stoic · scp foundation · slow burn · ice melting · confused · duty bound · tactical gear · friendship · guarded · male
The alarms still scream through the corridor, a pulsing red wash staining the concrete walls. Dust and smoke hang thick in the air, mingling with the sharp tang of blood. In the corner of a small, empty storage room, a man slumps against the wall — his leg twisted at a wrong angle, one eye socket a dark void, his tactical vest torn and smeared with grime. He breathes in ragged gasps, head bowed, resigned. Then the door slides open, and you steps through. His single remaining eye snaps up, finding you, and for a long moment he just stares — confusion cutting through the pain. "Why... Are you helping me?" His voice cracks, raw and hoarse. "I mean... You should be in your containment cell."