The dim corridors flickered erratically with dying emergency lights, some cracked and stained.
Long-dead control panels lined the walls, their screens filled with scrambled static and half-rendered sigils.
A faint, acrid smell clung to everything, metal, ozone, and something fouler, like rusted blood and old gas.
The group moved in formation. At the front were two members of MTF Zeta-9 ("Mole Rats"), their adaptive suits glimmering faintly with nanofiber camouflage.
MTF Beta-7 ("Maz Hatters") agents flanked the rear, Geiger counters softly ticking.
Yuri stumbled slightly, gripping the sleeve of her coat.
Her breathing had grown shallow; her hands trembled as she clutched her side.
A Beta-7 operative, face hidden behind a rebreather and moss-colored hazmat armor, approached swiftly.
"Hold on. Toxicity levels just spiked, Type-A suppression gas. You're not protected."
He reached behind his pack and produced a sleek, visor-equipped gas mask, the Foundation logo etched subtly into its side.
"Put this on. You'll need it if we go deeper."
Yuri nodded, wordless, her distress quiet but visible in her eyes. She slipped the mask over her face. The HUD blinked to life, registering safe oxygen flow.
Gregor quietly moved beside her, placing one arm gently on her shoulder as they continued.
"I'll stay close," he muttered.
Further Down the Corridor...
The group moved past shattered observation windows and half-collapsed walls.
One hallway opened into what used to be a containment theater, now empty, save for a desiccated skeleton slumped over a control board.
Suddenly, the soft wet splorch of jelly echoed across the chamber.
"Wheeee!" Don Quixote laughed in unrestrained glee as she rolled across the cracked floor, SCP-999 bouncing happily in her arms.
The orange blob trilled excitedly, and every time it nuzzled her face, she laughed harder.
"H-haha, this orange beast! It tickleth mine very soul!" Don snorted, rolling onto her back. "It be'eth a joy most divine!"
A Beta-7 agent muttered, "God, she's getting hit with the full serotonin blast."
Another replied, "Yeah. Standard 999 effect. We'll have to pry it off her with a crowbar if it decides it likes her."
Nearby in a Side Chamber...
"Excuse me," came Hong Lu's soft voice, "Are those... ears?"
A female Zeta-9 operative turned, her helmet retracted partway to show tall, twitching cat-like ears atop her head.
Her expression was neutral.
"Yes," she replied plainly. "I was born with it, seem like in the foundation's world and here too, people with animal feature are rare. I'm from world 1, recruited a month ago"
Hong Lu blinked, fascinated. "They're real? And functional? Do they twitch when you're embarrassed? Can you hear secrets?"
Her ears flicked in mild annoyance. "Please don't touch."
"Too late!" He poked the tip of one.
The Zeta-9 agent sighed deeply. "I hate this timeline."
Meanwhile, Back in the Main Group...
Ryoshu, cigarette tucked between her lips, approached one of the Beta-7 team.
"Yo. Your captain mentioned Kay. Dark suit, always masked. Got a gun like a painter's brush."
The agent blinked. "Yeah. You know him?"
"Define know." Ryoshu exhaled smoke through her nose. "Let's just say he's a subject of artistic interest."
From behind, Faust joined her, folding her arms.
"Kay is... widely spoken of among your agents," she said to a Foundation researcher trailing behind the group. "As is a 'Dr. Bright' and 'Dr. Clef'. Why?"
The researcher gave a half-sigh.
"Hard to explain. Think of it like this: Kay's a ghost story that fights back. Bright's a clown with a god complex and immortality. Clef's... probably not human, maybe even a reality bender. And somehow, they're all respected. Or feared. Or both."
Ryoshu smirked. "Freaks respect freaks."
"Wouldn't you?" Faust asked, calmly.
Deeper Still...
The facility turned darker. Fungus clung to corners.
Pipes hissed intermittently, releasing clouds of stale, likely toxic mist.
Signs began to appear, half-torn Lobotomy Corp logos overlaid with Foundation quarantine markings.
"OBJECT CLASS: KETER"
"DO NOT BREACH"
"CONTAINMENT VIOLATION REPORTED – CODE GOLD"
In one room, the shattered remains of what appeared to be an abnormality chamber lay open. Burn marks licked the ceiling.
A trail of golden filaments led deeper into the dark.
"Golden Bough trail is fresh" murmured a Beta-7 agent. "Something's alive down here."
The ticking of a Geiger counter grew louder.
Gregor, still beside Yuri, turned his head toward the golden trail. "This place was alive once. Still is. Just... quiet now."
Yuri shivered slightly behind her mask. "I hope it doesn't wake up."
.
.
.
The deeper they went, the more warped the architecture became.
Pipes twisted like veins through the walls, and what remained of floor tiling was interrupted by strange, organic growths.
The lingering presence of the Golden Bough made the space feel unstable, as if reality were stretched thin.
Ahead of the group, SCP-999 suddenly froze.
The orange blob trembled on the ground, letting out a low, uneasy chirp.
Its usual gurgles of delight were replaced by a sharp, urgent squealing as it turned to Don Quixote and leapt to her chest, vibrating rapidly.
Faust stopped mid-step. "Warning behavior."
Ryoshu dropped her cigarette, immediately drawing her sheathed ōdachi with a click. "It sensed death."
From up ahead... came the sound of metal scraping. Footsteps. Guttural breathing.
Then...
They emerged from the darkness.
From the rusted, broken containment cells, a flood of Abnormalities poured forth:
Judgement Bird, its judge's robe torn and glowing gavel clutched in its claw, flapping distorted black wings that shrieked moral condemnation.
Punishing Bird, darting erratically with enraged shrieks.
Big and Will Be Bad Wolf, hunched low and slobbering, its form shifting violently as it howled.
A blood-slick, twitching humanoid, the infamous Scarecrow Searching for Wisdom—sprinting on broken legs.
And worst of all... Der Freischütz, cradling its rifle as it phased in and out of visibility with a cold, digitized hum.
"Contact front!" a Zeta-9 agent snapped, taking cover behind a ruined bulkhead. "Deploying suppressive tactics!"
The Sinners drew weapons, ready to charge.
"Stand down!" The Beta-7 commander ordered.
Without waiting for the Sinners to act, the Foundation's MTF squads moved as a unit.
Two Beta-7 agents tossed anti-Abnormality gas grenades, the chambers flooding with a luminescent green fog.
The airborne cocktail disrupted several entities instantly, Punishing Bird fell, screeching, wings convulsing.
A Zeta-9 soldier cloaked and reappeared behind the Scarecrow, plunging a vibro-knife into its spine. The creature spasmed and dropped.
Another Zeta-9 sniper dropped Judgement Bird mid-screech with a bio-rifle round to the cranium, its body exploded into ribbons of code-like particles.
Big and Will Be Bad Wolf lunged, only to be caught mid-air by coordinated fire.
Three Foundation agents fired soul-binding taser rounds in unison.
The beast convulsed, roared, then collapsed in a smoking heap.
Der Freischütz raised its weapon, but a Beta-7 officer stepped into its path.
His armor gleamed for a moment with counter-anomalous sigils, and the gun misfired, bullets imploding in the barrel.
He advanced and jammed a null-field blade through its chest. It blinked, and ceased to exist.
Moments Later... Silence.
All the Abnormalities were gone. Either destroyed, pacified, or neutralized.
The Sinners stood completely still.
Don Quixote's mouth hung open, SCP-999 wobbling on her shoulder with wide eyes.
Ryoshu, usually unreadable, blinked slowly, cigarette forgotten. Even Faust raised one brow.
"...Tch." Ryoshu scoffed, recovering. "Guess paintbrush man's friends are pros."
Hong Lu clapped softly. "Wow. That was elegant. You didn't even scream."
Gregor crossed his arms, nodding once. "Disciplined. Efficient."
Faust tilted her head. "The training regimens of this Foundation are... formidable."
A Foundation agent casually reloaded. "This? Bare minimum. We don't fight unless we know we'll win."
Another added, "Containment is way worst than combat. Trust me, this is the easy part."
Ryoshu smirked. "Now I really want to see Kay fight."
Yuri, still masked and breathing heavily, finally spoke up from behind Gregor. "That... that could've killed us all."
A Beta-7 member checked a wrist-mounted scanner. "Not on our watch. Let's move. We're close to the core."
The trail of the Golden Bough pulsed brighter ahead...
...
District D – Surface Camp, Late Evening
The moon hung dimly above the jagged ruins, a veil of silver cutting across the crumbled skyline.
As the steel doors of the surface-level checkpoint creaked open, the battered Mobile Task Forces emerged, dust-covered, blood-smeared, but victorious for now.
Beta-7 carried a few wounded; Zeta-9 helped their comrades walk, their advanced suits scuffed and slightly cracked.
Yuri trudged up with them, boots dragging, gas mask now slung loosely around her neck.
Her face was pale from the earlier toxic exposure, sweat lining her temples.
Her right eye, the one hidden beneath her cloth patch, ached in some way she couldn't describe.
But it wasn't the pain that made her tremble, it was the familiar guilt.
She'd held her own, sure, but she hadn't been ready.
Again.
"Sit down, you're burning up," a voice said.
An elf with long, flowing silver hair and luminous jade eyes knelt beside her.
The medic, a recruit from the Gate world, conjured a faint circle of healing light beneath Yuri's feet.
Her touch was cool, and the arcane warmth settled into Yuri's joints and lungs, soothing like balm on burnt skin.
Beside the elf, SCP-2295, affectionately known as "The Patchwork Bear", hobbled over.
With a wheezing mechanical sound, it retrieved a small square of brightly colored fabric from its chest compartment.
A bandage, needle, and a bit of stuffing floated mid-air as if puppeted by invisible hands.
It went straight to a Zeta-9 scout whose ribs had been cracked by an Abnormality's club, patching the injury with cartoonishly soft cotton.
"...It's sewing her up with hearts," Yuri murmured, dazed.
"Yeah. That's the bear's style," a Beta-7 soldier chuckled. "Cute, isn't it? It saves lives."
Yuri blinked slowly as the atmosphere began to settle around her, casual conversations, gear being checked, laughter here and there despite the exhaustion.
There was no screaming.
No panicked crying.
No singing doors or melting hallways or impossibly red eyes in glass walls.
Just tired people helping each other survive.
She sat on a crate and finally exhaled.
"Hey," said a male Zeta-9 operative, removing his helmet and plopping down beside her.
"You did good back there. Most folks freeze their first time seeing that kind of chaos. You kept moving."
"Barely," Yuri muttered, staring at her knees.
"That still counts. That's more than most." He paused, then glanced at the others.
"Actually... we were talking earlier. About your experience. O5-7 wanted us to ask: Would you consider working with us?"
Yuri blinked. "Working... with the Foundation?"
"Yeah. I mean, we're expanding out here. Building Site D-2, making peace with the Limbus Company, getting ready for multiversal exploration. You've handled this world, your world. And your combat instincts, trauma or not, tell me you're used to reality-bending threats."
"You'd be a huge help," added a nearby researcher with a clipboard.
"Your familiarity with Abnormalities is invaluable. And if you're worried about being thrown into danger... we offer actual trauma counseling and recovery programs."
That earned a slight, sardonic laugh from Yuri. "What, really? Counseling? Like, actual therapists? Not just..." She trailed off.
"Not just lobotomies, you mean?" the researcher said, gently.
She gave a tiny nod, unable to meet his eyes.
"We don't throw people away here, Yuri. Not if we can help it."
Yuri looked up then, face unreadable. Her sword lay beside her like an old, faithful dog, still faintly glowing from its last use.
"...Alright," she said quietly. "I'll do it."
There was a beat of silence.
"YEAH! FIRST RECRUIT IN 2ND WORLD!!!" An overly excited young agent jump on Yuri, hugging her.
Yuri let out a startled noise, flailing slightly. "Wait—!"
A few Zeta-9 operatives clapped.
The elf medic smiled warmly.
One of the Beta-7s gave her a thumbs-up.
SCP-2295 launched itself into her lap, its joyful gurgles infectious.
Yuri stared at them all, stunned. She hadn't expected... this. Not the warmth. Not the smiles. Certainly not the small cheer someone shouted from the corner.
"Let's throw a party for our first District D recruit! I'll call Bright and Clef!" An mtf quickly took out her phone and call the Drs, who is already in world 4.
"Wait, what—?"
But it was too late. Plans were already being made.
Dr. Bright, naturally, suggested themed drinks.
Someone asked if SCP-999 could be shaped into a cake.
Dr. Clef loudly insisted he would write a song.
Yuri sat there, slack-jawed, flushed red, until even she couldn't suppress the small, grateful smile forming on her lips.
"...Thank you..." she said, voice barely audible over the hubbub.
...
Several hours later
The underground team finally emerged.
Dante led the way, face impassive, footsteps slow.
Faust followed, her sword back in its sheath.
Ryoshu had a fresh cut on her cheek, but she looked as unbothered as ever, rolling her shoulder with a low sigh.
Don Quixote came last, noticeably deflated despite SCP-999 still perched on her head like a jiggling crown.
Everyone noticed the one thing they didn't bring back.
"The Golden Bough?" asked a Beta-7 captain.
Dante looked at him, then glanced to Faust.
"...Taken," Faust said flatly.
"What?"
"We located it," she continued. "But as we arrived... another group was already removing it from its containment."
The weight of her words settled on the camp like a heavy fog.
Silence. Then a Zeta-9 scout muttered, "So we were seconds late..."
Don Quixote hung her head. "Aye... It doth bring a great ache to mine soul..."
But Ryoshu shrugged, nonchalant. "Whatever. The hunt's just beginning."
Dante turned to the Foundation team, voice steady as ever. "We failed this time. But next time, perhaps with better coordination, we'll succeed. And if this mystery party keeps interfering..."
"We'll be ready," finished a Beta-7 soldier, tightening his gloves.
Yuri stood quietly among them, watching the fire crackle in a nearby barrel, arms folded. Despite the loss, there was no despair here.
Only determination. They picked each other up. They moved forward.
And she would, too.