Being contained. You know how it feels like? To spend your entire life, stuck within a Containment Unit. Tested like a pig, waiting for the day they need your abnormal properties one more time.
Those few times, were the best of times. Throwout my stay at the SCP Foundation, those were the good days. The days were i was allowed to step throgh the gates that cut me from the outside world and reconnect with old forgotten sensations, away from the metalic square that i called room.
the dreed and flickers of frustration leaking from the cracks of my poker face, has they placed me in front of a one sided mirror staring into SCP-682´s eye. the one not covered in weat strands of pale grey hair. Contained within his own little box. There was nothing little about the lizard. I'd eard story's about the invincible giant reptilian. But seeing it, gazing into his ebony marble , gazing back with raging indiference...Predator.
They took some of my blood. Sucked into a specially devised pen, that sucked my blood like a seringe, so the red liquid cude be used as said pen's ink.
You see, my blood is sort of unique. Anything that's written with my blood, becomes true. My blood, literally reshapes reality to fit whatever narrative, frase, word, letter. Forced crimson swirls and corves , weaving the framework , the strings attached to what is and isen't.
You'd think they whodent need me there, if my blood was all they needed. But the abnormal properties only worked under my sway. My blood, my hand, my writting.
They put a paper in front of me, and told me to kill SCP-682. This was actually an unown to me at that point. Cude i really kill him? 682's regenerative capabilities were concidered a Passive Reality Warping Anomaly. Hivan if he died, he may just come back. That's what i thought, as i wrote the frase "SCP-682 died in front of me, at 15:56pm".
A minute later, 682 decayed into dust. The Sight Director, in charge of the particular Facility whe were in, was ecstatic. Never did 682 suffered such a drastic and suddent amount of damage. He believed this was it. The beast was dead. But the Researcher's knew better. No celebration, stoic observation. They waited. And, just like they suspected, 682 started to take shape once more. Bone structure, blood, muscle, organs, skin and finaly the scales and swamped threats that covered the top of he's desformed scalp.
You knew, thinking back on it. The Sight Director was really what allowed me to escape. He's presense was a distraction to the Researchers and Guards stationed in the room, along with there weariness of 682. Rolling in a few words on my hand. Thank you, Director!
They whode never give me the time or chance to wright anything down with my blood, while inside my containment unit. With cameras, sensors, guards watching my every move. But there, i had just enough time to wright a sentence, before they were alerted by the guard who took notice of a couple suspicious flicklers of motion from my right arm.
The frase "SCP-044 is in New York." An arm snaked it's way into my collerbone. My powers effects are never immidiate. if i were to be killed before the words cemented themselfs as reality, the words thuth whode be erraced.
Right before vanishing, the guards rushed, to cover the Director and Researchers. In that order, i may add.
___________________________________________
Man, the big guys up there, were not happy. Not one bit.
"SCP-044? Of all SCP's, you manage to lose one of our most prized possessions? What do you have to say for yourself, Sight Director Pierre? " The Leaders of the SCP Foundation, the O5 Councel. The 13 member Bord of Directory within the SCP Foundation.
They were more than a little unpleased with this most recent development.
"044 is an annex of the Red Taint. His every action will have a memetic effect on society. It may lead to a Babilonian mimicry.
"Once I'm done with you Pierre--"
"Calm down *Eight*. Whe must be racional about this. Did any of the cameras caught what he wrote?"
"Y--Yes sir! One of them caught most of the frase. *SCP-044 is in New...*"
"New... Sight? Jersey? York? That narrows it down, but not nearly enough. This is...most unfortunate."
"Sight Director Pierre. Whe will contact you soon...to state your future in the Foundation."
___________________________________________
Now, i had no idea where in New York i whode end up at. Didn't had enough time to wright in any details. Anywhere with a sky whode be a favorable place holder to the gray walls that restrained my imagination. How can a man compartementalize, escape inward, whene there's no source of inspiration? years stuck inside cube cell's do that to people.
Got lucky. Manifested right in the middle of Central Park.
Back in the Foundation, i was not allowed to wright in any way, not hivan on a computer... just in case? Ye, they really didn't wanna take risks with me.
They did let me keep up with the goings on in the outside world via the inter-- that was some fortunate lack of foresight on there part. The Director probably thought I'd be more cooperative, if he allowed some luxuries.
'Thank you my beautiful AC--Copiright! Better not!' I thought to myself, as i walked out of the bushes, basking in the sunlight
'So, this is how it feels like. It's warm. There was no time to lose. Preparing was of the essence.
The pen was still with me. Imidiatly, i started to wright down an idea I've allways wanted to try, ever sinse I've first read Sanderson's E-Books.
The news about the Avengers and the Invasion of the Shitari, meant that the world was finaly starting to be awer of the Abnormal and Supernatural.
Just like them, the best way to protect myself from a Foundation that wants to keep everything about the SCP's, a secret, was to make my existance public, known by a great deal of people, accepted by the masses.
Making aliances with SHIELD, The Avengers and other Factions of the sort, whode also be of great importance. Information is power and resources are a need. I must seek to have both in abundance.
Superpowers. The lattest trend in media. If you have power, you have fame, notoriety.
Just had to have some. 'Well, my blood is a power, i guess. Not a power that can buy me the good graces of the masses. I write with my blood to enforce my perferences on what is true. A PR nightmare waiting to burst. Very mush a satanic esthetic.