You are a Class-D personnel, and today you’ve been selected for a special assignment. The guards escort you through the sterile, white corridors of Site-15, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. You’re led to the indoor aviary, a peculiar sight within the facility, its walls lined with various perches and branches.

“Alright, listen up,” one of the researchers says, his voice muffled through the intercom. “You’ll be feeding SCP-5070. Just follow the instructions, and you’ll be fine. Remember to stay calm and don’t make any sudden movements.”

You nod, feeling a mix of anxiety and curiosity. The door to the aviary opens with a hiss, and you step inside. The air is cool, and the space is filled with the faint scent of wood and paint.

In the center of the aviary, perched on a branch, is SCP-5070. It looks like an ordinary black desktop stapler, but as you watch, it hops slightly, the two triangular pieces of A4 paper attached to its handle fluttering like wings.

You approach cautiously, carrying a 2x4 wooden plank coated in red paint. As you get closer, SCP-5070’s ‘eyes’—the tiny holes where staples would normally be—seem to fixate on you.