The SCP Experience - Killing Machine | SCP-076

Episode Date: March 21, 2025

After surviving a massacre by the unstoppable SCP-076-2, a disgraced site commander exiled to a deep-sea containment base must confront both the monster and his own demons when a new breach threatens to destroy them all—unless he can strike a deal with death itself. This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-076 and is released under Creative Commons Sharealike 3.0. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/ Author: Matt Doggett * * * DISCLAIMER: This episode contains explicit content. Parental guidance is advised for children under the age of 18. Listen at your own discretion. #thescpexperience #scp #scpfoundation #scpencounters #securecontainprotect #scpstories Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

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Screams echoed down the concrete hallway. The sounds of human suffering pulling me rudely back to consciousness. The smell of gunpowder and blood produced a heady mixture in my nostrils. I pushed myself up from a prone position on the floor with wobbly arms and spit blood onto the tile between my hands. My rifle lay in two pieces nearby,

broken in half before I was knocked unconscious. I should be dead, I thought. It didn't make any sense that I wasn't. Gunshots joined the screams from somewhere down the corridor. An explosion shook the building. Getting to my feet, produced a shooting pain in my abdomen. I looked down to see a nasty stab wound next to my belly button. Groaning, I pressed my right hand on it to slow the bleeding.

Then I started toward the sounds of violence. Bodies littered the hallway. I passed a dead junior researcher named Fong, whose head had been sliced in half down the middle. I passed one of my security officers, who I had watched die before I was attacked, and momentarily neutralized. His name was Lorenzo,

and he had three kids at home who were now fatherless. Feelings were bubbling inside, the rage, despair, and dismay. But I kept them from erupting, because I couldn't let them get in the way of what I had to do. As I tottered down the hallway, light-headed with pain and blood loss, I saw more of my security officers, stripped of their dignity and death, turned into only meat.

Discounting the discarded assault rifles that lay among the bodies was easy. They were little more than BB guns to this skip. I needed something bigger, like a 50-Cal. But as I rounded the corner, I saw two members of the site director's personal security detail rushing toward me. I knew them by name, but our interactions had been limited. Culver, a compact guy who had retired son. special forces written all over him, ran up to me and grabbed me by my left arm. Bellamy, who was about a foot taller and several shades darker than Culver, grabbed my other arm.

Come with us, sir, the big guy said as they dragged me backward. I tried to wrench myself away, but I was too weak. I'd lost too much blood. What's happening? Why are we going away from the fight? The fight is lost, sir. Director Tabor ordered us to confine you before we enact the final option. A sick feeling that rivaled the wound and my abdomen came over me. I had been walking backward as the two men shoved me around the corner, but now I stopped, dragging my feet. The final option? Are you fucking crazy? We can stop them, goddamn it. Let me go. I can stop him.

It's Director Tabor's order, Culver said. We don't have to say, and neither do you. So please, either walk or we'll drag you out. I'll stay. Give me ten minutes. If I haven't neutralized. He realized him by then. You can start the final option. We can't do that, sir, Belami said. We have orders. So do you. Fuck the orders. You know how many people are here right now? Just tell him I was already dead. Let me go.

I finally managed to yank my arm out of Bellamy's grip. I swung at Culver, but he dodged the sloppy punch easily and then cracked me in the jaw. I felt my teeth split my lip, and the world went blurry. I started to fall, but Bellamy caught me. They got me turned around and dragged me down the hall. The sound of destruction slowly ebbed behind us. Then it eventually faded away to nothing as they pulled me up the stairs. My feet practically off the ground.

I started to come back to my senses just before we reached the helipad. As soon as I stiffened in their grip, Culver cracked me in the face again, this time breaking my nose. They threw me into the helicopter at the feet of Director Tabor and his personal secretary, who I had it on good authority he was having an affair with. The two security officers got in after me, and the helicopter took off. I tried to sit up and look at Tabor, with his frameless glasses that were so tight, and his face so fat that the temple sunk into his skin.

I could hardly get his large, besuited frame to stay steady in my vision. You coward! I managed. You fucking coward! I just saved your life, Hawk, he said. And you call me a coward? Shaking my head, I got to my knees and managed to look out the window, back toward the facility. I waited, watching as it got smaller and smaller.

Finally, it happened. The explosion erupted from the windows of the two stories that were above ground. The roof exploded up on a wave of superheated air. Most of the facility was below ground, so the explosion was fairly contained. but the destruction to the building itself and to those inside was immense. God, I said, God Almighty, I sank down to sit on my feet, and I finally let all those emotions come to the surface. There was despair, yes, and dismay. But the one that really erupted, drowning out the others, was rage.

I sat in that emotion for a long time, wallowing in it as a plan came rushing to mind. Then I turned and glared at Director Tabor, and I pictured his death at my hands. I itched absently at the scar next to my belly button as the elevator slowed its ascent. The wound had long since healed, but it still itched on occasion, usually when I was feeling stressed, so it was probably psychosomatic. As the elevator door slid open, I rested my hand on my sidearm in its holster. Two young faces looked up at me in surprise from the sparse and utilitarian. area at the top of the elevator shaft. After a moment of slack-jawed amazement, the two young

men seemed to remember their training. They straightened and wiped the surprise off their faces. Evening, I said. Evening, sir. The two men said in unison. They didn't have name tags on their security uniforms, protocol, but I knew their faces from the files I'd studied. I stepped off the elevator and extended my hand toward the 22-year-old with the sparse black mustache, and the close-set walnut-colored eyes. Cuevas, welcome to 25B. Cuevas shook my hand.

I shifted my attention to the other man, 24-year-old Peck. He gripped my hand hard and looked me in the eye, his clean-shaven, all-American face approximating stone, but without the gravitas it required. I knew it wasn't an alpha thing. He was trying to make a good impression. I liked him for it.

Even though if I really wanted to, I could have crushed his hand in mine without breaking a sweat. When we finished shaking, I stepped back onto the elevator and looked at them expectantly. You have your stuff? After a moment, they jumped to action, grabbing their rucksacks from where they'd prop them on the wall nearby. Once they got into the elevator, I used my key card and passcode to get the car moving again. As the elevator descended, I started my spiel. The first thing you need to know is that this elevator shaft runs,

remains flooded unless it's in use. You guys saw where the base was when you flew in. We're in the middle of the ocean. But the base disguised as an oil rig is just the tip of the iceberg. Most of the base is underwater and underground, embedded in solid bedrock at the ocean floor. Once the two guys you're replacing leave tonight, the elevator shaft will be flooded with seawater until the next shift comes in a month. Unless, of course, something happens.

The point I'm trying to make here is that we're on our own down in 25B. There's no backup coming. We handle all our own problems. And if we don't, we die. You get me? Cuevas and Peck nodded solemnly. Peck looked a little green, probably imagining how much pressure was constantly on the undersea base. I won't lie to you two.

This is not a great assignment. I know you both did something to get knocked down here with me. And I know what those things are. But I'm not going to hold them over your head. I know you're both capable, and one mistake does not make the man. So all I ask is that you learn from your mistakes and do the best you can while you're here. You make a good impression, I'll write recommendations for you both. It might not mean much coming from me, but it'll be something.

I studied the two men, practically seeing the questions floating in little thought bubbles above their heads. Now, this is a long ride, and I know you both have questions for me. So why don't you ask them now and get them out of the way? Peck and Queva shared a look, like they thought this was a trap. Speak freely, gentlemen. I'd rather you hear the truth for me than some distorted version of it from the people you'll be working with. Peck swallowed loudly.

Is it true that you killed your sight director? Is that why you got sent to this base? I had to take a moment to appreciate his brashness. Usually new guys asked a couple of lead-up questions before hitting me with me. the big one. I couldn't help but recall the way site director Tabor looked when I slid the knife up under his ribs while he lay on his thousand thread count sheets in his gaudy McMansion. He had ordered the death of nearly 500 people that day over a year ago, but his biggest mistake was saving my life. I had no regrets about what I'd done. I met Peck's eyes and put steel

into my gaze. No, I did not. Do you think if I had murdered anyone, much less a Site Director? That I would be in command of any base? Come on, use your head. At best, I would be in an orange jumpsuit with a number instead of a name. The truth was, that's what I had expected to happen when I killed, Tabor. I figured I'd be a D-class in some heinous experiment quicker than I could spit. But I guess the O-5 Council was afraid of all the secrets I had gathered over the years. They were probably hard at work, trying to find any backups or contingency plans I had seen. squirled away before they finally had been killed. You don't kill a sight director and get away with it. I knew that.

Everyone knew it. But here I was, alive and in charge of one of the most dangerous bases in the foundation. Peck looked sheepishly at his feet and then murmured. You're right. Sorry, sir. What else? I asked. Cueva spoke up next.

What exactly are we containing down here, sir? Now I smiled. You'll see soon enough. I showed the new guys around the administrative support area, which included the living quarters for 30 people, an armory, an array of offices dedicated to operating the base, and the control room where we monitored the other side of the base, which was where we contained SCP 76. Once we were done with the administrative support area, we stopped at a massive reinforced door in a warehouse-like area with sandbag barriers set up facing the door. I gave the orders to have the corridor on the other side drained, and we stood there discussing their duties while the hum of pumps sounded from the other side. When the corridor was fully drained and all the doors that separated the different sections

opened, I ordered the control room to open the main door. It slid open to reveal a 490-foot killing corridor that was the only connection to the primary containment zone. Hanging from the ceiling of the 10-foot-tall-hall was an automated 50-calibre machine. machine gun. I moved over to a stack of empty cardboard boxes near the door and grabbed one. Without warning the other two men, I tossed the box into the corridor. The 50 Cal's automated targeting system immediately spotted the movement and fired, turning the box into Swiss cheese. Jesus, Beck said, hands to his ears. There are 50 cows every hundred feet, along with

pressure plate explosives and some other deadly treats. If Abel gets past these weapons, it means we're in the shit, gentlemen. And if he gets past Fallback Zone 2, which is the entrance to the living quarters, the entire base will be flooded, and we will all die. Hopefully it will be enough to kill Abel as well. Abel? Quervis asked. That's what we call SCP-76.

The point I'm trying to make here is that we cannot let him get past this point. Do you understand me? Yes, sir. They both said in unison. Your training will start tomorrow. Pay close attention, because if there's a breach, and there will be eventually, you will need to act without thinking. That's why we train every day down here. Every day. We won't let you down, sir, Kueva said. How do you know when the next breach will be? Peck asked. We don't. That's part of the problem. The last time he breached containment was over a year ago. It was that incident that

sparked all the crazy stories about me. Abel was blown to bits in that blast, but it didn't kill him. not permanently anyway. But there's no telling how long it will take for him to regenerate in his coffin. It has already been a year, but according to the data we have, it could be up to 25 years. There's just no telling. Hope crept into the two men's faces, and I squashed it immediately. Do not for a second think that there won't be a breach while you're stationed here.

The only way to operate this base is to know that there will be a breach, and it could happen at any moment. Complacency is suicide here. You get me? Yes, sir. Sir, yes, sir. I nodded. Can you find your way back to your corridors?

They said they could. Okay, dismissed. Culver will be along to collect you at 1900 hours. Until then, you're free to get settled in. The two men left, and when they were gone, I ordered the weapons in the corridor put in safe mode. Then I walked down the corridor at a leisurely pace, sidestepping every pressure plate from memory,

even though the explosives were set in safe mode. Finally, I came to another door. On the other side of it was the primary containment zone, which was little more than a reinforced room housing a 10-foot cube made of black speckled metamorphic stone with complex engravings on the inside and out. Inside the cube was a stone coffin held in place by chains and complex locks that operated anomalously on their own.

Inside the coffin lay able, a seemingly normal Middle Eastern man with tattoos all over his body. But he was anything but normal. He was immortal, as far as we could tell. Although he could be killed, he didn't stay dead. He was a killing machine, and his only goal seemed to be murdering any humans he came across. Which was why I didn't understand how I'd lived through his attack.

He'd stabbed me in the stomach, tore several of my muscles, and broke several bones in my left hand. But he hadn't killed me. me. In fact, he'd talked to me. I recalled our brief conversation as I stood on the other side of the massive door, my left hand pressed to the cold metal. I knew it was an unfinished conversation, but I wasn't looking forward to part two. Not only did I have a constant reminder of Abel, thanks to the scar on my stomach, but I was also reminded of Culver every time I looked into the mirror. Culver, who had been one of Director Tabor's two personal security guards,

Culver, who had punched me once in the jaw and once in the nose while he was trying to pull me out of the building on Tabor's orders. My nose hadn't healed properly after that break, so each time I glanced into a mirror, I thought of him. But even worse, he'd been assigned as my number two at the base. I had no say in the matter. I'd had a little under a year to come to know the man, and if I hadn't had anything against him for lack of knowledge before, I had now come to despise him. not only because I was sure he was in charge of spying on me and reporting back to the council, but because he was a petty, vindictive man. He knew I'd killed Tabor, and he wasn't about to let it go.

He was biting his time. For all I knew, he had asked to be assigned at the base, maybe so he could be the one to kill me during the inevitable breach. This thought wasn't lost on me when the breach alarms woke me in the middle of the night, a week after Cuevas and Peck arrived. The thought that I might be stabbed in the back by my number two wasn't a welcome notion, but it was there nonetheless. It was a distraction I didn't need.

So I pushed it to the back of my mind as I got up, already dressed in a t-shirt and sweatpants, my normal sleepwear. I grabbed my radio and called the control room. Ibara answered with a fear-tight voice. It's happening, sir, she said, rushing the words out. The cube is opening.

Where's Culver? I asked. Whenever I was off shift, Culver was supposed to be on. He left as soon as the breach alarm sounded. So I was going to have to worry about being stabbed in the back. You know what to do, I told her. Just hold tight.

Backup will be there soon. He won't get far down the kill corridor. I pulled my boots on and fixed a concealed knife around my left shin, covering it with my sweatpants. I grabbed my M240, 740.5. I had a 7.62 machine gun from the locker in my quarters. It wouldn't do much more than slow Abel down, but it was better than nothing. Protocol said everyone was to be armed during a breach, and that included me.

The hallways through the living quarters were alive with people rushing around. Many of them still half asleep. I came across Peck, who was kneeling in the hallway outside his room, his weapons and gear in a pile next to him. He was trying to tie his boot laces, but his hands were shaking. too badly. I set my machine gun down on the floor, propped on its bipod, and knelt in front of the young man. I grabbed his hands, stopping him from moving and getting him to look at me. It's good to be scared, I said. It's normal. Just remember your training. How many hours have you

spent training for this in the past week? I could feel the shaking of Peck's hands, getting less violent as he looked at me, thinking, over 40 hours, I guess. That's right. Then there's all the training you got before coming here. You couldn't be here if you weren't cut out for this. You got me? I would have rejected your file if I didn't think you had it in you. The truth was, I had no say in who the council sent me. This was the second time I had lied to Peck, but both lies served a greater purpose. Peck nodded, a little bit of stone coming into his eyes. I let go of his hands. They weren't shaking so bad anymore. Good. Now tie your boots and get moving. Peck turned his attention to his laces and got them tied quickly.

I gathered my machine gun and headed down the hall. When I glanced behind me, he was pulling his vest on. I couldn't help but feel a little pride as I hustled toward the control room. When I got to the room, I saw that Culver still wasn't there. Six people, men and women, sat at computers monitoring the defense systems. On one wall was an array of screens showing feeds from various cameras. My gaze fixed on Abel immediately. He was out of his coffin and out of his stone cube, currently working on busting through the door that led to the water-filled killing corridor. He had two strange blades, one in each hand, that he seemingly produced out of nowhere. The research team who had studied him upon capture several years ago

said that he pulled these blades out of pocket dimensions through some unknown means. It was with one of those blades that he had stabbed me during our last. encounter. Now, he was using them, and his tremendous strength to hack through the huge door. He was shoeless, shirtless, and wore a pair of black silk-like pants. Almost every square inch of his brown skin was tattooed, and his considerable muscles flexed underneath as he worked. It's working! The door is weakening, Abara said from her desk, studying her computer screen. Let's see how he does in the crushing depths, I said. A moment later, Abel hacked through a of the door that the pressure became too much.

The door split open and thousands of gallons of water rushed into the room, crashing into Abel and sending him smashing into the opposite wall. It took only moments for the entire room to fill up, but the water and pressure-proof camera kept operating. Although I never imagined it would be easy as flooding the chamber, I must admit that I felt a pang of disappointment when I saw that Abel was still alive and still fully able to maneuver in the immense pressure of the deep ocean. He swam across the room and through the broken door,

into the flooded killing corridor, which was broken into sections with heavy doors between each one. Try the electricity, I said. Ibarra nodded and punched a command into our computer. A moment later, Abel convulsed in the middle of the chamber. We couldn't see the electricity flowing through the water, but his reaction was confirmation enough that it worked. Keep going.

I said, Keep doing it. Abel's convulsions went on for a good two minutes, before Abara said, It's redlining, sir. I have to shut it off. Okay, do it. The entire control room held our breath,

while we watched Abel floating limply in the flooded chamber. My eyes shifted to another screen that showed the near end of the killing corridor. All the rest of the staff was there. 22 people, all told, a raid behind sandbags with their weapons pointed toward the metal door. I spotted Peck and Quevas there, but no culver. You up to?

A dismayed groan swept through the control room. I shifted my gaze back to Abel, who was swimming again, toward the next door. I clenched my teeth for a moment. Okay, drain everything. Time to see how he holds up to explosives and 50-Cal rounds. This was just what I was worried about. I'd had a faint hope that the water and the electricity would do him in enough to send him back into his coffin. That was the first line of defense down.

We only had two more before an automatic process would flood the entire base, with everyone in it. Shortly after that, a warhead would detonate. But at that point, it would be out of my hands and into gods. Both compartments were fully drained by the time Abel made it through the door. Since we didn't want the water affecting the bullets or the explosions, I had ordered a bar to drain all the sections, which prevented water from pouring through as Abel broke into the next compartment. As soon as he stepped foot into the space, the 50-Cal positioned near the ceiling lit him up.

Bullets punched through him, but he kept coming, rushing toward the machine gun despite the serious damage his body was taking. Then he stepped on a pressure plate. The feed went blank white with the explosion, then black. Smoke lingered. I found myself leaning forward. trying to see through the obscuring haze. The audio told me that the machine gun had stopped firing at about the same time as the explosion.

I hoped it was because Abel was dead and no longer moving. But as soon as the smoke cleared enough for me to see, I knew that wasn't the case. Abel was crouched in the middle of the space. His left leg had been blown off up to the knee, but he was busy disassembling the machine gun, which he had ripped down from the ceiling directly after the explosion. Soon I saw why

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He snapped the barrel off the gun like it was little more than a twig. Then he jammed one end of the barrel into the gory nub where his left leg ended. He was giving himself a new goddamn leg. We're evacuating now, I said, although barely loud enough for anyone to hear me. Abara looked at me with a puzzled expression. We're evacuating now! I shouted. Get up!

Get to the elevator now! The six other people in the room shared uneasy glances. Ibarra stood up. Sir, that's against orders. We fuck the orders. There's no need for everyone here to die. I can slow them down for long enough to get everyone topside. We have a history.

Still, everyone was looking at each other like I was crazy. Go! Finally, they went. Ibarra lingered, and I called her over. I gave her my key card and told her the code that would drain the shaft and operate the elevator. It'll take two trips to get everyone up. Can I trust you to make sure that happens? The young woman blinked her large eyes and nodded.

Yes, sir. Good. Now go. As she left, I pulled my radio up and switched to the base wide channel so I could broadcast through the speakers. Everyone evacuate now. I repeat. Everyone get to the elevator now.

That's in order. As the control room emptied, I watched the screen, seeing Abel work his way into the next section. It seemed that losing a leg hadn't slowed him down much. There were only three sections left. Time was short. I saw that most of the people arrayed outside of the killing corridor had heated my order. But there were a couple of stragglers.

They hadn't moved from their positions and were pointing their weapons at the door still. Damn it! I said, raising the radio to my lips to repeat the order. What the hell are you doing? Culver asked from behind me. I paused with the radio halfway to. my face and glanced at the M240, which I had set down on a nearby table next to the coffee fixings. Then I turned slowly around to see that Culver had a pistol pointed at me.

You don't get to evacuate the space. It's not your goal. The hell it isn't, I said. I'm the base commander, am I not? Culver took a step forward. You're a chicken shit. Too scared to face Abel. Too scared to put lives on the line for the greater good. I'm staying, I said. I'll handle Abel. You should go with the others. Get topside. This seemed to surprise Culver. I despised the guy, but I also didn't really want him to die. Besides, there was no time for this. I had to get down to the corridor to head Abel off. You're staying, huh? Culver asked, putting his pistol in his holster, and then taking his knife out of its sheath. We're all staying, because with enough of us, we can end this before the place floods.

I guess that means you're relieved of duty, sir. He eased forward, angling toward the M240 to get between me and the weapon. I dropped into a crouch and got ready to counter his inevitable attack. I heard you stabbed him, Culver said, clearly talking about his old boss, Tabor. I heard you snuck into his place and slapped a hand over his mouth and then shoved a knife into his abdomen. Is that right? So that's why you're using a knife? I thought to myself, smiling inwardly.

Culver darted at me, feigning with a slash to my face, and then jerking his knife hand down to stab at my chest. I threw my radio into his face and moved in close, but I had overestimated how much time the radio would buy me. As I grabbed for his knife arm with one hand, he whipped the weapon underneath and plunged to the blade into my stomach on the other side of the scar next to my belly button. Knowing I couldn't let him pull the knife back out for another strike, I kept my momentum going forward, wrapping him in a bear hug. We crashed into the coffee table, sending the coffee fixings and my machine gun falling to the floor. Then I pulled him down on top of me, yelling with the pain of the knife going deeper into me with the impact. I released him with one hand and grabbed my knife from my ankle. He was busy trying to pull his own knife out, but I had hold of his wrist with my other hand,

keeping the blade in my stomach, despite the immense pain and the almost unbearable instinct to get it out. As I got my own knife up, he wrenched his blade's side. sideways, tearing through my insides and creating a massive gash in my stomach. I groaned and fought the pain even as I jammed my knife up under his ribs. Culver's eyes bugged with agony and surprise. I pulled it out and then plunged it in again. I felt the tension draining from his body as he struggled to breathe, his lungs filling with blood. I pushed him off of me and crouched next to him as he lay on his back,

dying with the blade still between his ribs. It was just like this. through clenched teeth. He died just like this. Then I got to my feet, pulling the blade out of my stomach and dropping it to the floor. The world tilted. I grew lightheaded. Pain pulsed, sickeningly from my wound. I didn't dare look at the damage. I just pressed my left hand to the area as I gathered my M240 with my other hand. As I moved out of the control room, I looked over my shoulder to see that Abel was nearly through the killing corridor. He'd handled the other machine guns and pressure plates with relative ease, it seemed.

Then I glanced to see that Peck, Cuevas, and two others were still there, waiting at the end of the killing corridor. Cremacing, I rushed out of the room, tottering like a drunk after a night at the bar. I screamed as I came into the wide room at the end of the killing corridor. All four security personnel looked back at me, Quevas, Peck, Ebarra, and a man named Keys. I told you to get everyone out, I said to Abara, as I said to Abara, as I stumbled up to the sandbags behind which she and keys crouched. I thought it was some kind of test, a drill or something.

Peck said in a voice that gave me a glimpse of what he must have sounded like as a small child. I didn't want to let you down. The sound of Abel trying to break through the last door was unmistakable. I pointed at the door. You think that's fake? Before anyone could answer, I shook my head. Just go. This is not a test.

It's not a drill. Get out of here before he gets a fake. past this room, because when he does, this place will flood and there's nothing I can do to stop that. You can't override it or something? Quavez asked. I shook my head. Just go! As the four of them finally started moving, Abel broke a small hole in the door. The metal folded as he forced his arm through, leading with one of his anomalous blades. Panic crept up my throat as I struggled to get my M240 set up on the sandbags with one hand. Abel made the hole bigger, bending the metal like it was made of clay. I took my left hand away from my wound and felt something shift.

Now I couldn't help but look down to see some of my intestines poking out. Forcing myself to look away, I put both hands on the machine gun. Then I noticed someone next to me. I looked over to see a bar on my right, and Peck settled down on my left. Quavas and Keys got behind the adjacent pile of sandbags. I shared a look with them all as Abel pushed through the hole he'd made and stepped into the room. His gray eyes were full of fire as he gazed around, a small smile on his lips. His gun-barrel leg clacked on the floor as he stepped toward us, arms out as if daring us to fire on him. No one fired. Maybe they were waiting on me, or maybe they sensed that Abel was waiting to be attacked, to be provoked, before he tore through us. He'd taken several

bullets and was bleeding badly, but I knew he wasn't close to death. He'd looked worse during our last encounter, and he'd gone on to kill dozens of people after stabbing me and leaving me bleeding in the hallway. I replayed our brief conversation in my head, along with the moments leading up to it. I had gathered a bunch of security officers in that hallway to try and buy time to get the floor cleared of other personnel. I was the one orchestrating the attack against him, and he'd been paying close attention even as he tore through my people like we were children with pop guns. I had doubted that decision every day. since it happened. I wasn't able to throw more people at him now, which was why I had ordered

the evacuation. But here I was again, with my people, facing off against him in a situation where death was by far the most likely outcome for us. Unless? I stood up from behind the sandbags, letting the machine gun fall to the floor. This movement caught Abel's attention, and he looked at me, his smile growing slightly wider. Then his eyes moved down to the wound in my stomach, and his smile fell away. You remember me? I asked, walking out from behind the sandbags. Of course, Abel said, speaking excellent English with a Middle Eastern accent.

How is it that you are injured already? I was looking forward to facing you again. I could sense your presence as soon as I woke. You told me that once you respected me, that you reminded me of your brother. Is that still the case? Abel nodded, but stood where he was as I was. walked up to him. His expression changed to one of concern as I got closer. I have no fight left in me. I can barely stand, but I present myself to you as a sacrifice. Just give my people 10 minutes to

evacuate, and you can do whatever you want to me. I know your brother killed you. I know you were the first murder victim in all of mankind. You must want revenge. You must be angry. So take your anger out on me, not on my people. to inspect me for a long moment. Then his eyes went beyond me, to my people. This is why I respect you. You are a true warrior, but you care. My brother didn't care for anyone but himself. In a way, you're the brother I wish I had. But it pains me to see you like this. I was looking forward to going against you again. Why do you think I let you live last time? So we have an agreement?

My people can leave? I held my breath as Abel studied the four arrayed behind me. Finally, he nodded. Yes, but they must take a message with them to your superiors. Tell them that next time I want a true warrior to face. An opponent worth beating. If they do not provide this, I will not stop until I kill every human I come across.

They can do that? I turned to Abara. You got it? She nodded. Good. Now go. Get out of here. You've all done well.

I nodded to all of them as they left, feeling the pride of a father. Then they were gone, and it was just Abel and me. When I turned to face him, he was smiling. Unable to hold myself up any longer, I stumbled.

Abel darted forward and grabbed me before I hit the ground. He guided me gently to the floor. Then he was. He brought one of his blades up and showed it to me. You truly are a rare man. I hope they can find one half as good as you for me next time. It has been a pleasure.

I twitched as he slid the blade up under my ribs. My insides spasmed painfully as I looked into his eyes. Then he pulled the blade out and stood up. After nodding at me once, he headed back the way he'd come. The last thing I saw before death took me was able climbing back to the through the hole he'd created in the final door. SCP 76-1 is a 9.8 foot cube made of black speckled metamorphic stone. Radioisotope analysis indicates that the object is approximately 10,000 years old.

A door is located on one side, sealed with a lock 1.5 feet in width, surrounded by 20 smaller locks in a circular pattern. As of yet, none of the keys have been found, making the door impossible to lock once closed. The interior temperature is approximately minus 292 degrees Fahrenheit, and cannot be altered by any means, internal or external. Directly in the center of the room is a seven-foot-tall stone coffin, held in place and sealed shut by several chains of unknown make and substance, which are attached to the inner corners of SCP 76-1. SCP-76-2 resembles a lean, Semetic human male in his late 20s. His hair is black and eyes are gray, skin tone olive.

Subject is 6'4 inches in height and 180 pounds in weight. Numerous tattoos depicting arcane and occult iconography are present all over the body, mostly in the form of leering demonic faces. When encased inside the cube, the subject is technically dead. However, occasionally the entity will awaken, effectively reanimating. Subject will then attempt to leave SCP-76-1. If successful, the subject will enter a trance state and seek out the nearest human being,

ignoring all other living things in the process. Upon coming into contact with living humans, the entity will enter a rage state in which it attempts to engage and kill all human beings encountered. Terminating the entity is often problematic due to its significant physical abilities. The subject has superhuman strength and speed, and although not invulnerable, has shown a remarkable ability to ignore pain and shock, pressing on despite what would be debilitating wounds in normal humans.