most of it, you couldn’t now as you gripped him like a vice.

A litany of French expletives spilled out of him, and the harsh sounding vowels and the loss of control behind them shot straight to your gut. You wrapped your arms around his chest and clung to his back, desperate for something to hold onto, and then you crashed over the edge.

You buried your face in his shoulder and gave a wordless cry, scratching your nails into his thick hide. And still 049 continued to thrust, fucking you as you continued to throb. Something large and warm pressed against your entrance, and you didn’t know what it was, only that you wanted it inside you.

049 hissed and grabbed your thighs, forcing you still when you tried to push back against the barrier, and then he groaned and shuddered. He remained inside you for a moment before he abruptly pulled out, come spilling onto you in thick, white ropes.

The remainder spilled onto the floor as he aimed downward away from you, and you caught sight of the bulbous knot at the base of his cock before he covered himself with his outer robes.

The SCP was trying to catch his breath, and you were doing the same, your thoughts still fuzzy and distant, as if a part of you didn’t want to go back to reality yet. But 049’s eyes were focused and clear, and to your surprise, gazed at you with regret.

“I… did attempt to avoid ejaculation inside you, but I fear I may not have fully succeeded.”

His attention drifted to the door, and at the reminder, you pulled down your skirt and winced at the mess between your legs.

“Why?” you asked as you sat up and tried to collect what was left of your dignity. There wasn’t much to find. “What’s it matter at this point.”

049 turned his focus back on you, his eyes grim.

“Your Foundation may lack humanity, but everything they do is with the intention of an outcome. And what, pray tell, is the outcome one would wish when breeding two assets?”

Two assets? Breeding?

“That’s not… not what this is.” You shook your head. “You’re wrong.”

049 rose to his full height, dwarfing you where you sat on the edge of the table.

“I rarely am.”

He reached forward and took you by the chin. Though it was a gentle gesture, you still trembled at the touch, and the unreadable coldness of his pale eyes.

“And if I’m correct, then we’ll be seeing much more of each other.”

“N-no. This has to be a mistake.” You didn’t believe the words even as you said them, and tears collected unwillingly at the corners of your eyes. “Doctor Puli wouldn’t let them—”

“He would, and he has.”

049 released you and leaned in, so close his mask brushed your neck.

“You’re one of us now, my dear.”

You closed your eyes and the tears spilled down your cheeks. 049’s arms went around your shoulders, and you were too tired to fight it, and you leaned into the embrace. The muffled footfalls of guards outside the door signaled you wouldn’t be alone for much longer, and 049 tightened his grip.

Possessive.

#scp 049 #scp 049 x reader #scp fandom #the anomaly archives #the raven's hymn #wolveria writes

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