"Commander Hughes, be wary. There's something off with our current space. The Kant counter reports local Hume-level as different from normal baseline reality." Corporal Munru said.
Turning the handle and opening the hatch, Sarah Hughe's helmet immediately detected the presence of chemicals synonymous with protecting metal from rust caused by salt water.
Stepping out of the submersive, Sarah was really tempted to stretch her muscles. Being in a cramped space, diving and praying to whoever out there might listen to ensure Goddess's aim stayed true and never hitting friendly fire really wasn't doing any aid to her muscles nor her nerves.
Even now her heart is still beating fast even if it's been a while since they've last encountered one of those sun-turned marine lifeforms.
That little trip was probably the most harrowing experience she's ever had.
Seeing multiple humans appear, the sensors of her helmet registered these people as 'Homo Sapien Sapien', or baseline humans. In total, there was a single Head Researcher flanked by four security guards serving as his entourage.
The Head Researcher was a person of African-American descent. Male. In his late 40s with greying hair and is about 6 feet in height.
Davis Orwell.
"E-R-A-10341048391." Sarah spoke out a strange set of letters.
Hearing that, Orwell stopped and replied with, "E-P-Y-104742-3711." Then, he pulled a badge from his shirt pocket and showed it to Sarah.
To determine if the people are really who they say they are, the Foundation likes to employ memetic bombs— a meme carrying a dormant message that's only triggered when specific conditions are met. Usually, these memetic bombs are used as kill agents but the Foundation has altered them to pertain special code phrases instead.
After the implantation of this memetic bomb, the people are then given a very powerful amnestic to bury that bomb deep enough no telepath can possibly dig it up. There, they stay dormant until a need for verification comes.
The other members of Tau-5 walked out as Goddess continued to hover there in place without moving a single muscle.
"What the hell happened? I thought you guys were under attack." Sarah got straight to the point after determining Orwell really was who he said he was.
The man looked apologetic. Meek almost.
"Apologies, we couldn't really send out a second signal canceling that last one. Just— this is a long story, can we offer you some rest in the meantime? Surely you're all tired coming down here."
"Nah, we'll take the story now."
Orwell looked apprehensive, "Site Director Gears can catch you up on what happened. I don't even know the full story since I went into the shelter the moment the alarms started ringing before coming out once a certain passcode was declared by Director Gears."
Sarah went over Orwell's story with a fine toothcomb. In her experience, whenever a catastrophic breach happens and Tau-5 is called up, any surviving Foundation staff are usually hidden inside designated shelters. The outside hallways are typically coated in blood as you don't just call the power rangers for some willy-nilly breach.
They are the big guns. They are sent in when others would die. Tau-5 is always given the most dangerous missions where they aren't expected to survive, just live long enough to accomplish the objective.
Sarah can still vividly remember the first few times when she saw her subordinates get killed in action. The wet sound of flesh coming apart. The sudden explosion of air as they're turned into pillars of salt…
Those people who barely knew a thing about the world were sent to the frontlines of this massive war between the normal and the paranormal the Foundation waged.
Sarah closed her eyes and reburied those memories.
"I see. Very well then. Have your engineers look over our APC. There shouldn't be too much damage."
"And… what about…" Orwell's eyes glanced at the hovering Type-Green that followed them here.
"They're an uncontained SCP. Site Director Bright is trying to recruit them but I think they fit better inside a containment cell than out there. Even if the Masquerade is broken we can still salvage it after everything's solved. The Foundation has bounced back from things way worse than this."
Orwell nodded, a smile appearing on his lips, "I see, then we are of one mind. Though your orders may be to recruit them by Director Bright, I think an order from Director Gears can countermand them."
Sarah shifted her jaws around. Wasn't Gears a pragmatic individual? He wasn't a hardliner like her.
Seeing her hesitancy, Davis bowed his head.
"Take some rest, Captain Hughes. You and your team can follow us to their quarters."
"And what happens to Goddess?"
"Is that what you're calling her?"
"... Yes. She calls herself Kukulkan, of Mayan mythology. But we're sure she's not Kukulkan."
Orwell had a dismissive look on his face.
"Another one of those? That's how many Type-Greens calling themselves gods now?"
"Talk with you more in private."
Sarah turned back and looked at the Reality Warper in question. Type-Green, the Foundation called them.
Kukulkan was still visibly tense. Her eyes darting all over the hangar unable to relax like a gazelle searching the grasslands around themselves for lions.
Sarah then motioned the rest of her team to follow as they entered this place. Just as Kukulkan was about to enter with them, security guards barred her from entering.
"You will be given special housing elsewhere. Please follow us."
Sarah didn't look back. However, for some reason, her guts are telling her that something was off about the whole ordeal.
_____________
I watched as Sarah left and the door closed behind her.
The security guards around me stood tense, not moving a single muscle as they stared at me.
"Please, follow us."
Another door on another wall of the hangar opened. This time, the door was gigantic, like it was designed for trucks to transfer through.
Those guards motioned me to enter through there.
Something felt especially off. Like, my gut is screaming 'danger' at me.
But why? I couldn't tell why exactly my gut was screaming danger at me.
I really couldn't. Everything appeared perfectly fine. Site-17's entrance was squeaky clean with not a single dust particle swaying about in the air. Though…
It really is clean. Like the air was ridiculously clean. I couldn't see any dead skin cells flaking off from those guards' faces either like I could for people like Rick or Stuart.
That's… really strange. Though not surprising given how these people must've gone through decontamination.
I dropped any worries and followed the men. Constantly hovering a bit above the ground, I entered through the side door probably made for vehicles, and found myself doused in gases dropped from above.
I almost panicked until the security guard next to me said, "Sterilization gas. Kills any microorganisms while leaving cells intact. Don't really know how it works, just that it does."
"And you can just breathe it in?"
He shrugged, "It became inert quickly. The only way to die to this thing is if you suffocate in it."
I nodded along, accepting what they told me. Glancing at the other security guards, I saw how all of them were tense with their fingers on the trigger of their rifles.
"There's no need to be so tense," I gestured at them, "I'm not some kind of indiscriminate monster who would just kill on a whim."
Everyone was still tense. Their muscles are capable of bursting into action at a moment's notice. It almost makes me wonder if they get tired from how tense they are.
I sighed at my failed attempt at diplomacy. Well, not that I can blame anyone in the SCP Foundation for distrusting superpowered anomalies like me. I don't know what SCPs are inside Site-17 but given how stuff like the peanut and shy guy exists, I… uh, I too will probably be wary of any supernatural beings trying to make a peaceful contact.
More so if I lost any friends or family to an SCP breach.
I was ferried through a tall hallway. After a few more minutes of walking, I found myself passing by the entrance to a heavily guarded hallway that ended in a closed blast door. Multiple heavy weapons like machine guns and autocannons were aimed down the corridor, alongside barricades of sandbags where people could take cover.
There were guards stationed all over the corridor. It was definitely strange—
A head of blonde.
"Ah?"
Weird. I almost swore I saw a little girl no older than ten beside the closed blast door.
I kept moving. It wasn't long before I found myself in another stretch of hallway with multiple blast doors off to one side, with the caption 'Temporary Containment Unit' on top of them.
We stopped by an opened holding cell.
Are they serious…?
I stopped. I stared at the containment cell with a look of incredulousness as if I couldn't believe what they were doing.
Are they actually trying to contain me in the middle of When Day Breaks? Fucking what? They're more concerned with containing me than dealing with the mother fucking sun?!?
*Click*
The multiple security guards who were escorting me aimed their guns at me.
"Goddess, please continue walking. Enter into the holding cell."
Are they this suicidal? Or do they just not know what I'm capable of?
"I'm here to help." I stressed, "Why in the world are you all trying to contain me?"
One of the guards spoke into his walkie-talkie on his shoulder, "This is Lieutenant Johnson, I need backup. I've got an uncooperative SCP here."
My mouth gapped. Part of my mind noted what he said.
SCP? Have I already been entered into the system?
"SCP-39101. You do not have permission to slow down, please keep walking or we will be forced to take drastic measures."
"Are you all kidding me?! Did you all hit your head or something? Or did you miss what happened on the surface? The sun should be your main enemy, not me!" I called out, trying to de-escalate the situation.
"SCP-39101, you do not have permission to stop. Keep walking or drastic force will be used."
I had a look of anguish at how stubborn these people are. "Are you actually seriously trying to contain an anomaly who's trying to be helpful to humanity?"
"If you're truly helpful, enter into the holding cell and we'll classify you as Thaumiel." The level-2 security guard said. Wasn't Thaumiel SCPs something of a secret?
"And how long would that take? How many people will die in the meantime?"
"SCP-39101, this is your last warning. Continue walking into the holding cell or we will be forced to open fire."
Are these people so fanatical in their beliefs that they're willing to risk protecting all of humanity in favor of containing one more anomaly?
What kind of zealotry is this?
I felt wronged. I wanted to leave and abandon this facility except I can't really do that.
Oh no, I could very easily physically leave this containment site. That's no problem.
The real problem comes with me pretty much destroying the image of a 'helpful goddess who loves humanity' that I'm trying to cultivate. Working with the Foundation would result in far more people being saved and granting me access to information not present within the original SCP-001 Article. Not to mention the access to Foundation assets.
I could see in almost slow motion as the guards pulled their trigger.
"Stop!"
A voice boomed and halted those fingers in their tracks. The guard's eyes never left me as a figure entered.
My eyes shifted to this newcomer. He was an elderly man with a long grey beard surrounding his jaw and equally grey hair falling from his head. I couldn't tell what ethnicity he was. The man only wore a white robe.
I could feel an aura of calmness radiate from him. Like rain falling upon the earth, I could feel calmness trying to seep into my mind, trying to quiet my agitation about the injustice brought about me, trying to make me instinctively trust him.
And it's working. Slightly.
If it weren't for the level of Mind Defense I bought, I think I would've fallen right into his orbit just like everyone else.
"God." The guards lowered their weapons in this one's presence.
Wait, 'god'?
I looked up and down at this old man, taking him in fully.
This SCP-343.
Oh fuck.
SCP-343 turned to look at me. God is looking at me. His eyes glowed a pure white, I couldn't sense anything in them.
They felt… empty for some reason. As though the person who I was talking to wasn't actually there but instead a puppet.
This is a real God. I thought to myself. I am a human pretending to be a Goddess. This is a real God.
"Kukulkan, was it?" His voice was gentle and disarming. It was pleasant to hear. I felt as though I could listen to any lectures he talked about without falling asleep at all no matter how boring the subject matter was.
Realizing I had been spoken to, I quickly replied, "Um, yes. I am Kukulkan."
"You're a strange one. Not of my creation, yet you love them nonetheless, don't you?"
I felt like I was talking to my grandfather.
"Y…es. Yes. I do love humanity. That's why I'm trying to save as many from the corrupted sun as possible."
SCP-343 nodded, "A fine and heroic goal. Why do you take the name of one of the false gods for such a noble mission?"
I felt compelled to speak the truth.
"I… That's because I am Kukulkan."
I don't speak the truth.
SCP-343 nodded.
"I see. Let's talk over a meal, shall we? I'm sure you're hungry." The elderly man reached out a hand and offered it to me.
I haven't eaten anything ever since I became Kukulkan. That's because I never needed to eat. I don't feel hunger. I don't need to rest so I can continuously operate at maximum efficiency, perhaps not maximum mental efficiency.
I was about to take it before one of the guards interjected.
"I'm sorry, God. I can't allow that to happen. We need to process SCP-39101 through everything and test her thoroughly."
SCP-343 faced the guard in question. In a jovial tone, he reassured the man, "Please, she's not dangerous. You can always process her later."
A portal opened up behind SCP-343.
The guard looked to the others, finding them shrugging.
"Alright, SCP-343, but we'll need her back soon enough."
With that, SCP-343 beckoned me to follow him through, and I found myself in a cafeteria.
"You should try the shrimp. They're the best."
______
The hot water felt nice on the skin, Sarah thought.
Hanging her head, the woman washed her blonde hair thoroughly with the given shampoo.
One of the things Captain Hughes learned about being a Mobile Task Force operative was you don't know when your next shower is going to be, so it's often best to savor it at each and every opportunity.
The feeling of hot water trailing down your skin after wearing full-body armor for close to a week was almost exhilarating. She could almost feel the dried-up sweat, dead skin cells, and stink wash off her body.
Turning the handle and causing the water to cease, Sarah walked out of the shower and started drying herself off.
As she does this, the woman caught herself in the reflective bathroom mirror.
Muscles were visible on every part of her body. So were the many scars.
How ugly.
She could recount how she got each and every one of those scars.
Some from torture. Most from SCPs. One or two from friendly fires.
Sarah then covered herself with the towel before exiting the bathroom. The room temperature was at a comfortable 25 degrees Celsius.
On its whole, the room she was given was a rather spacious one. It was very utilitarian, with there being only a large square bed fit for two people, lights built into the ceiling alongside closets that are also built into the ceiling.
It was as though Sarah was inside a neo-modernist mansion that sells for like 19 million dollars.
Opening one of the panels on the walls, Sarah found an array of white clothing of various sizes. Flipping through them, she finally found one of her size and took it out.
Putting it on, Sarah found it to be a near-perfect fit. Stretching a little, the woman found the clothing to be unrestrictive on the body, with the fabric stretching easily to permit intensive sudden movements.
Good.
The woman then walked out of the room, wearing the given running shoes. She found herself back in another long stretch of hallway.
"—?"
At the end of the hallway, Sarah spotted a little girl with shoulder-length blond hair staring at her.
"Hello?" Sarah cautiously and slowly approached the girl. Just as the woman approached close enough to see the odd gray-green shimmer in the little girl's eyes, she turned around and ran away.
Sarah gave chase. It was a base instinct, a motherly protective instinct that overcame Sarah.
Just as the Tau-5 Commander turned the same corner that the little girl disappeared into, she found that the mysterious girl was gone.
"..."
"Captain Hughes?"
The voice was close, and somewhere behind her. In a reaction of pure instinct, Sarah whipped her leg around and was about to kick the unknown person down before stopping suddenly.
"Head Researcher Orwell?"
The man stood about a meter behind her. How he was able to somehow sneak up on Captain Hughes was a mystery to the woman.
"Don't sneak up on me."
Orwell bowed his head apologetically. "Of course. I shalln't do that in the future."
"You're here to take me to Doctor Gears, I presume?"
"Yes. Please follow me. Though, do you want to grab a bite to eat first?"
"I'll eat after I know what happened."
Orwell sighed, "Do you ever take a break?"
"I'll rest after I'm dead."
"So you're that kind of person." Davis nodded and puckered his lips, "Good to know."
The rest of the walk went silently. Davis Orwell tapped his key card multiple times across two elevators before finally reaching the office of the Site Director.
Charles Ogden Gears. Sarah really only knows the man from his work on SCP-914. He was a famous scientist, someone who stood head and shoulder equal to the likes of the currently missing Doctor Scranton and Doctor Clef.
Entering into the room, Sarah found Doctor Gear to be a stern-looking man. Though he has a receding hairline, Gears shaved his head short into a mat of hair.
"Captain Hughes." Gears said.
"Director Gears."
"I'll get straight to the point without any of the pleasantries since I think that's best if we don't waste any more of each other's time. When Daybreak happened, we were caught off guard by a massive thaumaturgical attack of unprecedented proportions."
Magic?
"How are any magic spells able to bypass the wards and protection glyphs present within each Foundation Site?"
"It was incredibly powerful. That Thaumaturgical attack warped many people's flesh into abominations. Since those beings of warped flesh and equally of warped mind didn't die, they released many hostile SCPs causing a massive containment breach. SCP-343 took action just when everything looked hopeless and reverted everything back to how it was. Those beings of warped flesh reverted back to their original form, but at the same time, our communication arrays went down."
SCP-343 did this?
Well, color Sarah's surprise because that's extremely unprecedented. SCP-343 was just like any other God really; uncaring and psychopathic. Though he may have a chat with you, the deity wouldn't raise a finger to help you.
"Why did he choose to help out this time?"
"We tried to ask him. We found no answers other than 'The Promised Time Has Arrived'. Concerning, but you know how the man is."
Sarah Hughes didn't know how SCP-343 is.
Gears paused as he checked the papers on his desk, "If you want, you can question him personally."
Why the hell would she do that—
"Sure. Is that all? I'll grab a bite to eat if that's all."
Why the hell wouldn't she do that?
_______
At the end of the day, instead of picking out anything fancy like the shrimp, I picked a nice corn on a cob. No butter.
The yellow kernels tasted sweet on my tongue as I devoured the thing.
Though I had no need to eat, it was certainly enjoyable.
I listened and chatted with SCP-343 as I ate. The elderly man was certainly knowledgeable on a lot of things. Especially when it came to stuff like philosophy.
So I asked him what is the definition of a hero.
"Hero is a very nebulous term. If you define a hero as someone strictly enforcing the laws, what happens if the laws themselves are inherently oppressive to the people? If you define a hero as someone who strictly enacts justice, which brand of justice is the correct one? If you define a hero as someone who defends the weak, what happens when the weak tries to get revenge on everyone who's wronged them? If you define a hero as someone who saves everybody, well what if you encounter someone who doesn't want to be saved?"
I mulled over SCP-343's words.
"The word, 'hero' is too broad of a term that encompasses too much. Someone who's a hero to one person might be a villain to another. Such as Hernan Cortez. He is a hero to the Spanish crown yet he is an irredeemable villain in the eyes of the Aztec people."
I see… so what SCP-343 is saying is to specify what type of hero I want to be then. To specify my goals.
I cupped my chin, "Thank you, that was a nice chat."
SCP-343 nodded.
Feeling that the conversation had ended, I got up and walked toward my holding cell.
No guards escorted me.
As I walked past that same heavily fortified hallway again, I found the same blonde-haired girl, this time with shimmering gray-green eyes, as before standing in front of the blast door.
The other guards stationed around the machine gun nests and autocannons didn't react to the girl as though she didn't exist.
What is going on? Am I seeing ghosts?
I rubbed my eyes, and I found the girl gone.
Creepy.
Something's wrong. Something's terribly, horribly wrong.
But just what?