[The Day After the Breach]
The halls of Site-17 felt wrong. The overhead lights flickered erratically, humming with dying energy, casting jagged shadows that seemed to lurch with every step. The air was thick—not just with the stench of rusted metal and rotting flesh, but something worse. Something old, wet, and unnatural. It clung to their skin, sank into their lungs, made the back of their throats burn like they had inhaled decay itself.
Acid sizzled in black, bubbling pools along the floors, corroding steel plates and leaving behind gaping wounds in the foundation of the building itself. The walls—formerly sterile and pristine—were now blackened with rot, the metal rusted and peeling, as if the entire facility had aged a hundred years overnight.
Cain, Abel, and Asher moved silently through the carnage.
Their boots crunched over dried flakes of human skin and warped shell casings from rifles that had done nothing to stop SCP-106.
Over the comms, Amalia's voice crackled in their ears. "Security systems are still down. No heat signatures. We have no idea how many are left."
Amber's voice followed quickly after. "Or if anyone's left."
She wasn't supposed to be on comms, but Amalia had let her stay connected under one condition—she stayed in her quarters.
Amber had agreed. But that didn't mean she wasn't worried.
"Still no sign of him?" Cain asked, his voice calm but low.
"No," Amalia said. "But that doesn't mean anything. SCP-106 doesn't just leave. He lingers."
A soft drip. Somewhere up ahead.
Asher's grip tightened on the custom-made bow slung across his back. A rifle also hung, strapped around his torso. He had been outfitted with a high-tech mesh bodysuit reinforced with SCP-engineered durability—an upgrade courtesy of the Foundation's research division, with Cain himself overseeing the project. Holsters lined his waist, knives and pistols within reach, but for now, he kept his hands loose.
Cain glanced over, noticing the way Asher adjusted the gear.
"How's it feel?" he asked, his voice casual.
Asher shrugged. "A bit much for a half-dead old man, don't you think?"
Cain smirked. "Yeah? Say that when he's pulling you through the floor."
"I'd love to see him try." Abel scoffed from behind them. He wasn't even looking at the bodies. Instead, he dragged his fingers along the rusted walls, idly watching the flakes of decay crumble away.
"Waste of time," he muttered. "The bastard's not here. He's probably already moved on to another hunting ground…I would have."
No one responded to that.
They reached the containment wing.
The door to SCP-106's chamber had been peeled open. Not broken down—peeled, like something had reached inside the metal itself and pulled it apart slowly. The thick steel was warped and curving inward, as if the room had been screaming while it was being torn open.
Inside, the remains of guards and researchers littered the space. Some had been ripped apart, their torsos twisted and folded in unnatural ways, limbs bent backwards. Others were withered husks, their flesh dry and cracked like ancient leather. Their faces were frozen in silent horror, as if their last moments had been stripped away and stretched into eternity.
Amber's voice came through the comms again. Soft. Nervous.
"…Are you guys okay?"
Asher didn't answer immediately.
His gaze caught on a body near the wall. Unlike the others, this one was still moving.
"…Shit. We got a live one."
He moved fast, crossing the floor and kneeling beside the barely breathing scientist. The man's chest rose and fell in shallow, ragged gasps, his eyes dull and unfocused. Blood trickled from his nose, his lips, his ears. His lab coat was half-melted where the Old Man had touched him, his skin underneath blackened and flaking.
Asher tapped his comm. "Amalia, I need med—"
The scientist's hand snapped up, weak fingers clutching at Asher's vest.
"D-Don't," the man gasped, blood bubbling in his throat. "Don't bother. I—" Cough. Gasp. Groan.
Cain stepped into the room beside them, frowning.
Asher's jaw clenched. He leaned closer. "SCP 106–where is he?"
The scientist's watery eyes rolled toward him.
"Who—he says," he whispered. "He….is still here."
Cain tensed. Abel stopped moving.
Asher swallowed hard. "Where?"
The scientist's fingers tightened on his vest.
A weak, trembling smile split his lips, revealing blackened, rotted teeth.
"…Right where he wants to be."
Asher's blood ran cold.
The scientist wheezed, voice breaking. "He's collecting them. Not just to kill. No—for the pleasure of it." His body trembled. "He likes the fear. He plays with them until they—"
His body jerked violently.
Amber's voice crackled in Asher's ear, tighter now.
"…Asher?"
He glanced downward. "He's torturing them."
The scientist coughed harder, spewing blood over his own lap. Asher grabbed his shoulder. "Why not you?" he asked, his voice sharper now. "Why didn't he take you?"
The man's breath hitched.
"…I wasn't afraid enough."
The room was too silent.
Abel, standing in the doorway, smirked. "So that's all it takes?"
The scientist turned his head slowly toward Abel, glassy eyes wide with something worse than pain.
"You don't get it," he whispered.
Abel tilted his head.
The scientist's lips trembled. "I'm not afraid now," he rasped. "But I was before."
Cain's stomach dropped.
Asher's hands tightened into fists.
The scientist's face contorted, like something invisible had just grabbed his spine. His body convulsed. He let out a single, choked scream—
And then he was gone.
A sickening slurp echoed through the room—like flesh being pulled into a thick, wet hole.
A dark stain spread where he had been. The smell of rotting meat filled the air.
Amber's gasped over the comms. "Oh my God."
The rust on the walls deepened. The lights flickered more violently.
Asher's mouth went dry.
Cain muttered the words they were all thinking.
"…He's here."
They all grew quiet, waiting for something happen.
Nothing.
Asher stood up and stepped away from the dead scientist.
"We should look around."
He steps into the hallway, exhaling slowly. The silence here is unnatural—no flickering lights, no hum of machinery, just an oppressive stillness that stretches down both ends of the corridor.
Then, movement.
At the exact moment Asher takes a step forward, something shifts at the far end of the hallway, stepping into view as if mirroring him. The figure is barely visible at first, its form emerging from nothing, shadows peeling back to reveal its presence like a film reel playing in reverse.
Asher stops. The figure stops.
At first, he doesn't register the movement. Then, he turns his head slightly, glancing toward the left side of the corridor.
The figure does the same.
A trick of the mind? A reflection?
No.
Asher swings his head to the right—and the figure does not follow.
It keeps its gaze locked on him. That's when he notices the decaying figure just a few feet away from him. Eyes like a dead shark and mouth just as big.
A smile blooms, slow and deliberate, stretching too wide for any human mouth. It's not a smirk or a grin—it's a rift in its face, peeling open like a wound filled with far too many teeth.
Asher's breath catches.
The figure shifts—no, glides—forward, but instead of approaching him, it turns its attention toward Cain and Abel.
"Wait—"
It grins wider, if that's even possible, and before Asher can react or call out, the world folds.
A void opens behind Cain and Abel—deep, fathomless, a blackness that shouldn't exist in a place where any light exists. Long, gnarled fingers extend from the darkness, grabbing hold of them, yanking them in before either of them can resist. Cain barely has time to register surprise before he vanishes. Abel snarls, reaching for his blade, but the old man's laughter is already swallowing him whole.
Then—silence.
The hallway is empty again.
Asher stumbles back, staring at the vacant space where they stood. His fingers twitch toward his comms, but static crackles in his earpiece, swallowing any words he might have spoken.
He was alone.
Or so he thought.
He moves forward, pulse hammering against his ribs, searching. The corridors were marked by devastation, walls cracked and crumbling, debris scattered across the floor like remnants of a forgotten battle. Damaged walls were all stained with a yellow ooze that hissed at everything it touched. It was the only thing he could hear besides his own heartbeat. That and footsteps that were not his own.
Something is following him.
Something that doesn't belong in this world.
"Asher..."
His name drips from the air, but it doesn't come from the comms. It comes from right behind him.
He spins—nothing.
But the old man is still here. Watching. Stalking.
And then, he pries.
Not physically. Not yet.
Asher moves steadily. Cautiously. The beam of light from his rifle cuts through the thick, suffocating darkness. His nerves feel like a thin layer of ice ready to crack. A voice rumbles through the halls, dark and void of anything human.
His foot taps something hard on the ground. He trips in a nervous reaction.
"Ahh...dammit!"
He looks down. Another shriveled corpse.
Amalia's voice cuts through the static of his comms. "Asher, report. Is everything alright?" There's a brief pause before her tone shifts, more urgent. "Wait... I don't have a reading on Cain or Abel. Their vitals are gone. Asher, what happened to them?"
Another voice chimes in. Amber.
"What happened? Did you find him?"
Before he can answer, the rumbling voice returns.
"There it is..."
Asher freezes—his eyes darting in every direction, searching. Then, something slinks from the ceiling, a black figure oozing with an amber-colored acid. He looks up in horror.
A wet, rotting stench fills the air, thick and cloying, like something long dead left to fester in the heat. A low, guttural clicking noise vibrates through the stillness. Then, a face looms inches from his own. The same twisted smile from before—closer now, too close. Its lips barely move, but through the decay, through the gaping maw of too many teeth, it utters a single word.
"Amber."
"Asher?"
The old man could here her. Amber's voice crackles through the earpiece, filled with concern as Asher struggles to move away from the old man. But it's too late.
The old man grins wider, then retreats, melting back into the ceiling, disappearing from sight completely.
He has learned what Asher fears most.
Now the fun begins.
Amber frowns at her comms. "Amalia, what's happening? What's going on with Asher?"
A pause. Then Amalia's voice comes through, controlled and careful. "It's complicated. We have it under control."
Amber scoffs. "Right. Sure you do."
Suspicious, she pushes herself up and strides toward Asher's room. If they weren't going to tell her, she'd find out for herself.
Inside, she flips open his laptop and starts searching for anything useful—logs, facility maps, anything that might tell her what's actually happening. Her fingers move quickly over the keys, determination tightening her jaw.
Then, she shivers.
She pauses, rubbing her arms. The air feels wrong, like something unseen is breathing against her skin. Slowly, she exhales—and watches her breath mist in the cold air. She ignores it—seeing something of interest in the files.
"Amber," Amalia warns through the comms. "I sure hope you aren't doing anything that might get you into trouble."
"Relax, I'm just—"
Drip.
Amber jumps as something sizzles onto the keyboard. A second drop follows. Then another. The plastic hisses, curling from the heat as smoke rises from the keys.
She yelps, shoving the laptop onto the floor. The screen flickers, then cuts to black. For half a second, in the dark reflection of the dead screen, she sees something.
A grin.
Watching her from above.
She freezes. Then, heart pounding, she slowly tilts her head upward.
The old man is there, clinging to the ceiling like a grotesque predator, his hollow eyes locked onto hers. His grin stretches impossibly wide, a long string of amber-colored ooze dripping from his lips, sizzling as it hits the floor.
Then, in a voice warped and inhuman, he chuckles.
"...fun..."
Amber swallows hard, staring up at him. "Seriously... I didn't even do anything yet."
He drops from the ceiling like a puppet with its strings cut, slowly raising himself from the floor in an unnatural motion. Amber slowly backs away as he stands upright.
Then—the old man lunges.
Amber scrambled backward, her breath ragged as she threw herself over the couch, barely dodging the old man's grasping hands. He moved with eerie patience, his lanky frame unfazed by her frantic attempts to keep him at bay. The dim apartment lighting cast long shadows over his gaunt face, his milky-white eyes reflecting nothing.
Amalia's voice crackled through Amber's earpiece, sharp with urgency. "Amber, talk to me!"
A grunt of effort was Amber's only response as she snatched up a lamp and hurled it at the old man's head. The ceramic base shattered against his skull. He didn't flinch. Didn't recoil. Just… tilted his head slightly, as if puzzled by the gesture.
Amalia, having heard enough, switched channels. "Asher, he's in the apartment. Get there. Now."
"I'm almost there," Asher responded, already sprinting up the stairwell.
Amber, now cornered against the glass patio doors, could only watch in horror as the old man advanced. The air around him felt wrong—thick and humid, like a fevered breath against her skin. His fingers flexed, joints clicking unnaturally as he reached for her throat.
Then—
"Amber, get down!"
Amber didn't hesitate. She dropped just as a burst of gunfire shattered the glass behind her. Bullets slammed into the old man's chest. The force sent him staggering a step back, but that was all. Slowly, his empty gaze lifted toward the shooter.
A deep, animalistic growl rumbled from his throat before it erupted into a screeching, inhuman roar.
"…Oh fuck."
Asher barely had time to register his mistake before the old man moved.
He jerked unnaturally, then he was in the air, diving straight at Asher.
Asher's world blurred as a clawed hand snatched him by the throat mid-leap. His lungs locked up. The hallway walls whirled past before he was slammed into the ceiling so hard that cracks spiderwebbed across the plaster. Then, with terrifying ease, the old man whipped him down the corridor and sent him crashing into the far wall.
The impact rattled his brain, leaving him dazed. He expected broken bones. A crushed ribcage. Something. Instead, his body just ached.
"How the hell am I alive?" he coughed.
"Suit's got reinforced skeletal augments," Amalia said coolly. "Absorbs impact—if you stop tensing up like a brick."
Asher blinked, sitting up. He flexed his fingers, rolling his shoulders, still in one piece. "…Huh. Cain, you beautiful bastard."
"Glad you like your new toy," Amalia quipped. "Now, do you plan on fighting back at all?"
A shriek cut through the hall.
Asher glanced up to see the old man hunched down at the other end of the corridor, watching him. His mouth stretched open wide, revealing the decay and rot inside his body. His fingers twitched.
And then, his skin began melting.
Thick, yellow acid oozed from his palms, sizzling against the floor. The liquid warped and solidified into blades—jagged, crystalline, and pulsing with heat.
Asher exhaled. "Yeah, yeah—I'm comin'."
With a smirk, he dropped his rifle and reached for the knives strapped to his leg holsters. The blades glinted as he twirled them in his grip.
Then he charged.
The hallway was chaos.
Asher moved fast, keeping his stance low, knives flashing in the dim light as he clashed blades with SCP-106. Every impact sent up a sharp hiss of acid burning against his SCP-Grade steel. The reinforced knives held—for now—but the edges sizzled where the corrosion ate away at them.
He couldn't let the fight drag on.
Asher ducked beneath a swipe, feeling the air crackle as one of those jagged acid blades sliced through the space where his head had just been. He pivoted, slamming his boot into 106's chest, forcing the creature back. The old man barely reacted—tilting his head unnaturally, almost amused.
Then he lunged again.
Asher had no choice but to meet him head-on, blades flashing. Their knives scraped against each other in rapid succession, short brutal strikes meant to maim, not parry. The floor beneath them sizzled with drops of melting steel and acid splatter.
From inside the apartment, Amber hesitated, pressing her back against the couch. She peeked into the hallway—just in time to see Asher's body come flying through the window.
CRASH.
Amber shrieked and hit the floor as glass rained around her.
Asher landed hard, rolling over the apartment floor, groaning as he scrambled back to his feet. He barely had time to register Amber's presence before—
The Old Man followed.
It didn't leap through the window like a man—it slithered through like liquid shadow, limbs snapping into place mid-air as it landed on all fours. It turned its head toward Asher, mouth splitting open in a grotesque, shark-like grin.
Amber crawled backward, hands slipping on shattered glass. "Oh hell no," she gasped.
Asher barely had time to react before 106 lunged at him again. The two tumbled across the apartment, slamming into furniture, breaking tables, knocking over shelves. The walls groaned under the force of their struggle.
Amber, breathless, scrambled toward the door. She stumbled into the hallway—eyes locking onto Asher's rifle.
She grabbed it, fumbling to get a grip. The rifle was heavier than she expected, her hands shaking as she tried to steady it.
Inside the apartment, the fight raged on. Blades clashed. Sparks flew. Every time Asher blocked an acid strike, his knives burned a little more. He couldn't keep this up forever.
Amber grit her teeth, raising the rifle, stepping in front of the window.
"Asher! GET DOWN!"
Asher reacted instantly. He dropped, rolling aside as a series of unsteady shots rang out.
Amber stumbled back from the recoil.
The shot tore through the old man's torso. His body shuddered, twisting unnaturally. A wet, distorted screech rattled through the room.
Asher didn't waste the opening.
He charged forward, tackling 106 head-on.
The momentum sent them both crashing through the window.
They hit the ground outside in a heap, rolling apart.
For the first time, 106 looked frustrated. The Old Man lurched back onto its feet, chest heaving, face twisted in something between rage and boredom. Its acidic wounds bubbled, sizzling against its decayed flesh.
Then, it made its choice.
With a guttural snarl, 106 threw its head back and let out a deafening roar. The air warped around it, the walls darkening.
Then—beneath its feet—the floor began to melt.
A pool of black, bubbling acid spread beneath it, the concrete sagging into a chasm of decay.
Amber, still clutching the rifle, watched in stunned silence as the Old Man began sinking.
It didn't scream. It didn't rage. It simply gave one last, lingering grin.
Then—
It was gone.
Silence.
Amber let out a nervous, breathless laugh before falling to her knees. She clutched the rifle to her chest, letting out a shaky breath.
"I did a thing…" she murmured.
Asher, still on the ground, gave her a long, tired look. He reached out, snatching the rifle out of her hands.
"Give me that."
Amalia's voice came through again. "Agent Cruz…report."
He took a moment to catch his breath before responding. Once he got on his feet, he tapped his earpiece. "106 is gone—probably back to his pocket dimension. Seemed uninterested in us all of a sudden."
"So it got away. That's unfortunate." She paused for a moment, in deep thought. "And Amber—is she safe?"
"For now. I'm fine too. Thanks for asking."
"I'm aware," she replied smugly. "I have a constant view of your vitals you know."
Asher chuckled. "Right…well What's next, All seeing Oracle?"
Amalia took a frustrated breath. "Nothing it seems. Now that 106 has withdrawn to his dimension…I'm afraid it's up to Cain and Able."
Asher and Amber sat against the wall, chests heaving, staring at the aftermath. They'd survived for now…but the hunt was far from over.
Chapter End—