Chaos.

Bodies strewn across the foundations hallway, good men and women lost to evil, all caused by a manipulative mask and his false, toyboy doctor. How long has it been since the alarms howled to warn everyone of a breach? Hours? Days? Or has time stopped entirely at the hands of an otherworldly beast? You haven’t a clue.

Tucked away, in a disheveled office, below a desk, merely biding your time, you wait for any sign that the carnage will end. You’re so very afraid; listening to every minute hiss of the burst pipes, or distant roars surrounding in fear you’ll be found. The gash in your side bleeds vehemently, refusing to capitulate with the lazy binding of cloth gauze, patched up in hurry. Just as you lift up your shirt to check the wound, you hear the clamor of an MTF team scouting the hallway outside. Hastily, you scramble out from under the desk, and limp as fast as you could out of the safety of the office after them, hoping they could aid you amidst the pandemonium. None of the soldiers hear your feeble pleas, nor do they see the brutish animal hidden within the shadows up ahead. It’s the very beast that ambushed you earlier, and its hunger doesn’t appear to be quenched.

As the SCP-939, a flesh dog, charges into the crowd of men, gunfire begins to echo throughout the hallway. It lunges forward, taking two soldiers into its jaws, and throws them against the wall. You don’t stay to see what becomes the rest of them, running as fast as your weak legs will carry you in the opposite direction as the soldiers blood curdling screams become a horrific decrescendo. The tears prickling at your eyes feel like two hot pokers, and the laceration in your flesh threatens to reopen.

As you run blindly, something black up ahead begins to manifests, and to your delight, I you see a familiar face. Jethro hurriedly ushers you inside his cell, and overrides the security lock to his door once you’re safe. SCP-999 quivers in the corner, but at least you have a chance to catch your breath.