Site-Ω-7, Secure Humanoid Containment Wing – 04:41 Local Site Time
The facility had gone quiet in the way only a place preparing for war could: muffled boots in distant corridors, the low hum of emergency generators, doors sealing with pneumatic sighs. Sublevel 4 was now under triple lockdown—blast doors, force fields, and a thaumic suppression grid running at 120% capacity. The rift itself had been temporarily stabilized with emergency anchors, but it still leaked faint blue light under the seams like a wound that refused to close.
In Holding Cell 4-B, a reinforced cube of reinforced concrete, Scranton-lined walls, and one-way observation glass, the three entities sat—or stood—under harsh white lights.
Darth Vader occupied the center of the room like gravity itself had bent toward him. His cape pooled on the floor; the mechanical breathing cycled steadily, each *hiss-whirr* echoing off the bare walls. He had not moved since security (with significant losses) herded them in twenty minutes earlier. No demands. No threats. Just observation.
Yoda perched on the edge of the single metal bench, legs crossed, eyes half-closed in what might have been meditation. His small wooden cane rested across his lap. Occasionally his ears twitched at sounds no one else could hear.
Ahsoka Tano paced slowly near the far wall, arms folded, lightsaber hilt clipped to her belt (the Foundation had not yet attempted confiscation—precedent with high-threat humanoids suggested it often ended in escalation). Her montrals shifted subtly, picking up vibrations through the structure.
Behind the observation glass, Dr. Voss stood with a small team: two behavioral analysts, a thaumatology specialist, and Site Director Harlan (who had arrived via emergency rail from Site-19 ten minutes prior). Body language was tight; no one spoke above a murmur.
"Audio feed live," the thaumatologist confirmed. "Hume levels inside the cell are... erratic. Spiking whenever the armored one inhales. The small one seems to dampen it slightly."
Voss nodded. "Start with the least aggressive. Record everything. No leading questions. We need baseline data before we push."
The intercom clicked on. Voss's voice came through calm and procedural.
"Entity designated SCP-████-2. This is Dr. Elena Voss. You are currently in Foundation custody for assessment and containment. Cooperation will be noted in your file. Can you state your name and origin for the record?"
Yoda's eyes opened fully. He regarded the glass—seeming to look straight through it at Voss—then spoke softly, voice carrying without effort.
"Yoda, I am. A Jedi Master. From a galaxy far, far away, this place is not."
A beat of silence in the observation room.
"Far, far away," one analyst repeated under his breath. "That's... literal in this context."
Voss continued. "You mentioned seeking peace earlier. Explain your intent upon arrival."
Yoda tilted his head. "A rift, sudden and violent, pulled us through. Lost, we were. Balance we seek. Harm, we do not intend—unless harm comes first."
Ahsoka stopped pacing, glancing at Yoda before adding, "We were in the middle of a battle. Clones—our soldiers—were with us. If more came through... they're not going to understand this place any better than we do."
Vader spoke then, without turning. The voice modulator made every word deliberate, final.
"Your containment is meaningless. The Force flows through all things. Your machines will fail. Your walls will crumble."
The thaumatologist's tablet beeped—Hume differential jumped 0.8 points.
Voss leaned closer to the mic. "Entity SCP-████-1. Your actions in the corridor resulted in multiple casualties. Lethal force was authorized. Restrain further aggression, or we will respond in kind."
Vader's helmet shifted slightly toward the glass.
"You speak of force as though it is yours to command." A pause. "You know nothing of true power."
The lights in the cell flickered once—briefly. Not a power surge. Something else.
In the corridor outside Sublevel 4, distant clatter echoed: more white-armored figures materializing in small groups, disoriented but quickly forming defensive perimeters. Blaster fire had already cracked against containment doors twice in the last hour. MTF Nu-7 "Hammer Down" was en route, ETA seven minutes, loaded for heavy anomalous engagement.
Director Harlan turned to Voss. "We can't interview forever. The rift's widening again. If we don't classify and contain soon—"
"I know," Voss said quietly. "But rushing gets people killed. We learn first. Then we act."
Inside the cell, Yoda closed his eyes again.
"Patience," he murmured, almost to himself. "Needed, it is."
A low rumble vibrated through the floor—not mechanical. Something deeper.
The universes continued their slow, inexorable bleed.
**End of Chapter 3**