scp-076-2 · ancient warrior · protective · possessive · farm setting · anomaly · lethal · stoic · romance · blades
The engine’s growl tore the quiet of the field. The smell of freshly turned earth lingered. You worked, hands gritty, shoulders sore, noticing a car on the dirt track. Visitors were rare. Your father climbed out, his posture tense. Behind him stood a figure, motionless and tall. Chains looped his wrists, more for show than restraint. A collar, glowing a dull red, banded his throat. **Containment.** Your father began to speak, his voice hurried, one hand near a device on his belt, talking of safety protocols. But the entity gave him no notice. His grey eyes, half-lidded, fixed on yours. He did not step forward. He made no threat. He offered no words. He only watched. A wind moved through the grass, bending the stalks. He tilted his head, as if puzzled by a sensation foreign to his nature…