The heavy security door groaned open, ancient hydraulics straining against rust and time. A wave of chemical-smelling air hit the group, stale and tinged with metal, like burnt ozone and old blood.
Task Force Zeta-9 ("Mole Rats") moved in first, rifles raised, sweeping their mounted flashlights over walls lined with decayed machinery and grimy containment tanks.
[Mobile Task Force Zeta-9 specializes in the investigation, exploration, and containment of underground or enclosed areas exhibiting anomalous phenomena, particularly those with inconsistent topography or unstable spacetime.]
"Clear left," one of the Zeta-9 agents called.
"Clear right. Establishing zone perimeter," echoed another.
Behind them, the suited silhouettes of Beta-7 ("Maz Hatters") advanced.
[Mobile Task Force Beta-7 specializes in the acquisition and containment of anomalies exhibiting extreme biological, chemical, or radiological hazards as well as the rapid containment and cleanup of areas affected by such anomalies. This includes the planning and deployment of contingencies for wide-area or pandemic spread of anomalous disease agents or other contagious phenomena.]
Clad in sealed hazmat armor, they methodically checked for biohazards, their scanners clicking like Geiger counters with every step.
One of them, marked "M7-4," stepped forward and pressed a drone release switch.
"Deploying aerial recon. Movement patterns of the spores in this sector will tell us what's still alive down here."
Behind the elite squads, Dante, their crimson coat flickering with the flicker of torchlight, descended last. Their mechanical clock head ticked quietly in the dim.
With a soft hiss, Faust followed, her boots making no noise as she scanned the walls.
"Still resonant. We are close to the containment chambers" Faust murmured. "Faust suggests we maintain minimal noise. There are still remnants of the old abnormality signal network active in the walls."
"Sick. Creepy hellhole," Hong Lu chirped cheerfully as he ducked under a dangling wire. "I like it!"
"...Srsly? HL, you brainfoggin'?" Ryoshu muttered, flicking a smoldering cigarette to the floor and crunching it under her boot.
Her red eyes narrowed as she glanced around the blackened halls. "Kay's not here. Shame. This place smells like the kind of real art he'd admire. Blood. Decay. Fear. Primo canvas."
One of the Zeta-9 operatives, a sergeant, turned to her. "Agent Kay went through Portal Three. He's running lead on the next team with Iris and Able, negotiating with the resident in the 3rd world"
Ryoshu scoffed, but her shoulders relaxed just slightly. She muttered, "Of course he did. Always chasing the better brush stroke..."
Don Quixote stormed into the corridor behind them, "Hark! The hour of reckoning draws nigh, and lo, mine noble steed hath chosen the high vantage!"
On her head, SCP-999 gleefully wobbled, jiggling and chirping like a sentient orange jelly hat.
A Beta-7 medic twitched nervously. "Ma'am, that is an SCP. Please, containment protocols—"
"He is contained by the bonds of camaraderie and justice!" Don declared, charging forward with lance held high. "ONWARD, FRIEND GELATIN!"
SCP-999 let out a delighted squeal and bounced on her head as she spun like a tornado to swat aside a few hostile drones that had whirred from the wall.
With a brutal crack, her lance splintered one into the floor, the slime on her head giving a victorious 'blorp.'
Faust didn't even look up. "There's a 78.6% probability that her recklessness will breach containment protocol. And a 100% probability I will not be the one to clean up the mess."
A Zeta-9 tech looked up from his map scanner. "There's movement near the old elevator shaft. Bioelectric signature is... not ours. Big."
"Showtime," muttered the squad leader.
"Establish firing arcs," M7-4 said flatly. "Tight formation, overlapping fields. Gas grenades primed."
The Foundation agents moved with perfect synchronicity, sweeping behind support pillars, flicking safeties, locking optics into the darkness ahead.
Dante turned slightly toward Faust. "You think it's a Wing's leftover pet?"
Faust responded, voice smooth, "This place is a reliquary of failed ambition. It could be anything, from a failed Aleph-class experiment to... the consequences of God playing dice."
Suddenly, something roared, metal screeched as a mutated mass slammed out from the rusted elevator shaft.
Gleaming metal limbs like twisted centipede legs jutted from a fleshy torso bearing the melted remains of a Lobotomy Corp badge.
Beta-7 moved first, CS gas canisters deployed in tandem with sonic pulses to confuse its sensory lobes.
Zeta-9 opened suppressive fire, tracer rounds raking the thing's sides while another team flanked with flamethrowers.
Don Quixote gave a gleeful war cry and charged in, SCP-999 bouncing merrily on her head as she pierced its limb through with her lance. "Justice for the misbegotten flesh!"
Faust observed quietly, murmuring calculations and probability models, "It's adapting. Sinners, engage. Use your Identities."
Ryoshu cracked her neck. "SIC. Sinner Instincts Converged." With a grin of pure euphoria, she lunged into the fray, her ōdachi still sheathed, using the sheath itself to bludgeon and trip the beast with brutal precision.
Hong Lu followed with his glaive, spinning it lazily. "This one looks fun! What happens if I cut that part?"
The battle became a surreal mix, clinical military precision flanked by chaos incarnate.
Tactical calls echoed across the room as Foundation agents moved like ghosts through cover, while Don Quixote bellowed knightly oaths and Ryoshu laughed like a mad sculptor tearing her clay apart.
When the creature finally fell, riddled, slashed, melted, it gave a gurgling hiss as golden threads of light spilled from its core.
"The Bough," Faust said, stepping forward. "Or rather, a fragment."
Dante sighed. "Guess this means we're deeper in the beehive."
A Beta-7 commander nodded. "And this was just the welcoming committee."
...
Meanwhile - third portal...
The hall was bright. Too bright.
Polished marble floors.
Silk banners fluttering with Tempest's insignia.
Natural sunlight poured in from impossibly large windows. In another life, this might've been paradise.
Kay leaned back slightly in his seat, tactical armor sealed tight, helmet tucked under one arm, his masked face angled just enough to catch reflections.
Everything was quiet, but it was never quiet in a room full of monsters.
Opposite him sat Rimuru, the so-called Demon Lord.
They looked like a soft-spoken young adult with a charming smile and calm presence, but Kay knew better.
The air around Rimuru felt like compressed gravity, subtle but undeniable.
Friendly on the surface, unfathomable beneath it.
"Thank you for agreeing to speak with me," Rimuru said, fingers laced neatly on the table.
"We've never had visitors from another dimension before, let alone one as... interesting as yours."
Kay gave a small shrug. "We've never stepped into a world with a talking slime turned diplomat either. First time for both of us."
Rimuru laughed lightly. "I get that a lot."
To the side, Benimaru stood with arms folded, silent but attentive. Behind him, Diablo leaned against a pillar with his usual serpentine grin, unblinking and unreadable.
Kay didn't trust Diablo one damn bit.
Still, his posture remained casual. "So here's the pitch: We're not here to colonize, control, or convert. We're explorers. Containment, if needed. Collaboration, if possible."
Rimuru nodded thoughtfully. "And you're the one calling the shots?"
"Something like that." Kay tilted his head. "The higher-ups trust me to be diplomatic. Probably because I shoot less than my coworkers."
That earned another laugh. "Then I hope we can build something positive between Tempest and your... SCP Foundation, was it?"
Before Kay could answer, a crash rang out from the courtyard.
Another loud clang. Shouting. Splintered tiles.
Kay turned, a subtle sigh escaping his mask's modulator.
"...Of course."
[Courtyard]
Iris Thompson (SCP-105) stood in a sun-drenched corner of the courtyard, laughing as she adjusted her camera's focus.
"Smile, Shuna!"
Shuna, serene as ever, posed sweetly beside her. "Like this?"
Iris nodded. "Perfect. You've got the whole 'graceful goddess' aesthetic down pat. This is way more fun than chasing anomalies."
"I believe it is the presence of gentle people that makes a world gentle," Shuna replied softly, hands folded in front of her ceremonial robes.
Iris blinked. "You... really sound like a therapist sometimes."
Shuna tilted her head. "Should I not?"
"No, no, it's... kinda comforting, actually."
Kay watched all of this from the palace balcony above, elbow resting on the railing, head tilted ever so slightly.
They were making friends.
He didn't like it.
Not because he was paranoid, though he absolutely was, but because making friends in the multiverse always came with strings.
And strings had a nasty habit of turning into nooses.
Rimuru joined him at the railing, watching Abel and Shion clash again in a controlled spiral of brute force versus technique.
"Your people are interesting," the slime said. "A little chaotic, but... honest."
"We're a mixed bag." Kay gave a soft, humorless chuckle. "Some of us shoot gods. Some of us talk to ghosts. Some of us think SCP-999 makes a great babysitter."
Rimuru tilted their head. "And you?"
Kay paused, then gave the barest shrug. "I'm the guy they send when they want things to not explode."
"And do they?"
"Depends on the day."
...
The ring of steel echoed off distant mountains.
Guards were on edge. Benimaru and Soei stood at the ready, though even they knew better than to intervene.
In the center of a cratered training ground stood Able, his blood-red eyes gleaming under the fringe of wild black hair.
Shirtless, pale, and covered in ancient tattoos that seemed to twitch with every breath, he held his massive blade, a weapon forged for killing, not dueling, resting casually on his shoulder.
Across from him stood Shion, breathless, grinning, her long violet hair trailing behind her like a banner of war.
Her greatsword thunked into the dirt beside her.
"That all you've got, freakshow?" she barked, bruised but elated. "You fight like a drunk goblin with a death wish!"
Able grinned, an expression full of hunger and madness. "You talk too much."
In a blur, he closed the gap between them. No magic. No warcry. Just speed and intent.
Shion raised her sword in a wide arc, barely managing to parry the first strike.
Sparks danced across the air like fireflies on adrenaline.
A nearby wall exploded as a stray slash missed its target.
From the balcony above, Kay didn't flinch. He just watched.
"...I told them to not spar with him," he muttered to himself, visor reflecting the carnage below.
Next to him, Rimuru looked mildly concerned. "Is this... normal for your people?"
"For him? Yeah. The guy dies for fun. Literally."
"Ah. He's that one. SCP-076, right?"
Kay nodded slowly. "Don't say his name too loud. Gets... testy."
Down below, Shion slammed into a boulder, cracking it in half. Dust burst into the sky. Laughter rang out.
From Able.
"You're not bad," he admitted, rolling his neck with a series of sickening pops. "For someone alive."
Shion wiped blood from her lip and grinned savagely. "Right back atcha, you lunatic."
Nearby, under a shaded pavilion, Iris (SCP-105) sat with Shuna, sharing sweets and flipping through developed Polaroids on a wooden table.
The pink-haired ogress had an elegant smile as she admired the photos Iris had taken of the battle.
"Do you not find their violence... unsettling?" Shuna asked gently.
Iris chuckled. "Unsettling? This is the tamest day I've had in months."
She turned one of the photos toward Shuna: a perfectly-timed shot of Shion mid-swing, eyes alight with fury, with Able deflecting the blow with one hand, his expression like a war-god.
Shuna tilted her head. "That's... beautiful, in a strange way."
"That's what I said." Iris grinned. "You've got a hell of a kingdom."