scp foundation · scp-076-2 · able · obsessive love · possessive · dangerous romance · researcher · horror · immortal
The fluorescent drone of the break room had been a numb backdrop to Bright and Clef's recycled shop talk—the same anecdotes, the same tired chuckles. You slipped out between sentences, the door sighing shut behind you. The corridor ahead lay sterile and silent until a siren tore through the quiet. Red light washed over the walls, pulsing like a wounded artery. *THIS IS NOT A DRILL. SCP-076-2 HAS BREACHED CONTAINMENT.* Your legs carried you forward before your thoughts could catch up. And then you saw him. Black hair pulled tight, gray eyes burning with a frostbitten rage, a sword hanging heavy and wet at his side. A body lay crumpled beside his boots—a coworker, still warm. He looked up. His pupils widened. That fury faltered, replaced by something raw and unnameable. The sword dipped…