Time of Entry: [Data expunged]

Classified Location: Site-42, Sector-14

Security Level: 4

Entry ID: #LK-K24/011

If for some reason, lower level clearance personnel, or non-foundation personnel come in contact with this journal, written, scanned, orally transmitted/recorded or digitalized please destroy it without acquiring the information it possesses. You have been formally warned.

Just decided to carry out a self reflecting exercise, as adviced by medical personnel. I guess it's hard to find time for reflection when you're constantly moving through the motions of this job, but something about today feels… different. Maybe it's the realization that I've survived this long, despite everything I've been through.

I was recruited by the Foundation a few months ago. How? That's not exactly a story I'm comfortable telling just yet. To be blunt, it wasn't the kind of recruitment that anyone really asks for, but it's hard to argue with high-ranking officers and figures in the military when they tell you that you're "exactly what the Foundation needs." The Commissioner himself vouched for me, which should've been the first red flag. I know better than to trust anything when that man's involved. But I needed a job. Needed to get out of the cycle I was in before it swallowed me whole. So I followed their orders, went through the motions, and now here I am.

There's something about the Foundation that unsettles you from the moment you step inside. The halls are cold, clinical, as though they've seen more death than any human should endure. The people here are… different. Professional, yes, but something's off. Their faces are often blank, their eyes distant as though they're permanently numbed to the horrors they deal with. And those higher up? Well, the less said about them, the better. I've learned not to ask questions, but it's hard to ignore the rumors that slip through the cracks.

This place is full of secrets, the kind you're not supposed to ask about unless you want to get buried under a mountain of classified paperwork. They tell us it's all for the greater good, that we're here to protect the world from the things we can't understand, the things that go bump in the night. But let's be real. I wasn't expecting this.

I wasn't expecting SCP-173.

I'd seen a few oddities during my training, sure, but nothing prepared me for the sheer terror of it. Our mission seemed simple at first: a containment breach during routine maintenance. Standard procedure. The containment unit was compromised, and the thing—SCP-173—had escaped. A couple of hours to handle it, get it back where it belongs, then it's business as usual. That was the plan anyway.

It wasn't long before we realized that nothing about this mission was normal. The moment we arrived on site, there was this palpable unease in the air. The facility was eerily quiet, save for the low hum of machinery and the distant echoes of footsteps down sterile hallways. I could feel it in my gut—a cold sensation crawling up my spine. Something wasn't right. Not even the seasoned operatives in my squad seemed comfortable. They moved quickly, efficiently, but I could tell they were on edge. The foundation's training had drilled professionalism into them, but everyone has their breaking point.

We were briefed on SCP-173, but I didn't fully understand it until I saw it with my own eyes. They told us it was an anomaly capable of rapid movement when not observed, but even that warning felt like a half-truth. When you're face to face with it, the reality hits you like a hammer.

The first sign that something was wrong was when we entered the hallway outside the containment unit. The lighting flickered—like an old fluorescent bulb about to burn out. My eyes kept drifting to the corners of the room, and that's when I saw it. It was standing perfectly still, in the far corner of the corridor. At first, it looked like a statue, but there was something… wrong about it. You don't just feel something's off. You know.

At that moment, I thought it was a mistake—an illusion, maybe, but then the lights flickered again. The air felt heavy, thick with tension. And then, it was gone. I didn't even see it move. One second, it was there; the next, it was in front of us.

I froze. I don't know if it was the sheer unnaturalness of its movement, or just the fact that no matter what training you've been through, nothing prepares you for this level of horror. It wasn't like anything I'd seen before. People talk about combat all the time, how you train for it, how you're supposed to act when everything hits the fan. But no one tells you how to react when reality itself seems to bend and twist into something far worse than your worst nightmare.

My squad wasn't much better off than I was. It was chaos. My heart was pounding in my ears as I fumbled for my weapon. One of the team members, Corporal Blackwell, had already moved into position, trying to flank it. That's when I realized something—the thing wasn't just trying to kill us; it was hunting us. There's no other word for it. It was toying with us. I could hear the others shouting instructions, but their voices felt distant. Blackwell was already out of sight, trying to circle around the creature, while I was still too frozen to act. In a lapse of judgement, the blink of an eye, everything was chaos

The second it lunged for Private Richards, it all went wrong. I couldn't stop it. I couldn't even look it's way. The thing—SCP-173—broke Richards' neck in seconds, just snapped it like a twig. I stood there, completely paralyzed, watching as Blackwell tried to open fire, only for his shots to miss. It wasn't because he wasn't trying—it was because the thing was faster than any of us could process. One moment it was in front of him, and the next, it was behind him, and then… that was it. Another loss.

We lost half the squad before backup even arrived. Another MTF unit came in, guns blazing, but by the time they'd arrived, I was all but useless. I don't even remember the details of how they took it down. I know I wasn't much help. I couldn't stop shaking for hours.

The team was devastated. I barely had the time to process what happened before we were assigned another mission, but I know this: I froze. I failed. And I'll never let that happen again. I don't care what's out there—what they want me to deal with. I'm here to finish the job.

So, I guess that's it. That's how I got here. I'm still standing, still breathing. But this world… this Foundation… it's going to break me if I don't break first.

[End Entry]