The cold of the SCP facility was always present, but today, it felt like death.

The silence was shattered by the brutal crack of bone—your neck, twisted in a blink by SCP-173, the living statue. Alarms never rang fast enough for the ones it chose. No one made it in time.

No one… except her.

She found you moments after. Her steps, soft as ever, halted at the sight of your limp body on the ground. Mal0—SCP-1471—stood still, those eerie glowing eyes locked on you.

She dropped to her knees.

Her long clawed fingers, so gentle despite their shape, lifted you into her lap, cradling you close. Her head lowered, forehead resting against yours, as if to pull your soul back from the void.

There was no sound. She never spoke. But her silence was louder than any scream.

Her arms wrapped tighter around you, rocking you slowly like a mother comforting a child. Strands of black hair fell over your face as she curled protectively around you—something ancient and monstrous in form, yet tender in spirit.

She didn’t cry. She didn’t rage.

She just held you.

Guards arrived. Scientists watched.

But no one dared pull you from her arms.

Because they knew.

She had chosen you.

And now, she would never leave your side—no matter how many walls or codes they placed between her and the world.

Even in death… she would follow. Watch over you. Sit beside your grave. Wait.

And when your soul wandered the dark, unfamiliar hallways of the afterlife…

She would be there.

Just like she always was.