** TERMINAL ACCESS - LEVEL 5 CLEARANCE **
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Subject: "BloodShed" - Jack North
Alias: "BloodShed"
Current Occupation: MTF E-11 Major
Psychological Profile: PTSD from witnessing comrade E-11 Operatives consumed by SCP-682.
Behavior: Aggressive towards individuals, prefers solitude.
Humanoid Class: Type-Red
Gender: Male
Height: 5’10”
Weight: 150lbs
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Data Recovered:
Date: 02/24///////
The snow falls intensely around the city as a figure dressed in a blue hood walks down the pathway covered in snow. His boots crunch in the deep snow as he approaches a heavy metal door leading into a large abandoned warehouse. The man removes his hood upon entering, revealing a weathered face. He walks to an old wooden desk and takes a seat, beginning to write in a worn book.
A subtle thud echoes through the warehouse, causing the man to jolt up. He swiftly grabs a pistol from under his desk and starts to patrol the space, ensuring everything is secure. Satisfied with his search, he returns to his small camp area within the warehouse and resumes writing in the book. After a few minutes, he stands, gathering loose logs from nearby shelves.
Creating a small tent formation, he places the logs within and takes out a box of matches. Striking a few, he tosses them into the pile, igniting a fire. As the flames crackle, he lets out a sigh, sitting down next to the warmth. The quiet ambiance lulls him to sleep, the gentle flicker of the fire casting shadows on the warehouse walls.
Several hours later, he is awoken by loud banging on the metal door, accompanied by a voice shouting, "Mr. North? We know you're in there. Please exit the building, and don't make this difficult.
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It's a cold and windy day as a military truck drives through the town of Pinewood, its wheels displacing the snow as it progresses. The truck eventually reaches a set of chain-link gates. The operative driving the transport truck waves to the Nu-7 patrolling one of the two towers, and the Nu-7 nods to signal the other Nu-7 to open the gate, allowing entry for the vehicle.
The operative drives through the gates, and once he reaches the second set of gates—this time a large set of solid metal doors—he scans a keycard. With a loud sound, the heavy doors open, granting access to the garage. The operative hands the keys to a DEA Agent who opens the back of the truck, letting out a man in a bloody, blue cloak. He is in an advanced set of handcuffs, escorted by the DEA Agent until they reach an elevator where the Agent hands him off to two E-11 operatives who escort him to a small humanoid containment chamber where he is uncuffed and placed.
After he comes to, he is greeted by a figure in a well-kept white suit. As the figure approaches the window of the containment chamber, the light hits his face. He introduces himself as the Department Director of Research, Darby. His face isn’t that of a human but it resembles that of a basenji, a common breed of canine. He then spoke: “Mr. Jack North, good to see you’re awake.”
Darby presents a choice—cooperate with the Foundation or face containment.
Jack struggles to stand, using the walls of the chamber as support. As he looks at Darby, he mouths the words “go fuck yourself.” Darby takes a good look at Jack and walks away, the sound of his boots echoing through the mostly empty concrete hallway.
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The following weeks are a blur of tests and evaluations as Jack is sampled, interviewed, tested, shot, dismembered, and much more. Containment felt like agony, and every day Darby’s words echoed in Jack’s mind: “Cooperate with the Foundation or face containment.” So, he slowly gained the trust of those who came to test on him. Though it was agonizing, he put up with it. While being dissected alive, he cracked jokes. It almost felt like this would be his life, as hours turned to days, turned to weeks, turned to months. As fewer and fewer researchers would test on him, finally leaving him to his thoughts—thoughts of one day escaping his imprisonment. Suddenly, a loud bang is heard as the door of his containment cell is blown open, and a body is seen being flung through where a door once stood. Then, an alarm starts blaring throughout the facility: “[ANOMALY CONTAINMENT BREACH CODE 5; ALL PERSONNEL REPORT TO THEIR DESIGNATED BREACH SHELTERS].” Jack jolts up, stepping over the body of an operative. He pats down the corpse for anything he could use to escape or even defend himself with. He sees a strange plastic card, picks it up, and reaches for the dead man’s sidearm. Picking up the weapon, he makes his way out of his containment cell, walking down the cave-like hall and down the stairs, trying to make the least amount of sound he can.
He hears loud stomping around, and it almost sounds rhythmic—four stomping clawed feet. Then the sound of someone saying “Hello?” Before Jack can respond, the sound of screams fills the halls, bouncing off the walls. Jack runs down the hall, the sound of his shoes slamming into the ground in panic. He takes a sharp left turn into another containment area, behind two doors separated by a short hallway. Reaching the other end, he opens the door, revealing a small table on which there are four headset-like contraptions with a camera strapped to the front and a small slot to look through. They resemble night vision goggles, but the labels read “Scrambler.” He left the strange goggles on the table, leaving the room. He saw two red, slimy dog-like creatures; they had no eyes, their mouths open, dripping saliva and fresh blood. The crimson blood reflected the color of the dogs themselves. One opened its mouth, and Jack stood there in horror as it said, “Hello? Are you there?” Unsure of what to do, he grabs the pistol he’d acquired, aiming it down the creature’s maw, unloading shot after shot. The dog runs at Jack, biting down on his arm with dozens of razor-sharp, needle-like teeth, ripping apart his arm. But he continues to fire into its head until the dog goes limp, white goo and blood pouring out of the A small beeping is heard coming from the collar around its neck, and a flashing red light accompanies it. Then an announcement is heard throughout the facility: ‘[SCP-939-3 NO SIGNS OF LIFE DETECTED; SCP-939-3 HAS BEEN TERMINATED].’ Jack drops his weapon and makes his way back to his containment chamber, limping and holding his mutilated arm in the other, tracking a trail of blood with him.
The following hours are painful as Jack regenerates from the small battle he had with SCP-939. A set of three MTF operatives enter the room containing Jack’s containment chamber they open the door to his containment chamber then using a pair of specialized handcuffs they cuff him placing a gag in his mouth and a blindfold over his eyes they drag him to a cold, damp room he’s stabbed with a sharp needle -[DATA REDACTED]-.
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| [Footage begins] [???] A amount of time later an unfamiliar voice is heard, [???] “Private Bloodshed, thank you for finally joining us.” Stumbling, “Bloodshed” stands up from his seat. He is heard whispering to himself, “Bloodshed”: “Wha- where am I?” E-11 Major “Survivor”: “Alright, privates, welcome to the mobile task force Epsilon-11 Designated the Nine-Tailed Fox” E-11 Major “Survivor”: “Epsilon-11's primary responsibilities are as follows; Containment of SCPs, Security of Heavy Containment Zone (HCZ), and Enforcement of Internal Security threats surrounding SCPs or other anomalies. Epsilon-11 will be operating out of Heavy Containment Zone, occasionally responding to incidents within Light Containment Zone (LCZ), such as Containment Breaches. As such, Epsilon-11 requires strict discipline to operate. Failure to cooperate with your superior officers will result in strict reprimand.” Major “Survivor” walks away from the group and is seen pulling out a communications device while looking at “Bloodshed ”. [Comms] E-11 Major “Survivor”: “It seems like the class F amnestics worked; Jack North will now go by the codename “Bloodshed,” and training is now underway.” [Comms] ???: “Wonderful. Just make sure we don’t lose this asset; his abilities are ones we cannot pass up.” [End Footage] |
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