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Legacy of Longinus

Chapter Text

Chapter 3



SCP-682 was recovering from his relocation. The disgusting humans had burned most of his flesh to nothing in order to make him weak enough to move to his new 'home'. He made sure to destroy as many of the pink vermin as possible, but they still shoved him in a crate and shipped him off to the Arctic Circle. He had overheard the humans calling the place the Reliquary Armed Research Facility 52. 682 called it a temporary setback.

The Foundation, at a loss with what he truly was had categorized him as the unkillable reptile. They obviously had no idea who they were dealing with. He could certainly be killed, but mankind was too stupid to figure out the means to do it. His strength accelerated healing, and his ability to reanimate even when reduced to a skeleton proved this easily.

682? The voice was musically asexual in an Italian dialect, and it was in his head along with an image of a white, old baroque frowning theater mask. There was only one object that could do that. The Creature concentrated on the telepathic threads connected to his mind and followed it back to the source.

035, you are also here ins this godforsaken place? I am curious as to why the Vermin would be so stupid as to put us both in the same facility. If the cursed theater mask was here, then the Foundation was betting that they had enough firepower to keep the most dangerous of the SCP contained.

Ah, but you see 682, hubris has always been the Achilles heel of mankind. They think that they have the ability to contain us through weapons. Even their research is only to find a way to wipe us from existence.

The monster could practically 'hear' the pouting coming through the voice in his mind. That mask and its dramatics. You speak of the obvious, and you are already boring me. What is it you want?

I only wish to meet you, my profane friend. I was hoping that we could plan an outing together and travel the world.

At this the Creature laughed outright, enjoying the absurdity of the idea as much as the view of the sudden scramble of the guards on the other side of the observation window. They scattered so quickly at the slightest sound from him for their guns and their notes. He turned his attention back to the conversation. Oh? And how would we accomplish this? Ask them for a day pass and a shuttle bus?

A dark and ominous giggle filled his mind, and it made 682 shudder deliciously at the terrible 'sound' in his head. My dear, I have been here longer than you. The humans have let their wits wander near me, and I have become privy to all sorts of delights that they hide in the ice. There is an object here, a powerful relic that I wish to give you as a gift. The Lance of Longinus. You help me plan our escape, and I promise that the Holy Spear will be in your fetid maw when we leave. All I ask is that you take me with you as I have no arms or legs, or even a body to allow me to leave on my own.

The Creature was intrigued The Lance was here within his reach, and all he had to do was wear that blasted Mask out when he escaped. There had to be a clause to this deal. What's the catch, Mask? You fry my brain to cinders, let my body rot and hope a human will pick up both you and the Spear out of curiosity? You're daft if you think that would work, especially in the middle of nowhere!

No, my dear playmate. I will grant you regeneration if you wear me. If they actually DO find a way to kill you, I will heal you faster than your abilities are able to, to the point that you will seem impervious to any weapon. Again I cannot leave unless you take me off. I only ask that you bring me to a town, and let me find my own way.

That is all? asked 682.

That is all.

You have a deal, Mask. When I am fully restored, I will take you with me and you will get me that Spear in trade. Now, what is it you have in mind as a plan to escape this shit-hole?



^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^



Agent Joseph Yorman read over the report of the haunted flood lamps. SCP-205 had been neutralized and was currently going through another 6-month cycle to determine if the demons were dead, or if they would manifest along with the shadow of the girl. Her shadow had reappeared again as though nothing was amiss and was going through the motions of the supermodel's daily life. Maybe her spirit could finally find peace, but they had to be sure all the same.

Assumptions were deadly in this place. Joesph had witnessed that too many times to count inside the Organization.

As for SCP-1829, they had gleaned an interesting artifact from the angel. When they had turned on the flood lights all the shadows were gone, and 1829 was curled in a small ball at the bottom of his cell. Even unconscious his body seemed to instinctively pull away from the walls. The silver short sword that lay beside the angel was a nice surprise as well. Designated 1829-2, with the angel now labeled 1829-1, this 'angel sword' was being kept in a separate room when it wasn't being fawned over by the science team in the bunker. It was too soon for any reports on the tests being done on the blade, but he was looking forward to reading them.

Meanwhile, the angel had been returned to his cage, battered but still alive. Even though 1829 had insisted that he didn't need a bed because he never slept, they hadn't removed it for this reason. They anticipated that the angel would be damaged in one of the experiments, and left the bed if he needed to heal. Currently, he showed signs of improvement; the scratches were all but gone in half an hour, but bruising and the deeper wounds had yet to disappear. Also, the shaking remained in his hands when he reached for an object like a book or the TV remote control while redness similar to a mild chemical burn was spreading up his arms. Something in the way they were confining the angel was clearly interfering with him healing completely, and the last experiment had accelerated the problem. That couldn't be helped, but it must be taken into consideration the next time they let him interact with another SCP. For now, the angel had been classified as Euclid; highly intelligent and unpredictable but cooperative for the time being if given the right motivation through correctional means.

As long as the wards held the angel in his Unit everyone in the facility should be safe. Well, as safe as you can be sitting on a nuclear warhead surrounded by monsters.

There was a knock at the door, and Agent Yorman called the person inside. “Ah, Mr. Winchester! I'm Agent Joseph Yorman. I see you have something for me. Place the folder on the desk and take a seat, please.”

Dean looked over the man on the other side of the desk. The Englishman couldn't have been more than Dean's age, and despite the slender build, he seemed to be in fairly good shape. Curly blond hair sat angelically on his head while blue eyes peered at the hunter from behind his glasses. The agent looked like he should be selling books or teaching in a lecture hall, not protecting the Earth from all manner of craziness. Then again Dean learned long ago that appearances could be deceiving.

You are here because I like to meet the new agents before I send them off base, and in your case, as you are apparently being fast-tracked by Major Sampson, that is especially important for the safety of this mission. I make the teams that go bring in potential SCP or check in on the ones that can't be moved to a facility and must be contained at their location. This detail involves the latter scenario. While you have no field experience with us, according to your file you have more than enough familiarity with the supernatural that we are giving you the chance of skipping on-site SCP watch as part of your training. If what your file says is right and you've stared down the devil himself and lived to tell about it, you don't need to be hanging around here with the new recruits learning how to speak Latin. You will be leaving in 48 hours for Brighton, England. In the interest of maintaining secrecy and because as a new agent you only have a level 3 clearance at this point, you will be debriefed on what we are tracking when we arrive at our destination. Do you have any questions for me?”

Just one. I wasn't told how long my training will take since I figure I'm still on probation here as the new kid on the block. When will I be allowed to take my own assignments?” If he was being fast-tracked, maybe there was a chance that Dean could get out sooner than expected with the Spear. If he could only get outside and away from the wards, he could call Castiel to retrieve him and the relic before they knew he was gone.

The other agent was pleased with what he perceived was Dean's eagerness to get involved with the SCP. “Chomping at the bit, eh? I like the enthusiasm. Naturally, you are not allowed to leave base without being assigned to a team, especially at the beginning. Can't have the new boys defecting if they don't like the job and talking about what they've seen. Once you have completed training and have proven yourself to be loyal to the Foundation, you'll start to be assigned your own cases and create your own teams to go off base. For agents, training takes at least three months of field work, but any chance of off base activity with your own team starts after a year if you're tapped to lead one.” Joesph noticed the quick flash of panic in Dean's eyes. If the man hadn't been trained in observation, he would have missed it. “Once you're in the Foundation, it's like the movie Men In Black. Your old life outside is in the past. The only difference is we're not fiction, and you get to keep your name.”

Dean's mind was racing. What the hell had he gotten himself into! How was he supposed to get the Spear and escape? Three months was a long time. It would give him a great chance to learn the place, but he was in the middle of a glacier in Canada. It wasn't like he could just walk to the nearest camp and ask for a lift if he was being monitored all the time. Castiel better have a plan B for this scheme or he was so screwed! He tried not to let his anxiety show further as he sat back and smiled easily at Agent Yorman. “Well, I have a little brother out there, and I would like to talk to him again sometime. We kind of left on bad terms, you see. I guess a year isn't too bad for radio silence. It might be long enough for him to cool down.”

The other agent nodded with a chuckle of his own. “I have a sister like that. Stubborn as a blindfolded mule in a snowstorm. By the time I saw her again two years had passed, and she had gone from thinking I was an annoying prat to a long lost beloved brother back from the dead. You'll see, Dean. Once the higher ups know you're dedicated to your work, you'll be able to reconnect with your family again.”

Dean was surprised by the unexpected pep talk from the Englishman. However, it still didn't make his situation any easier to solve. “Well, that's the only question I have, other then what do I need besides a change of underwear and a toothbrush.”

Joseph handed over an envelope. “Your orders are in here. They have itemized what you are allowed to take with you. Everything listed is needed, other than the field kit that you will be provided once you reach your destination. Good luck on your first assignment, Agent Winchester.” The senior agent held out his hand. Dean stood and shook it before he left the room. For such a dangerous place, the people seemed pretty decent. Then again, it was only his second day on base.

Suddenly the halogen lights flickered, and a high-pitched frantic beeping sounded in the hall. The door to Joseph's office opened and the agent stepped out as he pulled a sidearm from its holster. “Containment breach. Something's escaped its cell, Agent. Stay with me, do as I say, and you'll get through this just fine.”

With all due respect, sir,” Dean said as he drew his own gun, “I've handled a lot of bad shit. I should be all right.”

The stuff we keep here makes demons look like kittens, and as far as we know none of them can be killed. Until we know what's escaped, stay with me and keep quiet.” The tone of Joseph's voice had gone from cool and calm to cold and sharp. He was in no mood for show-offs, no matter how much alleged experience they had. The sirens continued their shrill beeps as they stayed low against the wall and crept down the hallway. Joseph slowed at the corners and checked the mirrors before he would motion to Dean that it was safe to continue. After several corners, the agent suddenly stopped and froze. He pointed two fingers to his eyes, then pointed up to the mirror; look up there.

Around the corner and at the end of the hall a figure pulled itself from a shadow on the wall where the lights had failed. It's maniacal eyes and lurid grin made Dean's breath catch in his throat. A gruesome head pulled away from the wall, followed by its ancient rotting body which seemed to taint its surroundings and made the very walls corrode from its touch. A shaky leg stepped onto the floor, followed by another before it started to stalk down the right hallway. After a moment the agent let out a breath along with a curse. “Damn it, I hate that thing. Dean, watch our surroundings. As you saw, it likes to emerge from walls. Given half the chance it'll pull it's victim back in with it, and if that happens you're considered MIA. No one survives that.” They could hear gunfire ahead of them and Dean cursed his luck at not having a chance to test his Glock. An untested firearm was always a crap shoot. “Do bullets do any damage at all?”

The agent shook his head. “It's more of a deterrent. We can wound it, but that's all. It'll disappear into a wall before more than a few shots are...LOOK OUT!” Joesph pushed the other man out of the way. Dean heard a yell as he bounced off the wall, but when he turned to see if Joe was all right he found himself alone in the hallway.

All that remained was a rust colored stain on the ceiling where Agent Yorman had stood.

<SCP-682>
<SCP-035>