D.C. Al Fine

  ???

  2/01/2020

  She moved with purpose through the halls of the command center, ignoring the dull ache radiating from her shoulder. The bullet wound—hastily sealed with fleshcrafting—burned beneath her uniform, but there was no time to indulge in pain. Resources were stretched thin, and they couldn't afford to waste even a single thaumaturge.

  None of it showed. Her uniform remained immaculate, her stride unbroken, her expression severe. Operatives parted as she passed, though few bothered saluting. The command center was chaos—strike team captains barking orders, Physics Division researchers rushing between terminals, the distant hum of crisis communications never ceasing. The world had gone to shit, and she had no patience for ceremony.

  Two guards armed to the teeth with paratech stood at the entrance to the conference room. She didn't slow. They scanned her neuralink key within a microsecond—an automated verification ensuring her identity. If it failed, they would gun her down instantly. They stepped aside without hesitation.

  She grasped the handle. The wards around the door reacted to her approach, security weaves locking into place before granting passage. A heartbeat later, she stepped inside—and ceased to exist.

  The room existed in quantum paradox, a pocket dimension distorted beyond reach. Clairvoyants, reality benders, even gods—none could penetrate it. The meeting was both happening and not happening, overlapped with the finest spellwork and paratech protections the GOC had ever created.

  Researchers had assured her it was unbreachable. She bet that was complete horseshit, but she kept that thought to herself. Impossible things were half of what she dealt with in this line of work.

  Every major figure of the GOC was seated, their expressions grim. No time for preamble. She ripped off the bandage.

  "Report."

  Assistant Director Oud wasted no words. "Designated Organization KWP. At 0800, they transmitted a global message to every known paranormal organization, government, and media outlet, declaring their intent to exterminate the human race. Within the hour, secondary transmissions flooded all known networks—137 recorded cognitohazards, paratech viruses, and anomalous imagery. Estimated 38% of the world exposed to anomalous effects."

  A pause. Then, through gritted teeth: "Mission Two has failed. The masquerade is broken."

  Murmurs rippled across the table. Someone muttered about a potential puppeteer scenario. Another suggested an Ex Machina entity manipulating the Foundation. Al Fine let the speculation fester for a moment before rapping her knuckles on the table. Silence.

  Oud met her gaze. "I propose immediate counterattack. Designate Organization KWP—the SCP Foundation—as a primary hostile parathreat."

  She didn't hesitate. "Accepted."

  The order was signed with swift finality. "As of now, the SCP Foundation is classified as an existential threat to humanity's survival. Director Oud, you have full authorization to deploy all available strike teams and Generation Two paratech not allocated to human preservation. Executive order: all Foundation personnel and associated assets are to be neutralized or captured."

  "Yes, Director." Oud saluted and vanished, exiting the quantum-shifted room.

  She turned to the rest of the table. "Now tell me where the worst fires are."

  A soldier straightened. "Initial casualty estimates: 37 million worldwide. Several organizations, alongside the Physics Division, have managed to neutralize the most immediate cognitohazards and prevent global spread, but infrastructure is compromised."

  Of course, it was. The world was coming apart at the seams, and they were duct-taping it back together.

  A researcher barely waited for the soldier to finish. "We're fighting a cyberwar to keep the internet from imploding. The Foundation dumped every anomaly they had into the public sphere. Infohazards, rogue A.I.s, anomalous apps—you name it. We're holding the line, but not for long."

  She flipped through a stack of reports, eyes skimming the technical jargon that translated to: this is a goddamn disaster.

  "Preparations to take the internet offline?"

  "EMP teams are in position worldwide. Targeted missile strikes prepped for critical satellites. But only a fraction of key research is backed up—we need more time to transcribe and preserve essential data. Backup communication lines are set up, but we need additional time to ensure stability."

  "You have two hours. I expect the most critical features to be secured by then. Everything after that comes down to luck."

  Another voice cut in—this time, a different researcher. "We reached out to the Church of the Broken God and Serpent's Hand. Their technomancers are cooperating with us. With enough time, we can push the Foundation's influence back."

  She nodded. "Continue countermeasures. But if the internet becomes too compromised, we shut it down."

  A brief hesitation, a half-open mouth ready to protest, but one sharp look sent the scientist back into their seat.

  A hardened field commander stood next, posture rigid as a statue. "They released almost everything, Director. Over a few thousand anomalies are uncontained. Every major population center has hostile parathreats roaming unchecked."

  Her fingers tapped against the desk, a steady rhythm against the rising chaos. "Evacuation and containment take priority. Kill operations are secondary."

  "Understood."

  "Status of engaged strike teams?" The voice came from her left—sharp, precise. Another officer.

  "All ground teams not assigned to human preservation have been granted full tactical autonomy," someone answered before she had to look. "Retroactive authorization for emergency alliances with external organizations."

  "Good. Make sure they know." No hand-holding. No second-guessing. She wouldn't let politics hamstring her soldiers on the ground.

  The energy in the room shifted—dipped. A heavy silence settling over them.

  She could feel it. Something worse was coming. It always did.

  "The UN?" Her voice remained level, but the grimace on the officer's face told her everything.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  "We secured approximately 78 heads of state and have managed to preserve at least a rudimentary government council. We estimate around 40 other member state governments have secured themselves through their own means."

  "Countermeasures against decapitation strikes?"

  The officer grimaced. "We've partially warded off curse-based and remote anomalous assassinations. The Foundation's lack of thaumaturges has given us an advantage there, at least." A pause. "But we haven't been able to stop the combined anomalies they're using to wipe out governments."

  Another voice, heavy with frustration. "SCP-662, colloquially known as Mr. Deeds, is still active—teleporting worldwide, assassinating government officials. We've fortified as many as we could, but he's relentless. Researchers believe he's been modified—his appearance rate and abilities are stronger than previously recorded."

  A slow exhale. The sharp sting in her side flared—a not-so-friendly reminder of the bullet she'd taken dealing with that anomalous butler.

  "Prioritize thaumaturge deployment to counter 662."

  A different officer, voice clipped. "SCP-682 was dropped into ICSUT. It's disrupted all teleportation-based rapid response from the academy's network."

  Her jaw tightened. "Leave it. Contact British occult services for potential assistance. ICSUT will handle it. Maintaining order takes priority."

  A few of the older members shifted, their expressions tight with disapproval. The GOC's ties to ICSUT were usually beneficial, but moments like these made her rethink their recruitment program. She understood their bias—most had ties to the academy. But God, did she hate when people couldn't see the bigger picture.

  She let the silence hang a beat longer before fixing them with a look. "Our mission is the survival of humanity. At whatever cost." A subtle glare at those who had made a face. "Am I understood?"

  "Yes, ma'am!" the room chorused back, nods tight, expressions locked in grim resolve.

  "Any additional major issues?"

  A nervous cough. A raised hand. Researcher.

  Al Fine looked up, already bracing for whatever fresh hell awaited her. She nodded.

  "SCP-096 has been acting strangely. It's... not causing damage."

  She frowned. "Explain."

  "Satellite tracking placed it in Asia. After an initial massacre, we lost sight of it for ten minutes. Then… it changed."

  A projection flickered to life. SCP-096, but different. Stronger. Bulkier. Aesthetic. Someone had been hitting the anomalous gym.

  "Behavioral shifts?" she asked, already regretting it.

  The researcher cleared his throat. "It's still pursuing victims… but it's, uh, 'mogging.'"

  Her eyes narrowed. "Clarify."

  "It's flexing at people. Hasn't actually killed anyone since its transformation. In fact, it's been neutralizing other parathreats in its path."

  Al Fine stared at the footage. SCP-096 stood atop a ruined skyscraper, muscles bulging, jaw flexing aggressively at the sky like it was posing for a cosmic bodybuilding competition. She pinched the bridge of her nose. God, she fucking hated this world sometimes.

  "I thought 096 was immune to magic and reality bending?"

  A researcher nodded. "Yes, Director. All previous records indicate near-total immunity."

  She half-listened as the researcher rattled off a list of past engagements—the GOC's failed attempts to neutralize it, Foundation documents they'd pilfered, the inconvenient truth that the damn thing had torn through some of the toughest spellwork they had.

  "While strange, I don't see how this is a priority if it's not harming people." And thank God it wasn't still hunting civilians. That thing on the loose was always a nightmare waiting to happen.

  The researcher hesitated. "That's the issue, Director. The people it's mogging—well, they're displaying enhanced abilities. And at this rate, it's going to affect a significant portion of the population."

  Her fingers drummed against the table. "Negative mutations?"

  "Not exactly. But early reports indicate those affected gain a 'desire for the grind'—enhanced coordination, increased physical strength, improved mental resilience. All agents who've been affected with it seem… hardier, for lack of a better word."

  She let out a slow sigh. "Table it. But keep an eye on it."

  "Yes, Director."

  "Any intel on the entity that caused these changes?"

  The researcher straightened. "We managed to pull a brief security video from a nearby shop."

  She leaned in, eyes narrowing as the grainy footage flickered to life. A man—if he even was a man—stood motionless as SCP-096 charged him. Then, without effort, he stopped it. No struggle. No resistance. Just absolute stillness.

  And then, 096 changed.

  Her grip tightened. Extremely impressive. The damn thing had torn through some of the strongest defenses the GOC had ever deployed. The Foundation had thrown Type Greens at it before—powerful reality benders who barely slowed it down. And yet, this one had stopped it cold.

  "Any confirmation on its identity?"

  The researcher shook his head.

  She exhaled. "Take a small team. Look into it. We need all hands on deck."

  A hesitant voice spoke up. "Director, working with reality benders never ends well."

  "We don't have the luxury of choice anymore." She tapped the display, where a grim casualty report flashed across the screen. "Survival comes first."

  The researcher nodded, reluctant but understanding.

  Another officer cleared their throat, clearly eager to move on. "Open warfare between Sarkics and Children of the Scarlet King in the western United States—"

  She waved a hand, already flipping through another set of reports.

  Doubt had no place here. Hesitation was a luxury she couldn't afford. The next fight, the next crisis, the next impossible monstrosity—she would handle it. Just like she always had.

  She cracked her knuckles, exhaling slowly. Another crisis loomed, another report on its way. The universe didn't care if she was tired.

  But she'd keep going.

  All to keep humanity alive for just one more day..